Forget Tea Cups and Time, Lets Live

by Firegod

Summary:

Will regrets, the moment he takes a step off the bluff, he is filled with remorse. He see's the ocean swell and thrash against the cliff; a wordless promise that the depths will be their tomb.

His last penitence in life is this free fall into the abyss. It’s not the first of his though; he’s accumulated so many over the years. When did his first edge of remorse appear?

Turning Hannibal away at Wolf Trap. Was that the start…

This is Will's point of view from the work When The Teacup Shatters Not by Madslilteacup

Notes:

This directly links toWhen The Teacup Shatters Not I suggest reading before coming into this fic, you won't be completely lost if you start here but I suggest you read it beforehand. Come shout at my on my twitter.

Chapter 1: We All Fall Down

Will regrets, the moment he takes a step off the bluff, he is filled with remorse. He sees the ocean swell and thrash against the cliff; a wordless promise that the depths will be their tomb.

 

His last penitence in life is this free fall into the abyss. It’s not the first of his though; he’s accumulated so many over the years. When did his first edge of remorse appear?

 

Turning Hannibal away at Wolf Trap. Was that the start…

 

No.

 

His regret began at a different time, further in the past.

 

In Hannibal’s kitchen, where he was gutted, where Abigail bled out in front of him, where Hannibal had walked out of his life.

 

No. There are pangs of remorse there, but it wasn’t the start. It was earlier.

 

Was it when they were burning papers in his office. Where he stood close to Hannibal, so that he could to smell his betrayal that had seeped into his clothes and hair. Where Hannibal offered forgiveness to him, that didn’t come at the end of a blade or require a blood sacrifice. The pardon had been given to him, but he threw it away because he was afraid… 

 

No. His regrets were laid earlier than that.

 

Sending Mathew Brown after Hannibal to show he had the power to hurt him, even incarcerated. Though he knew it wouldn’t work, he set it up so it wouldn’t, but he came close to erasing Hannibal from the world. When he found out that Hannibal had survived, a small part of him had been relieved, a part of him that shone through the anger and the rage.

 

No. His regret didn’t start there either.

 

Did it begin at the start of his therapy, not admitting that he liked killing Garret or when he was being abrasive when they first met, or could it be not realising what he felt when he was with Hannibal. Not daring to put a name to his feelings that bloomed at the mere thought of him.

 

No. It was before he even knew Hannibal’s name.

 

He regrets not finding Hannibal sooner, not discovering him when he was all alone. Not even daring to think there is a compliment to his personality roaming the world, alone, just as he is.

 

The wind burns his eyes.

 

The moment in the moonlight was perfect. In Hannibal’s arms he had finally felt at peace, but at the same time the scene overwhelmed him. He saw the future laid out before them. The murder, the destruction and bodies that they would leave in their wake together. How could he subject the world to their mayhem, and they were so close to the edge, the fall…it could almost be called an accident.

 

Saltwater licks at Will’s cheek.

 

He should never have thrown them off the cliff. The thought of their destruction should never have entered his mind, let alone act on it.

 

The turbulent blue transforms to a harsh black in his sights. He doesn’t want to see the end, but he’s afraid to look up and lay his eyes on Hannibal’s face. He doesn’t want his final moments of them together to be of accusations and anger, but to not see him one last time, to not look into his beautiful maroon eyes even if they are filled with anger, that is a regret he doesn’t want to experience. His stomach squirms and his fingers twitch. Will looks up and his breath leaves him.

 

Hannibal has a smile on his face, eyes closed, and an aura of peace surrounds him. Will tightens his hold around Hannibal’s middle; he concentrates on his warmth, the beating of his heart in his ears. Hannibal’s arms cocoon around him. He feels safe. Will can’t stop the smile that spreads from ear to ear, though his stomach is in his feet as Hannibal’s eyes caress him that say to him I live to die at your hands and only your hands.

 

Oh. How did he not see it before? How could he be so blind, he’s in love with this man. The words forming in his mind about how wishes he had more time with him, time to tell him that he is in love with him. Do away with metaphor and implications, to say I love you to him. He opens his mouth.

 

Will slams into the water, the water bites at him; it swipes and howls him to leave this place and returns up above. Will pants as he breathes in the sea air. The water laps at his chin and lets out a laugh, a grin plastered on his face.

 

‘Hannibal, Hannibal we made it,’ Will shouts out breathlessly into the night. He wants to celebrate this moment with him, tell Hannibal he loves him, tell him he’s going with him now and he will never leave his side. But there’s no answer to his call, just the sound of water. His grin cracks away and he can hear his heart in his ears. He spins around, but Hannibal isn’t anywhere in sight. He’s still below. Will takes a deep breath and dives back into the abyss.

 

In the darkness he searches, the water presses down on him as he fights against the air in his lungs to return him to the surface. He squints in the darkness and he sees a shape, large and intimating. Will swims. He grabs Hannibal by the shoulders. He kicks, pulls, and pushes against the pressure of the ocean. The light from the moon shines in his sights, a guide in the darkness.

 

He thrashes against the hold of the ocean, and he breaks the watery ceiling. He gasps in the precious air that he’s been deprived of. Angling Hannibal’s head up, one arm curled around his head, the other slices through the waves. He feels there’s something wrong but until the reach land he won’t be able to see. The beach is but a few kicks away but a marathon to get to.

 

Electricity thumbs through Will’s veins as he pulls Hannibal up on the shore and he see’s what he felt. His chest isn’t moving. Will opens Hannibal’s mouth wide and looks down; his throat is filled with sand.

 

He pushes Hannibal to his side and water drains from his nose and mouth. Will rolls him onto his back, places lips on Hannibal’s soft red and breathes out.

 

Hannibal thrashes in his grip and water floods out from his mouth, his body goes limp once more but now his chest rises.

 

Will slumps by his side. He breathes in sync with Hannibal’s. He gazes up at the night sky.

 

Will turns to Hannibal, his face calm in the moonlight, small breaths escaping through his lips that bring a smile to Will’s lips. He would love to see his beautiful eyes again, the maroon with flecks of red that always enraptured him and pulled him into Hannibal’s orbit so he could experience every part of him. His voice, his view of the world, he just as to wait for him to wake up and he would tell him that he’s ready now.

 

Will reaches out to Hannibal. His hand moving down to capture his limp one, but his eyes catch red and he sits up. New blood stains his jumper. He scrambles for the edge of the fabric and pushes it up to see a steady stream of red flow. He needs medical attention.

 

Will drapes Hannibal over his shoulder, his weight, and his light breaths against his ear, make butterflies dance in his stomach. How had he blinded himself to the yearning that has dwelled in for all this time. Will shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts. Now is not the time for how and why, he needs to stay focused on the task ahead.

 

Will’s frantic pace is slowed by Hannibal’s weight. He sees a car parker, a man asleep draped over the wheel, the door unlocked. Will lays Hannibal down by the backdoor and opens the driver’s side, a bottle falls out and smashes on the ground. The balding man doesn’t move an inch and Will reads the scene before him.

 

My wife nags at me constantly. The kids are loud. I need a moment of peace and quiet with a friend I paid for. I need to figure out how to escape this life. I never wanted this. Why did I chase it.

 

Will removes him from the seat and dumps him on the ground. He shuffles Hannibal into the back seat, laying him flat as to not exacerbate his injuries. Will gets in the driver’s side with a bang, starts the car and drives off.

 

In the rearview mirror he see’s a shadowy figure and tell-tale sign of a phone lighting up the night. He slams the wheel in frustration. Should he go back and kill that person. Will shakes his head, no. Ending their lives wouldn’t reverse the phone call; it would just slow them down, take precious minutes away from Hannibal’s treatment and finding a place to do that.

 

His mind circles through the list of where he can patch up Hannibal. He can’t go back to the cliff house. Returning to the scene of a crime is a sure way to get caught. Though people don’t know where it is, he’s sure that eventually the helicopters shall come out and they will spot the corpse on the bluff. And as incompetent as the police are, they will put two and two together of where they came from to the parking lot.

 

They should be running together off into the night, not one on the verge of death and the other lost without them. Another regret to the piles and piles that he’s built up in his mind.

 

Will shakes his head. No, he can’t dwell on the things he should have done or shouldn’t. They are here now and he has to focus on the road ahead, although that is difficult. His attention divided between the road ahead and the slight breaths that wander into his ears, his eyes gazing into the rearview mirror to see the shallow movement of Hannibal’s chest, to make sure that he is still breathing.

 

Will drives down twisted roads and dirt roads, arriving at his once home, although technically it still is. He never did have the heart to sell it. The memories that were tied to his boat are too precious to scatter.

 

He parks behind the shed, out of view. He releases himself and Hannibal from the metal confines. He drags Hannibal up the steps and into the house, the weight a comfort to Will as he knows he’s right by him. The door opens with a creak and shuffles inside. The door slams behind him. With a frown, he places Hannibal on his dusty bed.

 

He moves Hannibal’s clothes to check over his wound. It’s still gushing blood.

 

Will tastes copper in his mouth. The frantic beat of his heart goes wild in his chest. No, that’s the thunder of his feet on the wood. In a blink of his eye, a bucket filled with hot water, and a first aid kit appears before him on the bedside table.

 

Will turns Hannibal to his side and takes a deeper inspection of his wounds; the bullet has gone clean through him but other than that he can’t tell if that is a good or bad. Will dabs at the bullet holes and stitches him up. He places bandages on him and lays him back down again.

 

‘Please Hannibal,’ Will says, his words strained and broken, ‘I don’t want to lose you again.’ Will takes Hannibal’s hand; his thumb caresses the indent between the thumb and finger. Will’s eyes trace from the curvature of his wrist, up to his placid face and red lips, which are parted and release breaths that carry weight in their gruff exhales.

 

A pit opens up in his stomach, his fingers twitch and his mind races, trying to figure out how to solve this mess, but comes up with none. He has to wait for him this time.

 

Will lets out a chuckle. Is this how Hannibal feels when was absent from his life, wondering when or if he’s going to show him those beautiful eyes to him today or will another day pass by without him being there…No wonder Hannibal’s is labelled insane. These questions can only lead to madness.

 

Will feels words bubbling up his throat but they refuse to spill out. He wants Hannibal to wake up, so he can hear him say what needs to be said.   

 

Will let’s out a chuckle that echo’s off the walls, thoughts in his head quiet and all he can hear is his laboured breaths and pounding of Hannibal’s heart or is that just his own. He can’t tell. The thuds grow louder and breaths change to gasps and Hannibal’s eyes open wide.

 

‘Will,’ Hannibal whispers out and his eyes flicker open.

 

‘Hannibal I-’A blue and red light shines on Hannibal’s face and Will’s stomach drops into his shoes, his words cut in his throat. How did they find them, he was so careful.

 

‘Wait here, I’ll deal with this.’ Will reluctantly moves from Hannibal’s side to the windows; he moves the curtain’s an inch and see’s that the cavalry has come for them with Jack at the front, stepping out onto the snow-covered ground.

 

‘Damn it,’ curses Will. Someone must have spotted them while they were driving.

 

He notes the harsh black vehicles, the plates false, the side’s blank of any federal identity. Verger. Will shakes his head. Alana, that petty little thing that she had become in her own metamorphosis, her sanctimonious rightness that she wore as armour all those years, how it gleamed now. As though she didn’t kill a man for a fortune and used that power to become Hannibal’s keeper.

 

Will grits his teeth and clenches his fists.

 

How she lorded herself over Hannibal all these years, building him an enclosure to keep him in. A place she could dissect him, make him feel small as if had once done to her. All crafted to cause harm to his sensibilities and inevitably fail, because she couldn’t understand him. Only he had that power to harm him, to hurt him, to make him bleed in all the ways the mattered. No one else did because he understood him.

 

‘WILL COME OUT NOW!’ Jack Screams. Will purses his lips and grits his teeth. How dare Jack come here and tell him to give up his other half, the one who understood him. ‘WE HAD A PLAN AND NOW WE HAVE A HANDFUL OF DEAD AGENTS, A DEAD SERIAL AND A LIVE ONE.’ Jack lets out a loud huff that is filled with exasperation. ‘YOU NEED TO STOP THIS…INSANITY AND LET THIS FINALLY END.’ Stop now, when he finally understood what he wanted, after all the pain and heartbreak, if Jack really cared about him he would let him go, but that would require Jack to see him as a person and not a tool.

 

Jack has used him sense they met, wanting him in his corner but refuses to treat him.

 

Always undermined his analysis when it was unpalatable, always touching him without permission and leaving him to rot when he needed him most. Not even visiting out of friendship or loyalty, only wanting answers, only seeking to fuel his own ego, and he was the tool Jack used to achieve that purpose.

 

He was sick of being that tool.

 

‘Sorry Jack, I can’t do that,’ Will states in a calm tone, though he knows Jack won’t hear him, though it wouldn’t matter even if he did. He never listened to him. ‘I suggest you leave now before you lose your life.’ Will raises the gun, putting him in his sights.

 

‘THIS ISN’T YOU WILL.’ He can’t decide if this is Jack’s delusion taking over or his own self-denial. ‘THINK OFF YOUR WIFE, THINK OF YOUR SON, THINK OF YOUR FAMILY.’ Will hadn’t, and he would rather keep it that way.

 

‘Wil-l.’ He hears his name being called out to him in that soft tone that makes his stomach flutter and his mind fill only with Hannibal. Will turns around. Hannibal is hobbling over to him and he lowers the gun, his finger leaves the trigger.

 

‘Hannibal,’ Will gasps out, ‘I’ll distract Jack and you-‘

 

Bang

 

Will feels blood on his check, he see’s Hannibal on the ground, a bullet in his head, eyes not moving, and his chest still. The world is suddenly too loud and too quiet at the same time. He needs out of this world, out of this mess he has descended into. Will raises his gun and sets his sights on Jack, whose back is turned to him and is yelling at someone.

 

‘My regret is not having killed you when I was given the chance.’ He fires his gun. The window breaks again. Jack slumps to the ground but his arm raises, holding a gun in his direction. Two bangs and Will plunges to the ground, fire spreads up from his chest, he looks down to see blood gush spouting and drenching his shirt.

 

Will glances to Hannibal who's now beside him. Blood pools around his head like a halo. Tears race down his cheeks.

 

‘I wish I was different when we met, that I knew how important you were going to become to me.’ Will reaches an arm out to him, although Hannibal can’t reach back for him.

 

‘I don’t regret the moments with you. I regret the ones without you. I wish that time could reverse time and all that we have obtained could travel with us and change this moment, because I want a world with you,’ Will gasps out. ‘I want that world. Can you make it for me?’ Will asks.

 

The burn from his bullet wound morphs into a cold numbness. The edges of the world turn black and the sight of Hannibal fades away.

Chapter 2: On Shaky Legs

Summary:

He's here, he's not, he's alive, he's dead.

Notes:

Sorry this chapter took such a long time, school and a tone of health problems.

Will can only see darkness. No matter where he turns, the black consumes all. His ears absorb the thunderous roar of a beating heart—is it his own or someone else’s? He can’t tell. An invisible cord snakes around his body, with each loud beat it tightens. His lungs freeze in its grip. He has to get away, but he can’t see where to go, is there anywhere to go. The beats fade and leave a terrifying quiet in its wake. A snap eco’s around his head.

 

Will gasps for each breath, his upper body lurches. His hands flail and smack against coarse fibres. His deafening breaths turn to small gasps, and his body trembles. Goosebumps trickle up his arms. The hair on the back of his neck rises as his sight focuses. 

 

A small kitchen, a table for two, all conveniently placed in one room. The world spins and a familiar horrid white popcorn ceiling swarms his vision. He feels a laugh bubble in his chest that sinks low into his gut. Tears well in his eyes and he bites his lip.

 

He’s in hell. He died and went straight to hell. 

 

Fitting, for his Hell to have this roof over him. Back to when he was forced into the imaginations of thoughtless, mindless, killers who had none of the ingenuity or beauty that his Hannibal has…had. 

 

His chest grows tight, and he clenches his jaw. He’s been cleaved from the one he loves and will never see him again. He’s in hell, he’s in hell…but if this was Hell wouldn’t Hannibal rule here. 

 

Will couldn’t imagine anyone else on that throne of blood and bone. Unless, this is some other afterlife separate from Heaven and Hell. Though if this is the next life, why would he end up back in the old motel room in Minnesota. Why so banal and plain. Why not a caricature, why…

 

Wills scrunches his eyes tight. This doesn’t make sense. 

 

His chest rises and falls in rapid succession, and he can feel gravity push down on him. Will sluggishly sits up. Fabric descends to his side, his toes curl back and his palms sweat at the sight before him.

 

Frantic, he runs to the mirror, and pats down his body for the scars lovingly given to him by Hannibal. They’re gone, nothing but unblemished skin. Will’s hands go numb and he slumps against the bathroom door.

 

He had been shot.

 

He had died.

 

Yet…here he is alive, intact, in Minnesota. In the same hotel room that he shared his first meal with Hannibal. It doesn’t make sense. 

 

He rushes to his nightstand and grapples for his phone. His fingers race as he checks the calendar, April 5 th 2013. How…it can’t…but that’s the only answer, the impossible one. 

 

He stumbles back into the compact bathroom, his reflection mirroring back the truth to him. Nude without his scars, a history erased.

 

It’s wrong, he’s all-wrong. His image fractures, he closes his eyes, his cheeks feel wet and he sways on his feet. His fingers dig into the porcelain. 

 

Knock, a sudden purposeful rap on the door tears Will's gaze from the spectre in front of him…

 

Knock, again the same music that welcomed the most important person into his life long ago. Will’s heart flutters. His attention swims to the motel door and he steadies himself.

 

Knock, it had to be him. A swirl of emotions dances in him that moves to his legs. His feet tread on old musty carpet. He stands in front of the weathered motel door. His stomach flip flops at the thought of seeing his Hannibal again.

 

Will takes a deep breath, grips the handle and opens the door. Will wants to beg for forgiveness. He wants to hold him, kiss him, wrap his arms around Hannibal and never let him go. He wants to tell him a thousand apologies, but his heart leaps into his throat and remains still.

 

No, he can’t ask Hannibal that, not when they are so uneven. Hannibal must give it to him and he will do anything to earn Hannibal’s forgiveness. No matter who he has to kill, no matter what bridges he has to burn, he will do it. Will is Hannibal’s now, and even if it takes everyday for the rest of their lives, he will prove it to him over and over again.

 

‘Good morning, Will.’ Hannibal’s face is stone. His eyes are full of curiosity, but lacking the desire for him and all that he is. Will finally notices Hannibal’s attire, he’s not wearing his suit. He grips the handle, and a burn races in his palm. 

 

This isn’t his Hannibal.

 

How could he have been so stupid. He should have realised when he had his phone in his hand. If Hannibal had returned with him, he would have called, he would have rushed over and embraced him, stabbed him or both. Hannibal wouldn’t give him silence, even when he was incarcerated he always had some contact with him…but now…his Hannibal…is…is…is 

 

He wants to scream. It’s Hannibal but not his Hannibal. He wants him back, how can he get his version of Hannibal back in his life? He could cage him, this time in a prison of iron and stone. Will internally shakes his head and laughs to himself. What a stupid, insipid thought. The three years away from Hannibal were tortuous. He coul–wouldn’t do that to himself again, and Will would not subject Hannibal to Chilton and his clumsy fingers fumbling around in Hannibal’s beautiful mind again. There won’t ever be a book about Hannibal the Cannibal—He will make sure of it.

 

He just needs to focus, calm down, and create a strategy.  

 

‘May I come in?’ Hannibal asks, his voice drags Will out of his thoughts and any rumination collapses. 

 

Hannibal sends sparks up Will’s arm as he brushes by him. He chuckles to himself. He shouldn’t be surprised that this fun house version of his beloved has such an effect on him. Will shuts the door. He just needs to get through this day first. Everything else can be figured out later. For now he has to focus on the Hannibal that’s here, not the one that isn’t. 

 

‘Jack is deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today.’ Will can feel Hannibal’s eyes caress him. He has to stop himself shivering at the familiar burn of Hannibal’s gaze. It lights a fire within him and spreads throughout his body. Suppressing the urge to run towards him, Will controls his movements—languid and tired—as he sits down opposite him.

 

‘What happened to your hand Will?’ Hannibal’s curious and concerned tone prods at his loss. So, filled with empathy but constructed only to state his curiosity. Will grits his teeth.The moment on the precipice, flashes through his head, the way Hannibal looked at Will as they plunged below. A contrast as stark as night and day, before and after, the present and future. Will clenches his fists, and his toes dig into the carpet. 

 

‘I saw my reflection in the mirror and it's all wrong!’ Will shouts, his rage circles around his body and dies with an apology on his lips. It’s not Hannibal’s fault that this fun house version was here instead of his Hannibal. It’s not his fault for sounding like him, looking like him, crossing into his space like him—it made Will’s body ache in which no wound ever has.

 

‘Don't worry about my hand.’ Will gazes at his bloody knuckles, this wound was nothing compared to ones he had in the before. ‘Nothing a good wash with soap won't fix. This much won't kill me.’ In a blink of the eye Hannibal makes the decision to fix him up, despite his wishes, and disappears from Will’s sight.

 

Going against his wishes, fixing what hurts—so similar yet so different. Will rubs his face and slams his unwounded hand on the table. He can be around this funhouse version, it’s the only way to get his Hannibal back. Will takes a deep breath in and out until the sound of his breaths are invisible to his ears. 

 

Hannibal flits back in the room and he pours Will a cup of his delicious coffee, most likely to bribe him into complacency. Will takes a sip, not in acceptance but because he will never say no to Hannibal’s dishes. No matter which version of Hannibal comes into his life, it can be assured that good food and drink will be supplied to him.

 

‘I will procure the water so we can start dressing your wound.’ Just thinking about Hannibal getting a bowl to wash his wounds, returns him to the snow,  Randal Tier and Hannibal’s dining room. His heart beats loud in his ears, his fingers tingle and his stomach sinks with a hundred stones. Hannibal starts to turn around probably thinking that Will had been subdued with his silence.

 

‘You don't have to do that, Hannibal,’ Will says and flinches internally. He shouldn’t have used his first name. Hannibal will surely be thinking of recipes to use his tongue in. Well, at least he would be a part of him. Will looks into his eyes, sure to see the bubbling fire that rages underneath Hannibal’s skin when a pig grunts and squeals in front of him. But as he looks into those red eyes, he doesn’t see the fire. Instead there’s a soft fondness in his gaze and a bright smile.

 

‘I insist, Will. Please, give me the courtesy.’ A nostalgic pang hits Will's stomach as he looks at the first aid kit on the table. Shall he wash his hands with tenderness or will his touch be that of a doctor? Why are these questions bombarding him?

 

‘I'm not an invalid,’ Will bites out and focuses on Hannibal, he couldn’t deal with his attention at the moment, he needed to recalibrate. ‘If you insist on playing nurse with me, Doctor Lecter, at least let me wash my hands in the sink like a functioning adult without your hovering.’ Hannibal is silent as Will’s rage swirls around the room, choking the air. 

 

‘Very well.’ Will leaves the coffee on the table and retreats to the bathroom with a thunk. He once again leans on the sink and his hand shakes as he turns the tap.The water cascades through his finger and he cleans his skin of blood and tear stains. 

 

Will rests his forehead on the door and resists the urge to bash his head on it. He takes a deep breath. He wraps his fingers around the handle and instantly he’s back in the presence of Hannibal. Will moves to him in a daze. 

 

‘May I have your hand Will?’ Will slides his broken skin over to him. Hannibal’s fingers take Will’s damaged hand and tentatively he surveys the injury. Will stares at Hannibal’s face, indulging in his intense focus. The cotton connects. His touch is exactly how he remembers it, controlled, gentle and loving. Hannibal’s expression gives nothing away to the emotions that dwell inside. He wishes he could see him again, that Hannibal would let him see him, what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. All to answer the questions that came into his mind or rather one question that appeared when Will addressed Hannibal by his first name. 

 

‘Is there something interesting on my face, Will?’ He didn’t want to answer Hannibal’s question, he wanted to rifle through his memories to double check all the smiles Hannibal gave him against the flesh and blood man before him. Was Hannibal already smitten by him? He couldn’t be, could he?

 

‘Your mind is wandering. Stay with me.’ Hannibal’s words make his heart ache and as much as Will wants to go into his memories, Hannibal is asking him to stay. Maybe…he could pretend for just a moment that he is with his Hannibal. 

 

‘Where else would I go,’ Will says as he indulges in every line on Hannibal’s face, but all too soon Hannibal’s fingers leave his hand. He buries his disappointment by opening the present Hannibal has placed in front of him . Steam rises to reveal the delectable remains of Cassie Boyle, carefully smoked. Cutting into the sausage, he inspects the hand crafted meat, and smiles internally as he sees an opportunity to deride Hannibal. 

 

‘ Cassie Boyle.’ Will catches Hannibal gripping his fork in a stranglehold at the mention of the food. Will suppresses a smirk as Hannibal squirms under his teasing minerstrations. Though, he should probably put Hannibal’s mind at ease, unless he wants to end up with a knife in his throat. After a few moments he adds to the sentence and Hannibal’s grip loosens. 

 

Inbetween talking about the murder and murderer, Will eats. Flavour explodes on his tongue with each slow chew and he reluctantly swallows it down. Will makes sure to pay attention to Hannibal’s every departing word out of his mouth, and with a single sentence, Will’s world shifts.   

 

‘My Copycat?’ Will’s chest tightens and butterfly’s flutter in his stomach. Did Hannibal start courting him with this first body? Was this a sign he missed, of Hannibal’s devotion to him, he thought it was a taunt at the time. Could it have been admiration. Hannibal may be able to hide his emotions but at certain moments they can leak through. Given the right circumstances, and Will deconstructs Hannibal’s crime.

 

Will delights at the hitch of Hannibal’s breath, as he unwraps the crime scene in front of him. Will can feel Hannibal’s delight and joy run through his body, the feelings are intoxicating. He needs to go further, to show how much he enjoys it, how much he appreciates the thought and effort that was made just for him. 

 

‘The Copycat gutted her like a pig. For me.’ Warmth swells in Will’s chest at the admittance.

  

‘You sound enamoured, Will.’ 

 

‘Do I?’ Will is glad he’s sitting down as his limbs feel like jelly at Hannibal’s acknowledgement. He touches the back of his neck and he can feel the red on his hand. But all good things come to an end and the conversation turns sour in his mouth at the mention of Jack.

 

‘I protect myself by letting Jack push me around. I say no to Jack, his righteous crusade, and eventually, he’ll see me as one of the killers he hunts. I do tick quite a number of boxes.’ Jack liked his boxes, good, bad, evil, he wielded labels as if they were a sword meant to slay a beast. A form of dehumanisation to make himself superior above all he had shoved into those tight spaces. The word his man rang around Will’s head. 

 

‘Surely Agent Crawford in his own way cares for your well-being, Will,’ Hannibal says, his polished words bringing Will out of his thoughts. ‘He did approach me to help ascertain your mental health.’

 

Will’s disgust leaks out of him with harsh clipped words as he remembers all of what Jack did, all for his righteousness. He could cry “the victims” as much as he wants, the truth is it was for his own ego and Will fed it. In the end they are all ravenous beasts but he prefers the beast in front of him. He can say that was one good thing that came out of his involvement with Jack is Hannibal and before he can stop himself the words slip out.

 

‘I like you. You're interesting, Doctor Lecter.’ Will’s mouth goes dry and his stomach clenches. What did he just do? He’s ruined everything. Why didn’t he play hard to get, like last time. 

 

‘You know, Will, I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup,’ Hannibal says, seemingly completely unphased by Will’s declaration. ‘The finest china, used only for special guests.’ 

 

‘How do you see me?’ Will asks, his panic transforming into butterflies in his stomach. Will sits rigid in his seat as he waits for Hannibal’s words to depart from his soft lips. 

 

‘The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.’

 

Will explodes in laughter. ‘Fuck. It's still you. But you don't—.’ Will breaks his sentence as he tries to calm himself. This Hannibal has the same foundation, it’s clear by his words and movements, but it's not the same. This Hannibal lacks all the experiences they shared, the little jokes, all the pain and joy they brought one another. All gone. He knows this, yet why does it…why…why is it so hard…

 

‘I can't fucking do this!’ Will closes his eyes tight. He retreats into his mind palace and he’s on that beach once more. He listens to Hannibal's slow breaths, the moon shining on his beloved’s face. He misses him so much. Where has his god disappeared to?  

 

‘Will.’ He hears Hannibal call out. He opens his eyes and Hannibal is standing there, his gaze full of sympathy, understanding and his body whole. Will tackles him into a hug. 

 

‘Don't push me away…please,’ Will says, his words strangled. Hot tears pour down his cheeks as he clutches Hannibal close. He indulges in his earth smell, the feel of the soft fabric of his cashmere jumper beneath his fingers, the sound of his heart beating steady in his ear. Hannibal’s hand rubs circles on his back.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Will says and he doesn’t know if he’s crying for what he’s lost or for what he’s gained back. With great reluctance he pry’s himself out of Hannibal’s grasp. Apologies flood out of his mouth, though is he apologising for what he did or what he had done, he doesn’t know anymore. He just wants Hannibal to know he’s sorry.  

 

Will’s phone pings, he takes out it out and sees a name that has been absent from his phone for years. ‘Bev,’ Will whispers to himself. He had completely forgotten her. This time he will be a better friend, this time he’s going to be better for everyone he loves… ‘What time is it?’

 

Hannibal in a fluid motion checks his watch. ‘8am.’

 

‘Quick shower.’ He hops out of the chair. ‘Give me twenty minutes then we can go.’ 

 

‘If it's you Will, I don't mind the wait.’ His sentence makes Will’s pulse race. 

 

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The water cascades down Will’s body washing away the sweat of the night. The sound of water fills his ears. It reminds him of standing on the precipice, the dragon's body dead before him. He reaches down and takes his member in hand. The blood in the moonlight, stroke, the dance between him and Hannibal, stroke, the moment Hannibal looked at him covered in blood. Will’s back arcs as his cum combines with the water and disappears down the drain.

 

Will braces himself against the tiles of the shower and slaps the handle till the water turns to a drip. In the quiet of the white box the silence is deafening. Will’s thoughts turn to the plan to change Hannibal. His first transformation was mired in blood and unnecessary sacrifice; he didn’t want to inflict that on Hannibal again, when it wasn’t needed. 

 

There are means of influence other than violence, a calm soothing voice whispers into his ear. That is the answer but how, he doesn’t have the power over him anymore. He knows that Hannibal did care for him but it took time for him to understand the emotion and its worth. 

 

Wil wants to own Hannibal, mind, body and soul, just as Hannibal owns him. For that he has to make the first move and bring those feelings out of him. Climb his walls and whisper into the chrysalis and help in his becoming, just as Hannibal did for him. With his plan in mind he turns off the water and pats himself down with a towel. Putting on his boxer shorts he looks at himself in the mirror. Droplets of water gather in his hair, the water creates a sheen across his chest, his legs firm and unmarked flesh that begs for a lover's wound.

 

He walks tepid out of the bathroom and into Hannibal’s warm orbit. 

 

He didn’t have his salmon shirt, he didn’t have his tight fitted pants, he wasn’t styled but he had his body. Hannibal has implied more than once he is a work of art that he would love to uncover. He inwardly smirks at Hannibal’s agape mouth. The look in Hannibal’s maroon eyes makes him crave more, he can feel the heat of Hannibal’s body. 

 

‘Hannibal,’ the word slips out of Will’s mouth and he is almost sure he didn’t say it all, if not for the firm grip of Hannibal’s hands around his waist. He reaches out to Hannibal and his hand connects. It’s working, his plan is working, but as soon as he puts his ear to Hannibal’s chest he’s transported back to the cliff. Where he made the worst decision of his life. 

 

‘I’m sorry.’ I was afraid. ‘I didn’t know.’ I am in love with you. Tears once again fall down his cheeks, they taste bitter on his tongue. Will’s breath hitches and Hannibal’s hand leaves his waist. He grabs his arm and guides it back to the place it should be and reality crashes into him.  

 

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’ Will angirly wipes away his tears. ‘How could I forget that’s not him.’ He had a plan, he had and then when he was in his arms it evaporated. How is he going to change Hannibal if he keeps slipping like that. He changes and Will can feel Hannibal’s eyes on his back, that follow him from the hotel room to the inside of the rental car. 

 

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Will stares out the window as familiar sites pass him and thoughts fill his head. Beverly, cut up and displayed. Abigail, haunted and dead. Alana, prim, proper and elegant. Her attitude, cold, her warmth hidden under the surface. Jack and his famous anger cooled to form a knife’s edge that was able to pick apart others with methodological precision. 

 

There are pivotal moments that brought the future he knows. To get the future he wants, he needs to reshape it.

 

What will his design be?

 

Time repeats exactly, the trailer, the secretary grumbling about their presence, as he skims the resignation letter.

 

‘Would you say the chances are high for this Hobbs fellow to be our Shrike, Will?’ Will can feel Hannibal’s curiosity leak out and flood the room, he needs to get his thoughts away from the shrike. Will checks that the secretary is far enough away as to not give her signals and leans seductively on the filing cabinet. He tilts his head to show off his kissable neck. He inwardly grins as Hannibal’s eyes dilate. 

 

‘I'm not making any assessment until I meet Hobbs myself.’ Hannibal nods and accepts his assessment without a fight or word against it. This man who accepts his mind and doesn’t look at him as if he will burst out of his skin and start slaughtering the innocent in horror but rather fascination. The croon of Hannibal’s eyes wraps Will up in its unspoken song as he closes in on him. Will’s hand twitches, he wants to reach out and touch him, be close to him, prove that he’s here and this is not a dream but he just can’t move.

 

Hannibal’s hand hovers over his but doesn’t reach out to him, it’s just there waiting for him to take it. Will’s breath hitches. He can hear his heart beating away in his ears. Their hands touch and Hannibal’s fingers slot between his, Will slumps against the cabinet but he’s soon pulled into Hannibal’s orbit. Will’s face meets the soft fabric of Hannibal’s sweater, he breathes in his scent and his eyes trail up to meet his eyes. Will lets out small breaths as they draw closer together.

 

‘Umm hmm umm.’ The secretary’s cough cleaves Will from Hannibal’s eyes. ‘Did you two still need the address for Mr. Hobbs or…?’ Right they are working the Hobbs case again, the warmth of Hannibal’s hand leaves his and Will’s fingers twitch. 

 

Will can feel Hannibal prodding him with his eyes, he doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to see that face with that mind behind it but he can’t help himself. His gaze meets Hannibal’s once again and he can read the message in his eyes: we will talk later. Will shuffles his feet, bites his lip and nods.

 

He floats around the room in a daze, everyone playing their part in this repeat episode. His mind half focused as he already has his man, but now he has to figure out a way to save Abigail. If he leaves Hobbs alive that will link Abigail to his crimes, Hobbs wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. Killing her father again might also end in her death. What he needs to do is get Abigail away from her father and distance her from his actions. He taps his finger on the box. Perhaps the person who needs to pull the trigger isn’t him, but how though...He will figure that part out later. He grabs the paper, and walks outside, where a mess of papers greets him. 

 

‘I’ve got it.’ Will picks up the papers and starts to put them back into their proper place. ‘Clumsy, clumsy.’ Will makes an exaggerated roll of his eyes at Hannibal. Who puts his hands up in a false surrender and saunters off to get the last box in the office.

 

Will loads up the boxes into the car and a thought niggles at the back of his mind. There was an incident that occured after this, that lynch pin that intertwined him with Abigail.

  

Frozen shards of ice creep down his spine. He forgot about Hannibal’s part in this, how could he forget. The moment that Hannibal could have been caught. Outrage fuels him inside of the trailer and he hears the tail end of the conversation between Hannibal and Hobbs.

 

‘You called Garrett Jacob Hobbs,’ Will states as he glances up at the ceiling as he waits to hear whether Hannibal shall outright lie to him.

 

‘I was merely ascertaining if Mr. Hobbs was home for an interview.’ The truth with a lie. Will can’t help the chuckle that passes through his lips at how Hannibal manages to twist the world of lies and truth together to create his own reality. 

 

‘Don't do anything again without my permission.’ Letting his whimsy take control is a bad habit he’ll have to break him off. He will have to create a rewards system. Training Hannibal is going to be much like training a dog, lots of little accidents along the way. 

 

‘Get in the car and please find me at that address in the next five minutes.’ Will pushes down his indignation as Hannibal trails on his heels through the trailer and into the car.

 

Will grips the steering wheel tight as he drives. He hears Hannibal say the address but he’s already on his way. He’s saying words and Hannibal’s replying but he’s half focused on the conversation, his thoughts are on the future ahead. The more he mulls over possible choices, the question remains unanswered. Street signs disappear, the electric numbers flicker and change, the precipice approaches, he can’t do this alone, he needs Hannibal in his head. Ahead the flash of a calm green turns to a scorched red.

 

‘Can I trust you won't tell Jack anything about what I'm about to say?’ Will asks, his shoulders tense as he waits for his answer. 

 

‘Anything you tell me in confidence stays between us.’ Will’s shoulders relax at the reassuring words and will tells Hannibal what he knows.

 

‘She is a killer then, a fledgling.’

 

‘No.’ While there’s no doubt Abigail has darkness in her it will not thrive, it was never meant to. ‘It's captor bonding and she's survived on her own just fine, until…’ He refused himself and in turn Hannibal ‘...we put her in a situation where she ended up dying anyway.’

 

‘She is alive, Will.’ Will can feel the gentle embrace of Hannibal’s hand on his own, warmth spreads over him like a hug. ‘You want to save her, protect her.’

 

‘I do. I want her alive and away from Jack's list of suspects.’ He couldn’t give that to her in the past but now he has the opportunity too, if only he could see the design. 

 

‘Feeling paternal, Will?’ Once he would have liked to be, but he had tried on the father hat once before, it was ill-fitting and bound him up. Forcing himself on Abigail again would be cruel to both of them, but while he couldn’t be there as a father he could be a friend, which they could both use.

 

‘I don't know her, but it feels like I've lived a life with her.’ Hannibal links their hands together. His beautiful hands that have given and taken so much from him. The control he has in these longer slender pads and the power he has given him. ‘She hasn't been in control for some time. I'd like to give her some of her control back.’

 

‘And how do you suppose she does that?’ With those smooth methodical words the pieces he has slot into one another and the design reveals itself to him. He can’t wait to show Hannibal the beauty that he is about to put out into the world.

 

Beeeeeeepppppp.

 

Fuck. Will curses to himself, he looks back down at his and Hannibal’s intertwined fingers. Will lets out a sigh, and detaches his rough hand from Hannibal’s soft one to meet the lukewarm gear shift. In his peripheral vision he sees Hannibal nodding off. The view spreads warmth through him. He keeps one eye on the road and another on the beautiful sight of Hannibal indulging in the human aspect of sleep. The quiet of this moment allows Will to breathe, but the air sits heavy in his lungs as he spots the penultimate street approaching. He grips the plastic in his hand, and he hears Hannibal’s voice in his ears. 

 

You worry too much Will. His smooth voice lulls the tempest that swirls inside of him. Hannibal is here with him, this will work. He pulls up to the house with a few minutes to spare and turns to Hannibal. Will delights in Hannibal’s unguarded appearance and he can’t help and touch him to know that he is here with him.       

 

‘Wake up, we're here, Hannibal.’ Will moves his hand upward, and caresses his head, the hairs are soft and fine beneath his touch. Hannibal stirs and comes too under his ministrations. He knows they have to leave the car, but he just can’t pull himself away from touching this magnificent creature in front of him. Will’s hand strokes down to Hannibal’s neck, and finds his pulse that beats pleasantly under his fingers, he could stay like this forever. 

 

‘Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.’ A scream rips him away from Hannibal and he jumps out of the car.

 

‘Shit,’ Will says he can feel Hannibal’s presence behind him as they race up to the front door of the house. ‘Get her,’ Will orders, though Will knows it’s already too late for her, he just needs to keep Hannibal out of his way. He crosses the threshold and there’s Abigail, knife to her throat, she whimpers, her face contorts between fear, and anguish. 

 

‘Who are you!!!’ The knife in Garret's hand shakes. 

 

‘I’m Will Graham. I’m here to help you,’ Will says and puts up his arms to show that he’s unarmed. ‘I’m from the FBI.’

 

‘Don’t come closer, you want to take her from me.’ 

 

‘You chose those girls, to save your daughter.’ Will can see Garret take notice of his words and inches towards him. ‘That’s why you killed them, so you wouldn’t have to kill her.’ 

 

‘She was going to leave me,’ Garret whines as though he were the victim in all of this. ‘I don’t want to hurt her.’ Abigail’s silent tears fall down her cheeks. 

 

‘But you are.’ He’s a foot away from him now, the blade is dangerously close to piercing Abigail’s neck. ‘Put down the knife.’ Will prepares himself and he sends out his line into the water. ‘You kill her, and you won’t be able to honour her.’ The knife in Garrett’s hand stills. Will internally grins, as Garret nibbles at the bait. ‘She will rot beneath the ground, her flesh wasted. Do you want that for her?’

 

Garret shakes his head. ‘No, no, no, never for her…never. All of her needs to be honoured.’ He sees a glint in Hobbs eye’s and his design reveals itself to him. He’s taken the bait. Garret throws Abigail into the cabinets and lunges at him. 

 

‘Gahhh!!!’ Will yelps as the knife connects to his shoulder, he pulls away, blood splatters his glasses, his hand moves quickly and he takes out his gun. The clang of metal hits Linounem, and Garret’s fights with him for the gun, they fall down in a tangle of adrenaline and rage. 

 

Will struggles against Garret, his manic energy fuels his strength but he refuses to let go, he refuses this to end the same way, this is his design. Garret’s digs his finger into his shoulder and the gun clatters to the ground. Garret takes the gun and rises. Will sees the design play out before his eyes, Garret will kill Abigail, than him, and honour them both. He can’t move, is his design going to end before it even has a chance to begin. Abigail’s soft cries assault his ears.

 

He moves in front of her, a shadow passes over him

 

—Bang—

 

and falls.

 

‘Hannibal!!!!!!!!’ An inferno fuels Will and he rises to bring down Hobb’s, the gun flies out of his hand. They struggle on the ground, fists flying, to meet pudgy bodies and they’re standing once again.

 

Out of the corner of Will’s eye he sees Abigail and the gun, Will moves and Hobbs drops to the ground as thunderous cracks fill the air. Will runs to Abigail who sways on her feet. He catches her, and lays her next to Hannibal. He brings his hands to his phone instead of looking at Hannibal’s wounds even though he desperately wants nothing more to check, but Hannibal is still alert, and still breathing. He forces himself not to look, brings out his phone and barks out a message to Jack, not even waiting for him to respond; he hangs up the phone, and it falls beside him. 

 

Will’s hands linger over Hannibal’s body before he presses down on the wound, he thought he was done with this hell. ‘ You got shot.’

 

‘An astute observation, darling. You've stabbed yourself.’ Will has to stop himself from laughing at Hannibal’s sass. How is it that every time Hannibal is wounded that he can stay so calm and collected, while Will loses his mind.

 

‘You didn't have to take a bullet for her.’ He had always wanted to save Abigail, but the truth is, deep in his heart he would sacrifice her in a heart beat for Hannibal, nothing was more important than him. She isn’t worth the price of losing Hannibal.

 

‘I did not.’

 

‘Why did you do it?’ Will asks. Why would Hannibal put himself in danger like this, he just can’t see the reason, there is no curiosity in this, it’s so unlike him. 

 

‘Saving Abigail seemed important to you.’ Butterflies swarm in Will’s stomach, Hannibal’s gaze moves towards Abigail and Will follows his line of wandering sight. ‘Tell me Will, did she take back control?’ Will looks to the kitchen and sees Garret’s corpse slumped down, rigamortis setting in. 

 

‘ I'd say she took it back just fine.’ Will’s hand travels to the back of Hannibal’s head, he leans in, closes his eyes, and breathes in his cologne and natural Hannibal smell. ‘Don't do anything this reckless again. Don't you dare fucking die on me again,’ Will grounds out, ‘self-sacrifice doesn't suit you.’ Hannibal reaches out and his warm hand cups Will’s cheek and he can see exhaustion written on Hannibal’s face, the sound of alarms intrudes on his space, and he knows Hannibal will be safe.

 

‘Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up,’ Will assures him, as he closes his eyes, and drifts off. Hannibal will be fine. He has to be.

Chapter 3: Purgatory

Summary:

Stay with me.

Will hears Hannibal's voice reverberate through his mind.

Stay with me.

Figures lengthen and features straighten out, he feels as if he’s moving through gelatin.

Stay with me.

Where else would I go? 

Places and people blur together, he hears questions, he can feel his mouth moving but his voice can’t reach his ears. Waves of conversation flood over him with only a few splatters of words managing to reach into his ears, as he moves about robotically.

 

‘Quantico… move…Johns Hopkins?’ 

 

Stay with me.  Will hears Hannibal's voice reverberate through his mind.

 

‘Stable… moved at…time.’  

 

Stay with me. Figures lengthen and features straighten out, he feels as if he’s moving through gelatin.

 

‘Checked…physiatrist…Quantico…Abigail.’

 

Stay with me. The smell of anesthetic tickles his nose, and his vision settles to reveal a white sterile waiting room populated with a mass of disgruntled people. 

 

Where else would I go? 

 

Will slumps down into the hard plastic of the chair and stares into the face of the clock that ticks between two numbers, unable to go forward, stuck in stasis. 

 

Will thumbs his blue checkered fabric between his fingers and a frown mars his features. These aren’t the clothes he had been wearing when Hannibal was shot… oh right they had been taken for evidence…who went to his hotel room and got this shirt though, maybe Jack... 

 

Will closes his eyes, he takes a deep breath that strains his lungs, and releases it and in turn calms the clash of thoughts that permeate his mind to focus on one, Hannibal. 

 

Being immersed in Hannibal’s presence once again had been euphoric and…enlightening. It was as if he was watching a movie he had once seen as a child, but now older, clarity layered his vision and with it a heart wrenching truth repeated in front of his eyes. 

 

Without Hannibal he is alone, and the same was true for Hannibal…this Hannibal of the before. He could ease the pain, if Hannibal could only see…Had he once felt this way too: the horror at their blindness, the desire to free them of it, the agony of needing them, but just out of reach as their beauty laid buried underneath a tailored person suit, that could so easily unravel with the right blade, but what weapon to use to liberate him? Violence…it had once been their language, but now…what was the point of his bilingual tongue if there is no one to converse with. Chiyoh had said there are other means of influence than this intricate language they had crafted from their courtship…He just had to figure out what that is first.

 

‘Okie dokie pikitiy pokiey Abigail sweety.’ A cheerful voice crashes into him and draws him out of his inner musing, he opens his eyes to the sight of a porky nurse, and the ghostly thin white visage of Abigail. Will was ashamed to admit to himself that she had slipped from his head in the bloodied aftermath. ‘Just wait here a moment, I’ll go and tell the officer downstairs you're ready to talk to him.’ 

 

Abigail’s shoulders bunch up and she wrings her hands together, anyone else who would happen to peer on the scene would assume she was fearing to recall the “incident”, but he knew better. The chipper nurse oblivious to her turmoil pats Abigail’s shoulder in what is meant to be reassuring, but Will can feel it hammer the reality of her situation into her with each fleeting touch.

 

‘You’re going to be just fine dear, you're not in trouble, you’ve done nothing wrong. You just have to be truthful,’ says the nurse kindly and gives a smile that is full of teeth that signals the inevitable on the horizon and with that she strolls down the hall. 

 

Abigail’s eyes flicker back and forth reminiscent of a scarred deer, but there is a strength behind them that deafens Will to the sounds of the E.R as it whispers in his ear.

 

‘You can thrive now, you’re free, you’ve killed the monster.’ Will sees the beast's exhausted rumble thumb under her skin, and she sits up a little straighter. She is a completely different being from the tortured creature she had become, the monstrous suit she had worn was ill-fitting. He wanted her to live, to thrive, to be free, but he wanted a life with Hannibal more. The reality where he has Abigail and Hannibal doesn’t exist, but the reality where she exists, where he has Hannibal that is enough for him.  

 

Will wanders over to Abigail, her shoulder tenses, but then releases as he sits down beside her. That’s good, there is some semblance of trust she has given him. The tap of feet and sounds of the clinical environment seep into Will’s pores, and he waits for the one question he can feel bubble up inside of her. 

 

‘How did you know it was my dad?’ Will makes a show of taking off his glasses and pinches his brow. 

 

‘A guess.’ Technically not a lie.

 

‘Then if you thought—why did he call?’ 

 

‘Hannibal is a recent consultant and has not been versed in FBI protocol yet, he was trying to be of help to me but in turn—’

 

‘He accidentally tipped off my father.’ Will nods his head.

 

‘Exactly.’ Abigail picks at the corner of her sleeve.

 

‘Does it often go like that, with him helping you out?’ Abigail asks. Always so bright she can already see there’s something deeper between them.

 

Will lets out an unintentional  snort. ‘Yes.’ He rubs forehead and stares up at the ceiling. ‘I love him but then he does…things like this.’ Will throws his hands up. ‘It makes me worry for him and his future.’ 

 

Abigail eyes plunge to the ground. ‘What is Hannibal to you?’ She chokes her sleeve. Will suppresses a grin, smart girl, she’s caught onto his message and now she’s fishing. At least he managed to teach that to her in the end.

 

‘He’s…everything to me.’ Will catches her eye and they lock into a trance. ‘The FBI doesn't know about our relationship. I’ve tried to keep Hannibal and my work separate, but they have been seeped into one another. I just..I don’t want him to end up in trouble because he was just trying to help me.’ Abigail’s bunch up. ‘I don’t want him to be blamed, he’s a victim as well, he deserves to have a life. You both do.’ Will hopes his subtext manages to get through to her. Say the call was an anonymous tip, keep my secret and I will protect you.

 

‘Err, sorry to intrude,’ A uniform blurts out interrupting their moment. ‘We need your statement?’ Abigail nods and follows the man in blue. 

 

Will feels a fire burn in his chest as he watches Abigail disappear from his sights. She will survive this time, she will live this time, she is finally free.

 

‘Are you the agent that came in with the ambulance?’ The nurse asks snapping out of his staring contest with the hall. Will nods in confirmation, and gets up halfway before a hand appears in front his face that shoots him back down into the hard plastic seat. 

 

‘Oh no need to get up. I just came to inform you of your partner’s current status.’ She sits down beside him. ‘I didn’t want to leave you in purgatory, wondering about your boyfriend.’ Will’s heart almost stops in his chest at hearing those words, such childish words for what they are to each other yet a confirmation of a bond by a third party. He should clear it up…but he would like to exist in that world where he is Hannibal’s…boyfriend a while longer. 

 

‘He’s in a coma.’ Will’s breath freezes in his lung. ‘His heart stopped once in the theatre.’ Will feels his hands go cold at the news, the ground moves beneath his feet and the lights burn him. 'We've had to put him in a medically induced coma to stop the infection from spreading. He’s not quite out of the woods yet, but he’s breathing on his own, so we’re hopeful we can bring him out of it once his body has recovered. They’re just finishing up so you’ll be able to sit with him in a bit.’ she tells him in a reassuring voice. Will feels as if he’s in the cold unknown once again, searching for Hannibal but unable to find him, a warm hand on his shoulder drags to the surface. ‘Is he a strong person?’

 

‘What?’ Asks Will as the salt water drains out of his ears.

 

‘Is he a strong person?’ There is no one stronger than Hannibal, not even death could claim him.

 

 ‘Beyond all doubt.’

 

‘Then believe in that fact and hold it close, because there is nothing you can do here, it’s all up to him.’ Will bites his lip and touches the arm of his glasses..

 

‘Is there truly nothing I can do for him?’ Will asks, he can’t help himself, he wan—no needs her words to be false, and she looks at him with kind but firm eyes.

 

‘What would make him happy. Do it for him so when he comes back to you he will get a wonderful surprise?’ The nurse responds, she pats his shoulder a couple of times and walks away. 

 

Will lets out a long tortuous sigh and rubs his hands over his face and contemplates the question in front of him. What would make Hannibal happy…Will can’t help the grimace that stretches his facial muscles. There had to be something else, he racks his brain, but he’s left with the only act that could bring a smile to his beloved's face.

 

Will opens his messenger bag, takes out his laptop and begins the motnous journey of getting Hannibal his dues. He won’t rest until the FBI covers Hannibal’s treatment and room, they can have a nice chuckle over it if-when he wakes up, because he will wake up, he has too.

 

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Will tears the door open and flings himself into the room. His footsteps pound in his eardrums but fade as Hannibal's static face consumes his vision. An honest to goodness sleeping beauty, but unfortunately, a kiss wouldn’t wake him from this slumber. 

 

Will places his small hand in Hannibal’s massive one. ‘Please Hannibal,’ Will whispers, his thumb rubs circles the indent between Hannibal’s thumb and finger. ‘You have to wake up. I can’t have made it all the way back here, just to lose you again.’ He hopes for a smart reply, a quip or a pun but the only sound comes from the beeps of the heart monitor. He always seems to forget that despite Hannibal being a god like creature, he is in fact a mortal man with a body made of flesh and blood. 

 

‘Will,’ Jack's voice intrudes, violating the sanctity of the room. His callous footsteps clack on the linoleum and Jack transforms into every serial killer in a slasher movie by the taps of hot breaths on Will’s neck. 

 

Will sigh’s and begrudgingly relents to Jack's presence. ‘What do you want, Jack?’ Though it is a redundant question since he already knew what Jack wanted, it’s what he always wanted, not like he came to him for anything else.

 

‘I want you back out there. We have a whole field of people buried alive, covered in Mushrooms. We need to find the monster that did this.’ Eldon Stammets, Will’s mind helpfully supplies but doesn’t say out loud, he does not want to be locked up again. ‘You’re wasting your time here.’ Will takes an imaginary deep breath, and pushes down his murderous urges. Killing Jack again will present new problems, keeping him around is the best option, even though it would feel so cathartic to kill him. Will turns to face Jack.

 

‘I want to be here when he wakes up.’ 

 

Jack lets out a sigh, rubs his brow and reveals the “look”, the one that says Will can’t make any decisions for himself, that he should just do as he is told, that he needs to submit because Jack is doing important work.

 

‘Will, I know you feel guilty-’

 

‘No, Jack, those are your emotions not mine,’ Will says, cutting Jack off mid sentence. ‘I’m worried, Hannibal’s my partner—my boyfriend—and I need to be here when he wakes up because he will wake up.’

 

Jack takes a visceral step back as if he had been slapped. ‘I need to…um…talk to Alana.’ Jack retreats from the room and Will lets out a sigh of relief. Why does it keep on slipping his mind that this Hannibal doesn’t know him, what if he doesn’t reciprocate his feelings? Though judging by how Hannibal had acted the other day…Will clutches his head as agony spears through his mind and finally relents…He will deal with all his stretched truths, once Hannibal awakens.

 

He slumps down in the chair and grasps Hannibal’s hand once again. The rhythmic sounds from the heart monitor soothes his nerves and gently lulls him to sleep. 

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

‘He’s clearly delusional.’ Alana’s voice intrudes into the blackness of his sleep and rouses him begrudgingly into the waking world once more.

 

‘How do we fix this, my best profiler can’t have a breakdown now?’ He hears Jack ask, as if he’s worried about Will, not scheming with Alana to get him back in the field. 

 

‘The best thing would be to break him out of it, this is not a healthy state for him to be in and when Hannibal wakes up and doesn’t reciprocate his feelings…I fear for Will’s mental health, he could spiral. I’m afraid for him, Jack.’ Will suppress a snort, but he would rather not deal with the pair knowing that he was listening in on their “private” conversation. 

 

There’s a brief knock on the door, and Alana smashes the peace and quiet with  the clack of her heels that bounces off the walls. Will doesn’t offer her a glance, keeping his eyes firmly on Hannibal’s placid face.

 

‘How are you, Will?’ Alana asks. Will grits his teeth as her soft therapist tone intrudes into his ears. He can’t say that he’s missed this version of her. Wanting to study him, but too afraid to cross that boundary; wanting him to be able to connect but not with other people; wanting him all for herself so she can put him in a glass box to be dissected at her leisure.

 

‘I will be better, once Hannibal wakes up,’ Will replies with a clipped tone. He can hear Alana shuffling about as if she is searching for a pen.

 

‘If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you and Hannibal been together?’

 

‘Five years,’ Will answers automatically, widening the hole he’s digging himself into. 

 

‘I’ve known Hannibal for years, he even mentored me,’ Alana explains in a prideful tone, ‘and he’s never once mentioned being in a relationship with you, don’t you think that’s odd.’

 

‘No, we keep our private life private or we did…until now…’ Will cleaves Hannibal from his sights and he bores into Alana’s eyes. ‘Is that so odd, many couples don’t bring the workplace into their home. Why would he tell you about our personal life.’ 

 

‘Hmm…I see,’ she says a little abashedly, ‘I just…well,’ Alana coughs, he can see he choking down her doubts and repainting herself with the confident airs she came in with. ‘I thought Hannibal would choose a partner he would have more in common with. Who was able to go to parties and the opera.’ Code for rich, well bred, a WASP, meaning her, as if she knew who Hannibal really was, she only saw his person suit not the monster that lays inside. ‘How do you maintain your relationship?’ In other words, Will, you’re too poor, too broken, too unstable to have someone like Hannibal. The subtext of her words grates on Will’s last nerve. 

 

‘Just because,' says Will, his tone ice cold. He rises and Alana stumbles back. Will can feel his rage leaking out into every crevice of the room, but doesn’t rein in these emotions. ‘You know one aspect of him. One. Simple. Aspect.’ Alana’s back hits the door. ‘That doesn’t mean you know all of him.’ Will reaches behind her, he can see goosebumps bubble on her neck, and he slides the door open in a slow methodical manner. ‘Don’t come back here Alana and don’t worry I’m going home tonight, so I will take care of my dogs.’ Will steps once into her space and she stumbles out of the room next to a stunned Jack who puts a hand on her shoulder.

 

‘Wil-’ He slides the door on her surprised face and returns to Hannibal’s side, ignoring the fading chatter from behind the door. Will strokes Hannibal’s wrist, he can feel the faint pulse that indicates his beating heart. He glances up at the door, he’s kept the world at bay for a moment, but how long will that last for? He’d rather never go back to being Jack’s crime gimp, but as much as he is loathes to admit to himself, he has to come back. Working for Jack means he would be leading the Ripper case and he can point his finger at a suitable patsy to take the fall for Hannibal’s crimes. Chilton was a poor substitute for Hannibal, as a physiatrist and as a serial killer. He already had the perfect patsy in mind. He could do all this if he could just tear himself away from Hannibal’s side. The mere thought of being cleaved from him roots him into the chair. From prison to coma, the agony that racks through his body as he’s right in front of him, yet so far away.

 

‘That’s not me,’ Hannibal’s voice whispers in his ears, ‘I’m still out of reach.’

 

‘Then I’ll get you back,’ Will whispers, ‘I promise.’ The heart beneath his finger tips disappears, Will’s hands go numb, his mouth goes dry, edges of the world blur and the sound of the heart monitor flatlining rings in his ears. 

 

Nurses swarm into the room, hands pull at him, a charge of a monitor burns his ears, his feet drag along the floor, a zap, the roll of wheels on the floor, and he’s thrown into lukewarm waters of the hallway. His body envelopes the door, his ear hungry for an electronic heart and forces his own to quieten…another zap, dead air, another zap, the heart wrenching sound of a singular line that cans through his body, another zap…he can…he can hear it those methodical pings of Hannibal’s beating heart. Will lets go of a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in and slides to the ground. 

 

‘Will.’ Abigail’s voice breaks through his haze.

 

‘Oh, Abigail, I was just ummm.’ Will looks between her and the door that contained his love and springs up. ‘What’s happening with you?’

 

‘I just got discharged…I was actually looking for you…I um wanted to talk to you actually.’ Abigail shrugs. Will hums as he reads her emotions confusion, loss and hurt, he knew those feelings all too well.

 

Will’s stomach growls, when was it that he ate last. ‘Why don’t we talk about this over food.’

 

Abigail shrugs. ‘As long as it's not from here, I’m getting tired of hospital food.’ Each step felt as though he was dragging his feet through molasses, but he kept on with his pace until his butt met the metal chair, and a menu in front of him. 

 

‘Maybe, I should have braved the hospital food,’ Abigail says, eyeing the pink decor warily as she plonks herself down on a rainbow painted chair.    

 

‘My lovely’s,’ a colourful waitress says in a sugary sweet tone. ‘What can I get you?’ 

 

‘I’ll have a Strawberry Surprise Pancake Stack and a…Unicorn Frappe.’ 

 

‘I’ll have the same.’ Will hands off the menus to the waitresses. Abigail gives him a quizzical look, Will shrugs and the waitress scurries off.

 

‘So…’Will trails off, unsure how to start a conversation. ‘You’re out now.’ 

 

‘Yes, though I don’t know where I will go, they’re talking about sending me to a group therapy place, but I’m not crazy…’ Abigail rubs her forehead ‘I just…I wish…’ 

 

I wish my father never killed anyone.

 

I wish I could go back.

 

I wish no one knew.

 

I wish…

 

‘Here you go my sweets.’ Piles of pink whip cream with a smattering of candied fruits fills his vision. He’s afraid to look at his drink though from his position it would much be like Abigail’s, a pink monstrosity to the degustation gods. ‘Enjoy.’

 

‘That was quick,’ Abigail says.

 

‘Simple recipes equals quick time.’ The waitress leaves with a swish. Will takes a bite of his cream tower and Abigail winces abandoning her fork, but Will keeps on shovling in the food. Abigail shoots him a look, he can hear the words in her head, are you okay, but she doesn’t verbalise it and he’s thankful for that. There is an understanding  in the quiet, he feels comfort in the silence, more than words could bring.

 

‘You can stay at my place if you want.’ Will wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth. What is wrong with him? Usually, his sentences are carefully planned out. First stating that he’s Hannibal’s boyfriend and now offering his place Abigail, his impulsivity is bordering on dangerous territory. Hannibal’s absence is taking a toll on him, Will’s mirroring his whimsical nature, although from him its erratic not adorably eccentric.

 

‘I don’t want your pity.’ Abigail shakes her head.

 

‘Don’t take it the wrong way,’ Will says, ‘I need someone to look after my dogs for me.’ He plays off his words as if it's simply for his benefit not hers when the opposite was true. Keeping Abigail out of Sage Grove is beneficial to her mental health, now she won’t have to mask day and night. 

 

‘I can always hire someone else if you don’t want to do it, but I’m just saying it’s better than the hospital at least.’ Will can see Abigail contemplating his words.

 

‘I can teach you what you need to do.’ Will looks down at his watch. ‘I should go back tonight anyway and get some stuff.’ 

 

‘Maybe you should shower and change clothes as well. I can smell you from here.’ Will chuckles, their interactions had always been strained and full of tension. The transformation is much preferred.

 

‘I think I can see a new phase of reality.’ The hairs on the back of Will’s neck stand on edge as Hannibal’s voice intrudes in his ear. ‘I wonder if you can make it last.’ Will  clutches the back of his neck and rubs it, trying to smooth away the jitters. A ting of the bell disrupts his unease. Abigail’s eyes go wide, she clutches her knife and fork, her fingers turning white at the strangulation. Will turns around to see Nicholas Boyle.

 

He points at Abigail, his whole body vibrating with anger. ‘You lured those girls, you helped murder my sister!’ His footsteps thunder across the pink tiles. Abigail’s flushes white and Will puts himself between the hostile force and her. ‘You killed your father to cover up your crimes!’ 

 

‘Abigail is a victim as much as your sister is,’ Will calmly tells him. He can feel Abigail shiver behind him, in fear of the truth, of fear of her secret being exposed, of fear of being seen as a copy of her father.

 

‘She is a murderer.’ Nicholas’ hot breath beats Will’s face and he fights the urge to push him back. He’s looking for a fight and Will isn’t going to give him one.

 

‘She took a life because I was too afraid to pull the trigger myself.’ Will shakes his head to ensure a smile doesn’t bloom on his face. ‘Leave now before I arrest you.’ Nicholas huffs and marches out of the cafe.

 

‘Can we go, I’ve lost my appetite,’ says Abigail weakly.

 

‘Same.’ Keeping his eyes on where Nicholas retreated from there’s a nagging sensation at the back of his brain. There’s something important he’s forgetting, a crucial event. Will pushes up his glasses and rubs his eyes. It seemed his hours of sleeplessness were finally getting to him. He’s needs to return to Wolf Trap and get his bearings.  

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

‘...and that’s Elle,’ Will says finishing off his introduction to his pack.

 

‘They’re adorable,’ says Abigail, giving pats to all the excited fluffy faces as she trails behind him up the stairs and he shows her the bedroom.

 

‘I usually sleep in the living room, so you can have the bed.’ Abigail nods. Will opens the draws and takes out his clothes. ‘I’m going to have a shower. Can you feed the dogs, their food is in the fridge in a plastic container.’

 

‘Will do.’

 

Will brushes past her and heads into the bathroom. He turns on the shower, places his clothes on the closed toilet lid, strips down and checks the temperature—lukewarm—He hops in.  

 

Water floods down his back, Will soaps his body up, cleaning off the blood he had missed from the Hobbs house, it felt like a lifetime ago. In another universe he would have been at Abigail’s side with Hannibal as they wait for her to recover, now, time has shifted. Will clutches his head and a pain strikes through that turns to a dull throb at the back of his skull. Will rubs his hand through his hair and turns off the water. He thought he was done with headaches. A scream runs up the stairs and rushes into his ears. 

 

Will grabs a towel tying it around his middle and he fly’s down the stairs, his toes graze the wood and he enters the scene he had only heard of materialise in front of him. 

 

Nicholas Boyle dead. Abigail with blood on her hands. 

 

How did he let this happen again, the events are appearing quicker and quicker, he can barley wrap his mind around it, everything feels fuzzy around the edges.

 

‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Will repeats as he takes the knife out of her clenched fist. Will throws it away, he sinks to her level and he wraps her in a tight hug. Every tremor moves through his body like they are his own. Will rocks her, and rubs her back as she weeps into his bare shoulder. 

 

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’ Those words should be coming from his mouth. ‘I…then…I just,’ Abail sputters out, her back heaves against his fingers.

 

‘Don’t worry I’ll fix it,’ Will whispers as he rubs back.

 

‘Are you going to call Jack?’ asks Abigail, her voice wavers and her body tenses underneath his hands. She had wanted to separate herself from her father and now because of Nicholas Boyle she was once again drawn into this world of blood and lies. Now, she will forever branded as his murderous offspring. She has been condemned. Will scrunches his eyes tight to halt her oncoming thoughts.

 

‘No,’ Will reasures her and her body relaxes. ‘He sees the world in absolutes, he would twist it to make you the villain and Nicholas the victim.’

 

‘What are you going to do,’ Abigail asks, her bright watery green eyes staring up at him. 

 

Will eyes the cooling body of Nicholas Boyle and his mind runs as a design shows itself to him that will interweave her into his life. 

 

Abigail wa—no, needs the body to be found, he wants her to trust him, she wants to be free of accusations of being her fathers accomplice, Will wants the same. She doesn’t want to be trapped in a full on lie, but a partial lie is acceptable. What should he do? No, that’s the wrong question, what would Hannibal do if he was here.

 

‘Were going to blame someone else.’ 

 

*************************************************

 

A knock rouses Will from his slumber, a huff annoyance passes through his lips as he drags himself across the floor, and bites back the twinge of joy he feels at the sight of Jack at his door.

 

‘It’s the Ripper,’ Jack says and pushes past him and into his space. ‘I need you on this Will.’ Will makes an unimpressed face and Jack sighs. ‘Please Will.’ There is something so delicious about having Jack beg for his help. Will sighs. In his head it was so easy to submit himself to Jack again, but now…he just wants to get back to the hospital. He could figure out the crime scene for himself, Will practically gifted wrapped it for him.

 

‘Look Jack, I need to get back to Hannibal, I need to be there when he wakes up.’ 

 

‘ Do you think Hannibal would want this for you. Being by his side when you could be out saving lives from the mushroom killer, the ripper.’ Will rubs his forehead.

 

‘Look Jack I—’

 

‘You should go with him,’ Hannibal’s voice once again rumbles in his ears, ‘cement your design with curated words.’

 

Will bites his lip. ‘Fine,’ Will growls. ‘What’s the address.’ Will rubs his hand through his hair and Jacks rattles off the address, but Will isn’t listening, he already knows it. ‘I need to put some clothes on. I’ll take my own car’ Jack smiles and pats him on the back and leaves without another word. As expected. Will suppress the urge to growl at Jack’s retreating back. Remember for Hannibal, do this for Hannibal. He plays that mantra as he changes into his clothes, leaves a note for Abigail and drives to the crime scene, pulling up to a disgruntled Jack.

 

‘What took you so long,’ Jack grumbles as he practically drags him out of the car and they head to his beautifully constructed crime scene. 

 

Nicholas Hobbs looks different in the daylight. His body displayed like Marrisa, a striking similarity with a small flair of a heart made out of flowers replacing his old beating one.

 

Will had contemplated if he should set up a new scene instead of copying Hannibal’s design, but the thought of his art not existing again made his stomach squirm, his hands sweaty and made his limbs weak. Hannibal needed to exist, even if it is only in his memory.

 

‘We have an Id, Nicholas Boyle,’ a faceless policeman says. 

 

‘What was he even doing down here?’ Jack asks him as if he could divine the answer for him, though there would be no need for his prayers.

 

‘He confronted Abigail yesterday,’ Will admits with a feigned sigh, he rather nip all possible accusations at Abigail in the bud before they could bloom.

 

‘Why am I only hearing about this now?’ Jack raises an eyebrow.

 

‘I sorted it out. She came home with me last night.’ Will can see the lines Jack is connecting in his head. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, she didn’t do this, this is the work of the ripper,’ Will confirms, who takes the bait and he’s hooked.. 

 

‘The question remains.’ Jack appraises the scene with his clouded vision. ‘Why him, the sister of the shrike victim?’

 

‘There’s been speculation about an apprentice.’ Will points to the body. ‘I believe you have him.’ Will walks around Jack and leaves no time for rebuttal. ‘After Hobbs, Boyle was looking for a new mentor. What better one than the Cheaspeake Ripper,’ supplied Will.

 

‘How did he find the ripper?’ When we couldn’t goes unsaid.

 

‘Cannibal’s of a feather flock together,’ answers Will, who shrugs. ‘Could be the internet seeking one another out. Another possibility is that they ran into each other when searching for victims completely by accident.’

 

‘I don’t believe in accidents.’ Jack casts a stern eye over the mounted body. ‘We won’t know more, until we get the body to the morgue.’ It’s not as if that would help, Will had made sure to clean up after himself. ‘In the meantime, there’s another case.’

 

‘Ohhh.’

 

‘How do you feel about mushrooms?’ Will fights back the urge to groan, another boring serial killer, well at least he knows his name this time. He just has to use scratch paper to show his workings out. No need for the team to think he’s a serial killer again. ‘I’ll see you back at Quantico to be debriefed by the team,’ says Jack, slipping away from him before Will even has a chance to answer. 

 

Will sighs and slides back into his car and drives to Quantico, where he seamlessly moves with Jack from the carpark to the morgue, where he sees her.

 

Beverly Kats, living breathing and whole. He hears introductions by Jack that float by him and his eyes scurry to the corpses. The decaying mushroom bodies reeks of desperation. How unlike his Hannibal in the presentation of the dead, his tableaus are beautiful, paying attention to the victim and satries their existence. 

 

‘They went alive into the ground,’ Price’s voice feels echoey and far away. Everything does the further he goes from Hannibal’s presence.

 

‘Strange,’ he hears Beverly murmurs. ‘What do you see Will?’

 

‘Huh, Oh, we’re looking for a chemist, a floater. He’s drugging diabetics and putting them in the ground to connect with them through mushrooms.’ The team looks at him oddly, but not Beverly. She has a curious gaze, trying to see how he managed to get the information.

 

‘How do you know they’re diabetics?’ 

 

‘They went into the ground asleep, drugs would mess with the mushroom's growth I’m assuming. How do you put someone out without the use of a narcotic, turn their biology against them,’ lectures Will as he tunes out allowing himself to be sheppard from the rows of the dead to the bright lights of the pharmacy. 

 

‘It’s about Will and Hannibal.’ Those words break him out of his trance, he rushes around the counter and pushes Beverly out of the way. 

 

(Not A) Killer By  Freddie Lounds

In a sleepy suburb in the early morning, the Shrike prepares a breakfast of human flesh for his blissfully unaware family. On the TV the news breaks his identity to the world and with it the fragile reality of his household. The Shrike [Garret Jacob Hobbs] slaughters his wife and almost does the same to his daughter, if not for the intervention of Special Agent Will Graham. 

Through his ability to empathise with the killer Special Agent Will Graham was able to distract him and Abigail managed to flee his hold. But Special Agent Will Graham so entrenched in the Shrikes personality was unable to pull the trigger, (This is an occurrence that led to his resignation as a police officer as he was unable to pull the trigger when confronted with a suspect). 

Abigail Hobbs had to save herself from Shrike’s clutches and bring an end to her fathers reign of terror. 

His boyfriend, Hannibal Lecter- Will’s can feel the red creep into his cheeks 

is now in a coma as a result of his inaction.

How many more will be maimed or killed by Will’s empathy? If this is what happens to the one he cherishes, what shall happen to those he works with?

 

There in the picture below was Will, captured in full colour caressing Hannibal’s limp hand. 

 

The past had changed yet again, a different picture and a different article.

 

 ‘So, you've got a boyfriend, huh?’ Beverly asks and gives him a sideways glance.

 

‘Yes or are you on the side of Alana that I’m making it up or on Jack’s that it’s a surprise that I have found a person who wants me for more than my mind?’

 

‘I’m disappointed, not surprised,’ Beverly replies.

 

‘Disappointed?’ Will raises an eyebrow at her.

 

‘Yeah, I should have known that you were already taken.’ She winks at him and Will can feel the red in his cheeks. Last time around they were close, but he held her at arm’s length and then he was imprisoned. She came to him to help on cases, but maybe she missed him, wanted to believe his mad ravings but was held back. She was on the verge of becoming a good friend to him before she was murdered. This time he would do everything in his power to save her from Hannibal.

 

‘Will, where’s he going next?’ Jack demands, snapping him out of his thoughts of a known future murder and to an unknown current victim.

 

Last time his victim was Abigail, the connection being made because of Freddie Lounds article. Will’s mind races, his heart pounds loud in his ears, his mouth goes dry and he flexes his fingers. It couldn’t be…but...It made a horrible logical sense of what his next action is going to be. 

 

Stammet’s is going after Hannibal.

 

‘Will, where are you going?’ 

 

‘To Hannibal, he’s going after Hannibal!’ Will fly’s out the door and slides into his car. He tears down the street with a single destination in mind. 

 

Fuck Jack, nothing is worth being under him again, fighting to be heard in Jack’s head, his words failing until it’s too late and the monster is at the door and devouring everyone he loves whole. 

 

He’ll find another way to get any suspicion off of Hannibal.

 

Will grips the handle of his gun; his teeth grind against one another as he spots the hospital coming into his view. No, one will take his Hannibal. Will pulls into the hospital parking lot. His life and his death belong to him and him alone. He slides out of the car. He runs.

Notes:

Well, I hope you enjoyed this brief fic, remember a kudos is lovely, but a comment would be a welcome present.

Chapter 4: Resolve

Summary:

When words fall short, actions speak loudest.

Notes:

The A03 curse is real, but I am still here. I won't let it defeat me. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Will’s legs burn, his shoes pound on the pavement. He grits his teeth and puts his hands on his gun. The cold metal feels soothing beneath his fingers, but does not quell the strikes of worry and fear in his head. The glass doors of the hospital retract and Will is swallowed by the white building. He glances at the cold metal doors of the elevator that flash by as his feet lead him to the stairwell and takes his gun in hand.

He leaps up the stairs as numbers flash by his peripheral vision.

One. Will’s desperate, heavy breath fogs his glasses and clouds his vision.

Two. He rips them off and throws them indifferently into the air.

Three. He doesn’t need them anymore, he has Hannibal.

Four. He grasps the door handle, flings it open and crosses the threshold.

Will sprints down the hall, people swerve out of his way, yelps of shock and screams of, ‘he’s got a gun.’ He veers into Hannibal’s room, his legs tremble, and his breath catches in his chest at the hollow absence that greets him. He’s missed Stammets. Where are they. Will racks his brain as he tries to remember how he apprehended that unworthy psychopath. The um…it was such a long time ago, he raps his gun on his temple as he digs into his memories…the nurse…of Abigail.

 

‘They took her for tests.’

 

‘Who took her!? Who took her!?’

 

‘I don’t know.’ He remembers they were just a minute late to catch Stammets pushing her in the bones of the building.

 

His body moves, his vision blurs and his shoulder burns as he bursts through door after door, each segment of corridor horrifically devoid of life. A scream of Hannibal dwells in his throat but he shoves it down, he’s not awake yet, he can’t return my cries, his words would just put him in danger. His shoes squeak on the linoleum and he ruptures through the door and stares in the familiar eyes of Eldon Stammets.

Stammets lets go of the bed and a gun is brandished in Will’s face, but all he can see is Hannibal lying vulnerable in a death like sleep. Darkness twists inside him and the need to throw the gun away and kill Stammets with his bare hands thrives, it would be so easy. Though the questions that would follow and the damning camera evidence, it would paint him in his true light. His position would be forever in question and Hannibal, who is tied to him, would suffer the same fate he would never be free of scrutiny.

He needs to channel Stammets, gain his view and bury this rage. What he needs now is words he needs to find his words. ‘I see you Stammets,’ Will says breathless as he raises his arms up. ‘You desire to connect to others through the mushrooms, for we all came from the mycelium.’

Stammets face lights up in delight. ‘The journalist is right, you do see me.’ Stammets arms start to lower the gun.

‘No, keep the gun up,’ urges Will, ‘we're being watched. Now, back away slowly and leave.’

‘You’re letting me escape?’ asks Stammets, and shoots him a quizzical look. ‘Why? Aren’t you supposed to capture me?’

Will swallows a lump that’s formed in his throat as the words bubble in his head and make they’re way out. ‘I want to see more of your work, help you and watch you become.’ Stammets grins in a way that makes vomit dwell in the back of Will’s throat. ‘When you get out of here take as much cash out of your bank account, get rid of your car and disguise yourself. I will meet with you in a couple days in the forest where you buried your victims.’ Will can’t wait to wrap his hands around Stammets throat, he’s patient though, he will wait.

Stammet treads back a few steps and halts. ‘The moment when you connect shall be beautiful to witness.’ Will follows Stammets gaze to the docile form of Hannibal ‘To truly understand and connect with him? You must return to the earth and become intertwined with the mycelium.’

‘Bury him!’ Will’s rage burls out of him and he aims his gun at Stammets not caring which part of him he shot. He wants him dead, he wants him gone, he wants him to never touch Hannibal again. The gun though it’s so impersonal. The desire to discard the weapon and use his hands wraps around his throat thrives under his skin, no, if he did that Jack would grow suspicious of his intentions and his credible persona would chip, crack and become littered with blemishes under his scrutiny. ‘When I just got him back!’ Stammet’s who looks up with betrayal in his eyes.

Will sees now this creature is too much of a threat to leave hanging around next to such precious treasure. He would come back, try again and bury his beautiful piece in the earth never to debut his art ever again only living through stories and legends as a boogeyman.

‘The reporter, she said you understood me,’ whines Stammets as heartbreak etches into every pore of his face.

‘She lied.’ Will pulls the trigger, his muscles burn as the recoil pummels his arms and Stammets crumbles to the ground with a thump, the gun fly’s from his lifeless hand and crashes into the wall.

‘Quite a dispirited kill mylimasis,’ says the hallucination of Hannibal that casually walks around to the real Hannibal’s side. ‘Though considering the circumstances I cannot fault you.’ He leans down to the real Hannibal’s face. ‘Hmm, it seems you had a voyeur, I wonder how this shall play out now that the world has changed once more.’ His delusion evaporates into mist.

Will rushes to Hannibal’s side and clasps his lukewarm hand in his. He feels Hannibal grasp his, but his eyes remain closed. Will wants to see those beautiful eyes but Will knows he’s waiting for the right time to face the world once more. Will lets out a sigh of relief and rubs his thumb on his just to make sure that he’s really here with him.

The door bursts open and a swarm of black FBI SWAT agents flood the room. Will’s heart pounds in his ears, horrid shadows pull at his mind as he’s brought back to Wolftrap on that night with Hannibal laying lifeless with a hole in his head. A reassuring squeeze of his hand and the violent beats dwindle, that will never happen again Will tells himself, Hannibal will live. Jack follows his entourage in and surveys the scene.

‘Will you shot Stammets.’ Will grits his teeth in anger, he didn’t even ask if he was okay or if Hannibal was after the abduction.

‘I’m injured Jack, my aims not exactly straight,’ protests Will. Always, from the first time Jack came to he’s had to constantly defend his actions and his conclusions. Despite his knowledge, despite his background, despite his gift, this happened in a repetitive nightmare. The first time around he accepted it. The second time around is annoyingly frustrating and makes his finger twitch.

‘Patience,’ Hannibal whispers in his ear,’ all good things come in time mylimasis.’ Will knew it’s not the real Hannibal, he’s still feigning sleep.

‘Ohhh,’ moans Hannibal and thankfully interrupts his conversation. Hanniibal’s eyelids flutter open to show off his beautiful maroon eyes flecked with little pieces of red.

‘You’re awake,’ Will says breathlessly. He knew Hannibal was when he grasped his fingers, but to see the life that had once been drained from his eyes and bursting with life takes his breath away. Will leans in and kisses him, Hannibal returns it in kind and their tongues wrap around each other in an intricate dance as they feel each other slide their wet tongues inside of one another's mouths. It says to Will, I want you, I hunger for you, I want to consume you. All the questions of whether or not they’re in a relationship are resolved in this cannibalistic kiss. It doesn’t matter if Hannibal has no memory of the past, every single version of Hannibal he will love and cherish just as he does with him. Eventually Will knows he will meet the Hannibal he lost and he will transform once more, as people do.

One of the faceless SWAT agents squeaks at their intimate kiss, but Will doesn’t care, he’s trying to merge with Hannibal. He’s starting to understand the appeal of cannibalism.

‘Sir your bleeding, we need to check you out. Can someone get a wheelchair?’

He feels hands pull against his body and he reluctantly separates from Hannibal. Will wants to swat at the arms that are wrapped around him, but Hannibal’s warm hand on his cheek makes his mind go blank and relaxes.

‘Go with them mylimasis, I will be with you soon.’ Will is deposited in the wheelchair and is wheeled away but the entire time his focus remains fixed on those maroon eyes flecked with red until the flap of a white door tears them apart. Though it will only be for a moment, but still any moment not spent in Hannibal’s presence seems like a wate. He can’t wait to be by Hannibal’s side once more. He will return. No matter what.