Work Text:
The air tastes of salt and seafoam, the brisk Atlantic winds in overdrive, carrying songs of shipwrecks and sorrow. Will tucks his chin down, braving the elements to handle a problem he discovered in the garage this morning. A field mouse had gotten into a bag of birdseed, and he had to release the swollen thing before Hannibal found out.
He jogs a couple of miles out where the grass stands high and golden. Hopefully, his mouse will find others of its kind here. Their house is so isolated along the coast. It's a lonely existence, and rare to see any wildlife traveling along the abandoned deer trails. Maybe even the animals can sense the apex predators in their midst.
He releases the mouse from the mason jar, and waits for it to scurry off. Instead, it stares up at Will. Defiant. Petulant. Sensing its work to acquire food and shelter has all been for naught. Will remembers his friend Peter had kept a similar mouse tucked in his sleeve. He wonders how Peter is doing now. Guiltily, Will considers if his mouse had come into the garage to stay warm and have babies. Its stomach is so wide.
Will pulls the drawstring of his hoodie tighter around his ears, as if on a stealth mission. He is being paranoid. Hannibal won't be visiting the garage for the rest of the winter. And the winters are long here. He scoops the mouse back into the jar, and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other since the ground gives slick and damp underfoot.
Will runs along the wooded ridge of the cliff face, hopping over a felled log, smelling the scent of decay all around him. The skies are grey and flat. Taking in his bleak surroundings, he feels as though he is trying to escape Death -- again. He steps up his pace as the trail flattens out, and he approaches the mile long homestretch. He is uneasily comforted by the thought of what awaits him ahead. Home. Hannibal. A fire blazing in the hearth.
The cliffhouse has become home by virtue that they've stayed for so long. At first, it was out of necessity. The house was stocked with the supplies they needed for their injuries, and their injuries were extensive. Hannibal's especially.
But they've been recovered for some time, and Hannibal still refuses to leave. Out of whimsy, maybe. Nostalgia? His love of staring out onto the view of where they'd slain the Dragon? Will doesn't know, but whatever the reason it's insane that they haven't left the country. What saddens him is even if Will could leave, Hannibal has him by the balls. He'll never leave without Hannibal.
Even escaping for an hour for his morning run, to give him space to process this new phase of his life, being away from Hannibal for more than a half hour freaks him out. He imagines the FBI sweeping in and returning home to destruction and being too late to save Hannibal. He imagines that Hannibal has collapsed and hurt his head. His most recent neurotic handwringing has Hannibal hemorrhaging out. He sees danger all around him, but especially inside the house.
Will feels it in his bones that they have pressed their luck here. Just this morning, right before he had heard the birdseed crunches from the garage, Will had pressed the issue again.
"Flying is not allowed in the third trimester," Hannibal was practically rejoicing at having a legitimate medical excuse to stay. Before Will can even propose an alternative: "And I can tell I'll get carsick."
What Hannibal was saying was that they were stuck here and he was fine with that.
Will finds himself cackling in the wind. He chose to remain at Hannibal's side on the edge of the earth. He had recovered well before Hannibal had. There were numerous opportunities to leave. Even now, with his worst days behind him, he is clear on why that was futile.
Hannibal is eight months pregnant. Unbelievable, yes. Impossible, yes, agreed. If he hasn't witnessed it every day for himself, Will would be laughing on a beach in Cabo at the idea of it -- yes, yes, and yes.
Otherworldly things have been happening to them since they had taken up residence. It defies explanation, but the last time he crossed the state line to pick up supplies, Will had stood in a ma-and-pa drugstore looking at their selection of pregnancy tests. He had swept at least ten kits into his shopping basket.
It's been months since that trip. Maybe he's still in shock from seeing all ten results come up positive. Maybe he should've run then. But he simply can't now. It's not an option. They have an opportunity to be fathers again, and Will would not miss that for the world.
Will sidesteps a root peeking through the ground cover, and his heart quickens. If he had an accident and twisted his ankle, Hannibal would have had no way of knowing what had happened to him.
Hannibal is under orders not to leave the house and search for him. Will gives Hannibal a fifty-fifty chance he would follow these orders. To risk his life and the baby’s? To rather die than live without him? Will shudders to think about it. He actually begins to hyperventilate.
Maybe he is seriously losing it. Often he has to ask himself if any of this has really happened. What is real? What is made up? What have they repeated over and over again until even they begin to believe it's true?
But in this moment, Will believes he couldn't make this up even if he wanted to.
Will slips into the garage and sets the jar with the mouse on his workbench. He had seen an empty aquarium tank stored on one of the high shelves. He suspects it had been a gift for Abigail to add some color to her room. Something easy for her to care for and bond to. He lines handfuls of straw along its bottom along with little cups of birdseed and water, and sets the mouse inside.
"Don't go in the house," he points his finger at the glass. The mouse is too busy rearranging the bedding to listen.
Will takes off his muddy running shoes, and sweeps through the house, making sure everything is as he left it. No FBI. No Verger-Bloom merc squad. No Jack.
He throws another log on the fire before peeking into the bedroom. Hannibal is pretending to be asleep, thankfully, curled awkwardly around a body pillow. He has begun to show he's just as anxious as Will is during their brief separations. His stomach is exposed, poking out of his nightshirt, the dappling scar of the bullet wound stretching like a meteorite across his stomach.
Will kisses the crown of his head and murmurs, "I'm back. Love you."
This is another experiment between them. Openness.
Will's theory is that Hannibal had spent years locked away in his person suit and in the BSHCI believing he'd never be loved by anybody, let alone by Will. He considers it his duty to reassure Hannibal that he's capable of receiving and giving genuine emotion. He rubs his thumb along Hannibal's wrist, feeling the raised scar there, his pulse. His pulse has been faster of late, because of the pregnancy, but it's also been higher because of Will. It's high now, and that's good and bad. Emotional progress. But in pregnancy that means pre-eclampsia, which could lead to coma and death.
Hannibal flutters his eyes open. His relief and need for Will are no longer guarded. It's on the other extreme though. Hannibal craves for and keeps Will in the forefront of everything. Will worries there may be nothing left to give for the baby or anyone else for that matter. It is obsessive, and there's nothing Will can do about it.
"You're freezing," Hannibal tingles from Will's touch and Will's face looks wind-chafed. He holds up the blanket. "Come, get warm."
"I have to shower first," Will insists, while climbing in anyway. He doesn't want Hannibal to follow him into the shower.
Hannibal has put himself on bed rest. Restricted to only walking from their bed to the bathroom. Even if he wanted to, Hannibal could not stand for more than a few minutes anyway.
Before the self-imposed lockdown, Hannibal had had fainting spells in the kitchen and on the patio. Will had regressed back to a bundle of walking nerves and may have given himself a seizure, if Hannibal had not come up with this solution.
No more fainting. But Hannibal is not one to do puzzles or knit or even watch TV. They have steadily been going crazy from cabin fever. At least Will takes an hour to escape. Hannibal has not moved from this room in months.
Will draws Hannibal closer to him, his head tucked in the curve of his neck, thinking about the miracles they have shared in the short time they've been together. Slaying the Dragon may be the bedtime story they will embellish night after night until their child gets sick of hearing about it.
The ending will have to be modified, of course. They'd leave out talk of his death wish. No gathering and groping Hannibal into a crushing embrace. No delighting in the beauty of their kill. Absolutely no mention of wobbling back toward the house to stand over the dead Dragon, nor Hannibal’s: “The meat will spoil.”
This was the moment their contract became binding. When Hannibal took measure of whether Will was his man. It was not enough to simply fell this prey. Will had to subscribe to all of Hannibal, who had warned him that only darkness and madness would await if Will chose to be with him.
And in truth, Will's resistance had holes in it. Clarity and circumstance were interchangeable when he had already participated in the cannibalism and the cooking of the meat. He had sat at Hannibal’s table years before with open knowledge. Years pretending to live as a normal guy would not change this fact.
He had cooked long pork for the dogs and fed his pack with it. He didn't have a problem when they chewed on Mason Verger's nose or Randall Tier's neck bones. Ethics can arise in the moment. Even in Maine, he had cooked for his pack every week, reminding himself of Hannibal. Of what could have been. It had comforted him then.
Would he ever truly be comfortable as a killer? He wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who tried to take Hannibal from him now.
When they had killed the Dragon, this is what happened afterwards:
Hannibal helped Will to his feet and they had hold each other to walk-stagger over to the body, and appraise their work. The tableau was magnificent. But the liver and kidneys were ruined. Only the heart was still viable. Hannibal watched, in awe, as Will made the incision and ripped it out of the Dragon’s chest and prepared it for storage. They were too exhausted to feast now, but if they survived the next few weeks, that day would come. The promise of the Dragon feast made his mouth water. He missed the taste, like everything he craved from his partner.
This was the plunge that Will knew he’d have to take if he chose to be with Hannibal. Murder was only the half of the pathology with him. He had to accept all facets and the cannibalism was what set Hannibal apart from the rest of the herd. Will was not going to pretend he hadn’t willingly supped at the Devil’s table anymore.
After he had found Hannibal's freezer, Will had checked in to see if Hannibal was resting. Hannibal was in bed, applying pressure to his stomach. Will leaned down to help him wrap the bandage around the exit wound. Their eyes met, and Will had forgotten the way Hannibal made his name sound when it left his lips.
As dawn’s soft light filled the cliffhouse, Will got his first taste of Hannibal’s mouth. The kiss made them feel as if they were falling into unknown territories, taking an icy plunge into rough seas. It was as invigorating and frightening as anything else he had done with Hannibal.
They could only savor this initial touch for so long. Their kiss made them both feel out of control. It was not soothing to have this much desire unleashed after so long. They hesitated prolonging the kiss, but seemingly against their will, it went deeper.
There was ecstasy and then there was what they experienced. They were literally going to bleed out if they kept going. Will forced himself to pull back. He saw the emotional breakthrough Hannibal was having. The disbelief that Will could want him. The clear view of Hannibal with the mask off. Hannibal looked absolutely gutted by this contact.
After they finally tended to each other's wounds, Will cradled their bodies together. Hannibal was exhausted enough to fall asleep immediately. Will’s adrenaline refused to crash. He soaked in how Hannibal had willingly turned to be caged in his arms.
Will was the slayer of monsters and men. His thoughts raced at holding so much power.
His main conclusion: Maybe this way, Hannibal's spillage could be contained onto one small island.
The last fort standing between them was eroding. Rejection was no longer an option anymore.
Will had to ask himself if he could be Hannibal's lover for the rest of their lives. Only able to leave in death, his or Hannibal's, whichever came first. He would have to be faithful and true, at the cost of his own feelings. And if he were honest with himself, he had always found Hannibal attractive. In the past, fear had stopped Will from initiating any physical contact between them. It was knowing that there would be no going back – the moon and stars and universe would revolve around Hannibal. Whatever that was between them would defy all boundaries. He feared this and he was right to fear it.
A Rubicon of sorts was crossed that morning.
They embraced everything about each other as the dawn broke in the East. The best and worst parts. The dragon heart waiting to be shared between them.
Will had laughed at the thought that he was going to give up everything -- his place in society, his wife and child, his ability to work, essentially his life -- to be with this man. But then he caught Hannibal's gaze, when he had awakened at the sound, still fixed on his mouth, still hungry for more. Hannibal refused to go back to sleep. Too afraid to miss another moment with Will.
So he had taken Hannibal's hand and they had returned to the living room, the daylight exposing the damage from the shot-out window, the blood stained carpet, the body decaying on the patio. They stood in the safety of the house, staring at their handiwork for some time. As if they had been under a spell and were still in awe of what had transpired in this fairytale.
They didn’t want to clean the patio of the evidence of their minor masterpiece, but if the police buzzards were to fly overhead…
Will got to work, while Hannibal – unable to help because of his injury – watched.
The patio was cleaned off. The body disposed. Plastic and plywood lined the window frame to keep the cold out of the house.
Later, Will took a meandering walk of the grounds to search for the police car and any other electronics Francis may have hidden away. Francis had been a good protege, and like Hannibal, had dismantled the cruiser's GPS system, as well as any LoJack or tracking device, well before approaching the cliffhouse. There was only a slim chance Jack would ever detect where the Dragon had gone.
They would have all disappeared, as if in a haze of smoke and mirrors.
And it was a good thing, as they were too hurt and tired to put up a fight if Jack were to come for them. For a few days, Will would jump at the slightest sound, expecting the FBI to ram down the door at any second. And then it became clear -- no one was coming.
It was touch and go with Hannibal. But eventually, he stayed awake longer, and grew stronger.
They should have died, but they didn't.
And of course that wasn't in the stars. Hannibal wouldn't allow it.
The drugs that Hannibal kept at his disposal were amazing too. But his experimentation phase was over. His high was seeing Will wake up, stiff and smiling, beside him every morning. He didn't need much of anything after that.
Will had prescribed tender loving care to Hannibal's recovery. He thinks it was during this time that he broke Hannibal. It was too much, after the drought of the BSHCI, to endure the constant caresses and salty comments of Will Graham. Hannibal was drunk in love.
It took four months for Hannibal to declare himself healed. It should've only taken three, but Hannibal basked in Will doting on him. He acted as if every day Will swept into the room in a three piece bespoke, bathed in sunlight, carrying two glasses of champagne, breaking out in song. It was absurd and yet that was exactly how Hannibal looked at him.
And then the feast day came. Will set the table, lining the cloth in a bed of pine needles and seashells found on the property. It was not as elaborate as Hannibal’s table, but just as beautiful. Romantic. Striking, Hannibal referred to it.
Champagne was served. A toast given to Hannibal, finally able to get to his feet and walk across the room without holding his stomach. Will pulled out the chair for Hannibal to sit. And then he served the Dragon's heart, seared, drizzled in truffle oil and edible flowers. Hannibal needed the iron, along with the victory lap.
After dinner was consummation. Hannibal had insisted on it. He was suffering from the wait. And worried that the pressure would build to the point that he would burst from it. It was on this night that Will believes Hannibal got pregnant.
Night fell as Will cleared the table and excused himself to light candles from down the hall to their bedroom. The scent of paperwhites floating on black river rocks filled the room. Will made the wood frame planters himself. The bulbs rooted in water and grew under the cover of darkness, and blossomed with a divine fragrance, on tall stems of pure white petals. Will pulled the planters out of a dark closet and placed them around room.
He had set the stage and then returned to the table to escort his dessert down the hall. Hannibal had taken him by the elbow and allowed himself to be walked to the bedroom. He stood beside the bed, waiting. Maintaining eye contact was difficult. Hannibal was right. The anticipation was unbearable.
Will stepped back, wanting to memorize the way the light caught the silver coursing through Hannibal's hair. How raw they felt when they were able to hold each other's gaze. How the bed stretched between them like an alter upon which a sacrifice was about to made. After all, love called for worship and ceremony too. Never too late to find religion.
One moment, Will was leaning against the doorway, and then the next, he had his hand on Hannibal's shoulder. A gesture of trust.
"Is this an act of yours?" Hannibal asked, sincerely wanting to know. "Or is this real to you?"
Will's eyebrows raised in a "of course it's real". He silenced Hannibal with a kiss. It tasted of dragon heart and desire.
His touches were not empty, but loaded with compassion and gentleness. They both shivered. Hannibal was wrecked and Will had barely begun. "What are you doing to me?" Hannibal was still trying to get an answer out of Will, but this was internal bleeding without the external injury or pain. There had been enough pain between them. Will was going to show him true intimacy. And it wasn't one-sided. Hannibal finally accepted that this would be mutual destruction. They both moaned softly, having the same thought at the same time.
Hannibal's jaw clenched and the veins in his neck were throbbing as Will undressed him. It was slow and considerate and excruciating. It left him breathless but grasping, swooning and scrambling. His knees were knocked out from under him, and he slumped back against the mattress, snarling from defeat, like a heavyweight fighter against the ropes. Only he was fighting himself.
Hannibal turned away from another kiss, needing a moment. But Will wouldn't have it, wrestling and straining for his mouth, laughing and teasing him.
"Let me in, Hannibal," Will demanded.
Will crawled over Hannibal's prone body until they are flushed against each other. Uncharted territory for them both. Their chests were heaving. Aching for each other. Tortured with want.
Another pause as their eyes met. Hannibal was naked before him. Exposed. Rapturous.
Hannibal tested him, pushing him away, and Will launched into him, catapulting him in the air, pining him exactly where he's wanted for so long. Hannibal kept resisting, daring Will to prove he can be as consumed as Hannibal was by just the prospect of grinding against him. Will matched him friction with delicious friction, choking and clawing, gestures of fate and carnality as exquisite any religious experience were exchanged between them. Hannibal was grim with the belief that neither could dominate the other, grotesque as he demanded more than these teasing touches. Will was only inches away and yet he still wasn't close enough. Someone had to give. Hannibal's head sunk back with a sigh.
Will's empathy could detect how overwhelmed Hannibal's limited range of emotions were. Whatever Hannibal had a handle on was smoldering away. And if Will could identify his own ball of emotions he certainly felt shame. He couldn't hurt Hannibal Lecter anymore. He was in love with a monster and the monster loved him back.
Will finally took himself in hand, slicking himself with lube. He slicked Hannibal for good measure and watched how he spread his legs open, wide for Will. Will pulled Hannibal's ankles on top of his shoulders. This was his last chance to walk away from this. Once they crossed this line...
Will's head hung down, taking in the scratches and scars on Hannibal's stomach and wrists and thighs.
Will knew who he was with. He knew who he had prepared for dinner. He knew if they were caught tomorrow, this night would get him through any trial and execution. He could die knowing he had given himself fully to this man.
Decision made, Will tentatively grazed against Hannibal, wading into the waters. A hoarse sob escaped Hannibal's lips. This was bliss and Will kept giving more of himself. They both groaned. The sensation too much. Will was lost in it. Growling at some phantom who could steal Hannibal away from him, devastated that he had wasted such precious time refraining from being with Hannibal in this way. His world was sideways, reeling that something so wrong could feel so right, someone so bad could feel so good for him. This was madness.
Hannibal was thrashing underneath him, one second crying out that Will was too big, the next begging for more, too sensitive to even process what he wanted. Finally, Will set aside the moralistic judgment and guilt, and silenced Hannibal's cries with a kiss until they were both present. They held eye contact until Hannibal became coherent again.
Through starts and stops, Will owned Hannibal’s body. Caressing his skin as if he had designed it himself.
Hannibal was blinking, as his true face shattered through the mask, his indifferent façade long set aside. Hannibal was at his most human, his vulnerability and tenderness on full display. Will felt adored. There was no other way to describe it.
They regressed to some other state. Not the mind palace. That would have been safe. This was spiritual. As if a “ventilating” of authority was shifting between them. Will could not decide if they had reached heaven or hell, but wherever they landed, it elevated what was already building between them.
The torch alight, a conflagration was incorporated right at the nape of their necks. It was sharp, like a nail prick at the base of their brain stem. A clock was drawn around them. The numbers floating as if caught in the gravitational pull between them. Light exploded around their auras. They were one on their bed and this metaphysical plane. They were both crying out, aware that their bodies were melding in both places, and Hannibal clutched at Will’s heart, coming at the same time as Will.
They both watched, as if from on high, as the hands of the clock reached twelve, the apex, the height of their transcendence. The click of time and touch met in a moment where Will just knew there was a miracle, a sacred beginning, underway.
It was irrational, illogical, that Hannibal became pregnant in that moment. But Will knew what had happened. And then they crashed back to earth, back to their bed.
Even Hannibal was at a loss for words.
That wasn’t sex. That was something other. The earth felt it was shifting underneath them. Like the ground had given away, like it had started to give at edge of the cliff. There was no comparison to anything else than what they were feeling now.
If this was their starting point, where would they go from here. Will shuddered at the thought.
Finally, Hannibal felt collected enough to speak: "Just don't leave me. Don't leave. This is our home, Will. Where we dueled and bled and conquered. Do you understand --"
Hannibal was in a frenzy. He looked ready to kill him. Will doesn't remember how he had reassured him. Maybe that's the problem. Nothing he could say would make Hannibal feel secure. Which would explain why Will has to manage the spillage every day.
Hannibal has been falling apart more and more often. Especially with the hormones. And Will is getting an earful for wanting to take a shower after his morning run instead of staying in bed. Hannibal throws everything at Will for being selfish. For climbing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. The kicker: "Where are you going -- back to the wife?"
Will ignores him. He resists Hannibal's pleas to have sex. With the baby on the way, the concept seems wrong to him. Hannibal is not happy about this, and has tried to explain repeatedly that Will cannot hurt the baby with his dick. And his semen could help by inducing labor. Hannibal has had enough of the bed rest. He wants to be done with this.
Will silently putters into the bathroom for his shower. It is not easy to say no to Hannibal. His resolve comes from not wanting to lose this child. He has asked Hannibal in so many words to let the third time be the charm.
He turns on the shower. Hannibal has followed him into the bathroom and is swaying in the door. Some days are better than others in letting Will have his space. This is a bad day. He can't help if his eyes follow him everywhere, checking to make sure he's really there. Today, he needs to watch Will shower. They have to work on the trust issues, definitely.
Will is not naïve. He knows Hannibal would use even their child for blackmail and equate it with love. He has reminded Hannibal that they will make good fathers. That Hannibal protects the people he considers family and it must include their child.
Will can blackmail with their child to get what he wants too. Demon sexuality apparently carries demon seed. He needs to see what blossoms before daring to get intimate with Hannibal again.
If Will were to admit his true fears to Hannibal, he would tell him he’s afraid that he has given Hannibal Lecter a death sentence. They can survive the Dragon and a manhunt led by the FBI, but this baby could change everything. Can he teach Hannibal how to love someone other than his obsessive imago of Will Graham? What if he doesn't bond with the baby? How would Will choose between them?
The more immediate worry is Hannibal's health. In Will's opinion, he should be in a hospital. Hannibal can only talk of their life post-baby -- eating the placenta, ordering couture baby clothes, speaking only to her in French. He never mentions that the pregnancy is a threat to his life.
The weeks leading up to her birth are steadily growing more and more risky. If something happens and Will is forced to take Hannibal to the hospital, then he's choosing the life of their child over their freedom. Hannibal may never forgive him for that. And he refuses to talk about it.
Will is terrified. What will become of them? Of the child? This can't be what Hannibal meant when they were talking about rebirth and righteousness.
Will crosses to Hannibal to set him down on the toilet. "Please continue raving while I'm in the shower," he scolds.
He coils his fingers through Hannibal’s silver locks that had spilled into his eyes and brushes them back onto his forehead. Hannibal embraces him. The sigh of relief may have been exhaled simultaneously. Hannibal can't stay angry at him for long.
Will strips, which is an effective distraction. A composite of sorts, that Will has learned to use effectively. Hannibal swallows, staring. Will tries to hide his victorious smirk. He leaves the shower door open, putting on a show with the lather and scrubbing. He angles his blue balls toward a much-needed cold spray. Hannibal must be feeling dizzy for him not to join him and wash Will's body himself.
As Will towels off, he eyeballs how uncomfortable Hannibal is looking. "How are you feeling?" Will finds himself asking for the hundredth time today. He helps Hannibal to his feet and walks him into the kitchen to get some juice. He is looking a little peaky.
“I want this to be over,” Hannibal informs him and it takes Will a moment to register that he means being pregnant. “It will help things move faster if you did this one thing for me.”
Will murmurs that he knows, but he can’t. He’s no sadist. But it’s also a never-ending chant. Day and night. He hands Hannibal a glass of juice.
And then he hears it. The squeaking. The mouse.
Will's eyes narrow. Where is it? How did it get out?
“Hannibal,” Will bends closer, brushing his lips against his ear, distracting. "Are you sure you're alright?"
And then he hears a gush that freezes his heart.
Hannibal’s water breaks. A clear puddle floods the kitchen floor. It freezes them on the spot.
It's too early. Will can feel the panic rising between them. The baby's lungs need to develop more. Hannibal is relying on Will to get him through this, but Will is feeling very unprepared. Hannibal is a man. In his fifties. With high blood pressure and the wrong parts for this.
“We should go to the hospital,” Will urgently echoes his own thoughts.
Their eyes meet across the soaking floor. The kitchen seems to be ground zero for them. Hannibal refuses to even consider Will’s panicked but logical reasoning.
"We can handle this," Hannibal snaps back.
Will spies the mouse scurrying across the floor, barely missing Hannibal's bare feet. It races towards the front door, and without thinking, Will follows.
"Where are you going?" Hannibal is practically growling with it.
Will opens the door to let the mouse find a clear pathway out of their house. And that's when he sees it. A nondescript sedan creeping slowly towards the house.
"Will," Hannibal sees it too, alarmed.
This could make the decision he's been dreading for them. They could surrender and the FBI would be forced to take Hannibal to the hospital. It's a godsend.
Even the mouse waits on the porch, a polite greeting party. Only Hannibal is backing away.
The driver parks, and steps out, friendly, with a wave. "I'm a little lost..."
"Yeah?" Will grits out. The agent looks young and inexperienced. A trainee.
"My GPS signal died a few miles back. No cell service whatsoever. I was wondering if I could use your phone."
Will calculates the last time he had disabled the cell phone tower in their area and checked that it hadn't been repaired. Maybe he's telling the truth. He's counting on it.
The trainee draws closer. Will can hear Hannibal's muffled groans as the contractions roil through him. He is caught between what he wants to do and what Hannibal wants. A home birth, music playing calmly in the background, the two of them welcoming their baby girl into the world v. unforeseen complications, like a lost FBI rookie agent and an early birth.
"Sure," Will steps into the shadows of the house, turning right before the agent can get a closer look at him.
The trainee follows Will inside. Will leads him into the kitchen. The rather large puddle stands on the floor.
"Watch your step," warns Will as the agent rounds the bend. Will catches a glimpse of Hannibal, crouched under the table, in a fetal position. There is a warning in Hannibal's eyes. Will looks away.
From this angle, the agent should have seen half of Will's face, the scarred half. The agent would notice how fresh it is. How jagged and angry.
Something only a monster could love. It would be a red flag, if the agent were smart. Then he'd noticed the faded forehead scar. That fits the profile, but the broader shoulders -- the physical therapy he continued as weight conditioning; the more confident way Will carries himself -- due to his Becoming, nothing quite adds up. The agent would begin to question why a man with such distinct markings lives out in the middle of nowhere.
The agent draws flush against the counter, and wide-eyed, reaches for the phone cradled on the wall. A long second before he realizes there's no dial tone. It's just a prop. Make-believe. The illusion of normalcy built in the form of an ordinary appliance, like something Will had to use his whole life. Welcome to Will's world.
Alarmed, he looks over at Will, who has turned fully towards him now.
"You're Will Graham," a mixture of pride and dread weaves through this declaration. The agent found him, and yet by finding him, brought about his own end.
Will's hair is different. His curls long gone. His beard, too. But he is still that man. Different, but the same. The agent would be able to see that. How murder can be found in his kind eyes now, how it contorts his not-so-boyish features.
Will moves too fast before the agent can draw his service weapon. The phone cord is yanked around the agent's neck, and then Hannibal emerges from his crouch and stands before them. Just so the agent knows, in the end, the FBI's accusation was right: Will had worked with the Dragon to help Hannibal escape.
The agent gazes up at Hannibal and takes in his half-naked, protruding form. Hannibal's pants are soaked through as if he had pissed himself. But the menace is undeniable, even as the agent is aware that Hannibal is carrying a baby. He can see the foot pressing up against Hannibal's side.
The agent is equal parts disbelief and terrified. His voice quakes, too:
"I was just doing this as a favor for the Guru," the rookie pleads. "I didn't even tell him where I was searching today."
Will and Hannibal share a thought -- Miriam. Surely, Jack learned from that mistake. Hannibal presses for more information.
"Jack knows you're out here?"
"No one. Please..."
Hannibal hands Will the knife. Will's choice to make. The baby's safe arrival or their freedom.
Will stares at the knife for a long beat. He takes the gamble and silently berates the universe that constantly forces him to make these choices.
The agent's blood seeps into the water puddle, forming a liquid collage of life and death.
It reminds him of when Hannibal had first realized he was pregnant. He sat in the bathtub for hours. He finally stepped out, dripping wet, his skin pruning, and asked Will what should they do. His hair and nails had gotten so thick, and Hannibal must've cut the skin along his eyes as rubbed them. Blood tears were dripping down his cheeks.
"You're crying, Hannibal," Will had told him, and he had looked at Will, stunned. "If you want to keep it, we should keep it. We'll figure it out."
Hannibal had embraced him, and detached from it all, Will had watched the water and blood mix and mingle at their feet. Hannibal would send him off for various monitors and drugs, to birthing centers and maternity wards around the tri-state region, until they had everything they needed. It was a risk that they didn't need in their lives, and yet Hannibal seemed to love him more for taking it.
And now it was no longer an idea. This was actually happening.
Will stalks to the supply closet, pulling the medical equipment into the bedroom. Hannibal attaches all the gadgets and determines his pressure is sky high. Worse, he fears the baby is in distress. Nothing will cure this except having the baby right now. Another gush of liquid flows out of Hannibal, this time spotted with green fecal matter from the baby. Not a good sign.
Whatever Will can say about this child, she is determined to be noticed upon arrival.
Will sets out the instruments as they practiced. He takes a marker to guide where he will make the incision into Hannibal’s stomach. Neither miss the irony that Will gets to mark Hannibal with his own hand after all. This is not how they pictured this happening.
Will preps for surgery, girding himself to do this. He will never forgive Hannibal if he doesn't survive this and leaves him to raise their child alone. He cannot meet Hannibal's gaze as he sets the epidural on the dresser. The scalpels. The bowl for the placenta.
He is more nervous about inserting the epidural into Hannibal’s spine. One wrong move and Hannibal could be paralyzed. It has a certain appeal. It would make Will’s life easier.
Will keeps his aim true. He doesn’t meet Hannibal’s gaze when he helps him lie back on the bed. Hannibal watches Will test his lower half of his body for numbness. His shaking hands.
Hannibal reaches for his hand. “We’ll make the cut together,” suggests Hannibal, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
But Will is grateful for it. He doesn’t think he will ever be prepared for the sensation of gutting Hannibal. He cries out as the blood dribbles and then courses out. It reminds him of Hannibal’s curved knife gutting him. A thought of how this cut makes them almost even. Will falters. He has thought of his past so often lately.
Hannibal presses down on his stomach, helping to push the baby out. He is too vigorous about it, and Will senses the urgency that Hannibal must be concerned that something is wrong. Will braces his feet on the bedframe, putting his back into it as he helps Hannibal push, too.
Hannibal can feel her finally easing out. He suffers a moment where he wants to put her back in, already missing the connection they had through his body, that he had forged mentally too, reading to her and telling her about the sun setting over the Atlantic, about Will. And then he sees her safe in Will's arms, unmoving and coated in a grey film.
Hannibal gasps in disbelief at the sight of her. He is overcome. Tears flowing and hands reaching for her.
He has to see for himself. But Will holds on, waiting.
Only silence fills the room. They are holding their breath as they wait for her to take her first. It is an unpleasant and unnatural wait that they've ever had, and considering their past, that says a lot.
And then her little face twists and her lips pucker and spits out the meconium that had clogged her mouth, and wails, shaking and garbling. She is strong, with a healthy set of lungs, after all, and hungry.
Will takes her in, fighting back tears. He is smiling at Hannibal and leans down to kiss him. He deposits the baby on top of Hannibal’s bare chest and the three take a collective breath. An energy fills the room. A radiance. She is a miracle. Will studies Hannibal's face to make sure he feels it too. It is a relief to see that he is approaching near-wonder and affection.
She is scurrying for his breast, that hasn’t produced enough milk to satiate her, but he lets her suckle while Will pulls out the afterbirth.
The worry that Will had over whether Hannibal could genuinely bond with her disappears. Will bends his head down and smiles at him.
“I feel like I witnessed something sacred,” Will whispers without prompting.
“It’s like the molecules and the air itself are different,” but even this description feels inadequate to Hannibal, that this love equals or even exceeds what he feels for Will.
If Will is jealous, he doesn't show it. There's plenty of room in the house for the three of them. He could use a break from Hannibal's laser focus.
Hannibal reaches for her just as she reaches for him. It’s magical. He hears the sweet notes of Will’s laughter. His happiness. Hannibal is just devastated by her. He feels like a fool, but he can’t stop crying. He is sobbing with it.
He pulls a towel off the dresser and clears the crust off her skin. He finds the suction and pulls out any remaining meconium in her nose and throat. The clinical care passes and then he's left with his heart bursting again.
Her face begins to strain and then she's pooping and peeing on him and he laughs. The functioning body is a very good sign. A sign of life. Will has to pry her from his arms to clean them.
As Will struggles to fit a diaper around her tiny bottom, Will’s imagination has prepared him for the worst as he takes a moment to examine her, but the horns and protrusions and claws are not presenting. Her tongue is normal. Although there are six fingers and toes.
That’s all Will needed to know. That she has taken after Hannibal. Hannibal had told him that the extra digits ran in his family. And that’s enough. He must use all of his energy and power to guide her against her nature too.
The endorphins and the smell of blood and newborn baby are a heady mixture for Hannibal. He is licking his lips and stretches out his arms again for her. His vision has cleared.
Before Will reluctantly hands her back, he whispers, “Welcome to the world,” but leaves the “you little devil” part unsaid.
*
They are good fathers. Hannibal names her Allegra, which suits her. She has honey blonde curls and warm brown eyes. They dote on her.
It’s odd for Will to see Hannibal not providing the meat, but the one being fed on. Allegra has latched onto his thin chest, demanding his body as the sole source of her food.
Running to Vitamin World for fenugreek to help Hannibal produce more milk is not the life Will had been expecting. He had gotten the taste for the hunt, for the feast. Hannibal isn't even interested in how Will wanted to dispose of the agent's body. Will considers the risk of taking a trophy as he made the agent's death seem like a car accident near the state line. But Hannibal doesn't care if he takes the meat or not. He just wants to make sure the fire would destroy any evidence of where the agent had been driving. He wants to return home.
The lit fire is reflected in Will's eyes. He presses himself against Hannibal's backside, remembering how it felt to be with him, how long it's been. It's too soon for Hannibal, but the danger has passed, more or less. And Will discovers that he associates relief with Hannibal now more than fear.
They watch the cruiser tumble over the cliff. They've already discussed the risk in going back. But Hannibal won't let this place go.
"Hannibal," Will tries to reason with him. "You have to compromise on this. For us."
It's like a slap in the face. That he still doesn't know what love is, that he is only thinking of himself. Hannibal stares at him, wide-eyed and stunned.
"Wherever we go, we will be home, because we are together," Will explains. "But if we stay there, you will have condemned us to separation."
Will climbs back into the car, letting it sink in. Hannibal should not be in the car, he is at least letting Will drive, but he is still in control. They head back home.
Another sunrise reveals the all-clear. Another gamble taken and won.
Will considers other temptations to get Hannibal's attention. He finds himself looking up recipes when Allegra falls asleep against his chest. He doesn’t resent her, but he misses what could have been. He misses Hannibal and his detachment from any place and anyone. He wishes Hannibal had been able to keep the less human part of himself around for these decisions.
If the bedrest had been bad, Hannibal refuses to take the baby outside at all. He is terrified she will catch a cold. Or some random germ will carry in the wind and leech onto her. He is in full nest mode.
Will has had enough of the cliffhouse. If a basic rookie trainee was able to drive up on their place, it was just a matter of time before Jack shows up. They argue about believing in accidents or the odds of Jack getting support for their continued investigation. It's bullshit and Hannibal knows it. But he can walk into the kitchen and gaze on the spot where his water broke. Where Will protected his family.
They have a mild Winter day, the sun is actually out and warms the ground. Will bundles her up and insists that Allegra will go with him on his walk. If Hannibal wants to come…
It’s enough of a threat that Hannibal follows them out. He is grimacing from the assault of fresh air and sunshine. He is glaring at Will.
“Tomorrow is market day,” Will breaks the silence.
Hannibal is already shaking his head. The whole family does not need to go to the store together. Which is over the state line. A three hour adventure, depending on weather conditions.
“Too risky – “
Will hears something and holds out his hand.
“Did you hear that?”
Hannibal tilts his head, listening.
“A drone,” Will breathes.
Hannibal looks skeptical. Will presses Hannibal off the path and into the woods. The baby squeezed and squirming between them. Allegra is taking in her new surroundings and her parents’ agitation in wide-eyed alarm.
“You’re scaring her, Will,” Hannibal charges. “You’re scaring me.”
“We have been here too long,” Will warns him. “You have become too attached to this place.”
“This is where we slayed the Dragon, where we conceived our child, our Becom –“
Now Hannibal hears it. The drone is a few miles away, mapping the area, but still. Questions will be asked. A visit may be only a day, maybe two away. It is not his abiding and constant paranoia.
“Hannibal,” Will grips his shoulders. “They will burn this place and us to the ground. I don't want us to die here.”
Hannibal takes Will’s hand and they stay inside the treeline the rest of the way back.
Will loads up the car while Hannibal scoops up her favorite books and lovies. He gives his goodbye to his home, where he found his own heart and soul, and then forces himself to lock the door. When he takes a glance back, he sees a mouse already staking claim to the kitchen sink. His place has been condemned now. Contaminated. Maybe Will is right to want to leave.
He straps Allegra into her car seat, and Will watches Hannibal in the rearview, brooding.
“Where are we going, Will?”
“You tell me.”
Hannibal looks at Allegra. “What’s going to happen to her if we die? Who will care for her?”
“You know what will happen to her. She will be treated as a ward of the state, the daughter of two monsters. A freak of nature. They will make her suffer for our crimes.”
They only had each other. This is why the way being network-less was frowned on in society. It doesn’t work, in the end.
“She needs someone who will treat her as family no matter what.”
Will only had Hannibal. But Hannibal had a bit more.
*
It takes longer than it should to drive to West Virginia. They had to avoid all the toll roads’ face identification cameras and make extra stops for the baby. Allegra picks up easily on their tension. She is not soothed by the motion of the car and she is relentless with jags of full-on tears.
Hannibal sighs as he lifts her into his arms. “I, too, am grieving,” he tells her.
*
“I thought you were dead,” Robertus stares at Hannibal, with real disappointment. “And now you show up when you need something.”
“Isn’t that what family is for? To be there, no matter what.”
Robertus opens the garage for them, even though the house sits back from the road. From the garage, he leads them inside.
Hannibal’s uncle had wanted off the grid. The press hounding the family during Hannibal's trial had been relentless. They had moved here in the aftermath, closing ranks. No one comes to West Virginia, especially big city reporters. And besides, the land was cheap, and a major city was not too far away.
Robertus is in his late sixties and too old to take care of baby, but curious about family. Lady Murasaki is closer to Hannibal’s age and is inscrutable. Chiyoh’s anger that they would bring a child with them comes off her in waves. She glares at Will, her arms folded across her chest, refusing to make Allegra her charge, too.
“Where is the child’s mother, Hannibal?” Robertus finally gets down to the heart of the mystery that’s on the tip of everyone’s tongue.
“I am her mother and her father,” Hannibal replies.
No one takes him for his word. Will remains silent at his side.
“And this is?” Lady Murasaki wants an introduction of a man who doesn’t need one. Will’s entire life has been on the front pages with Hannibal. Of course they know who he is. But still, they want to hear it from Hannibal.
Hannibal considers the answer that he has not discussed with Will. He hopes Will takes it well.
“This is Will Graham, my husband. And our daughter, Allegra Graham.”
A sharp intake of breath from Chiyoh. Hannibal never ceases to shock her. Robertus looks pointedly at Hannibal’s ringless ring finger. The years upon years of lies weighing heavily between them.
Will’s imagination begins its initial stirrings of leaps and jumps. The only person in the room who is innocent is Allegra. All of the Lecters have blood on their hands. The Lady, too. And once upon a long, long time ago, she had hurt and rejected Hannibal as Will had. He would not put it past any of them to put a knife at his throat.
Will holds the baby out for someone to take. Lady Murasaki lifts her into her arms. Allegra is big for her being a preemie. And heavy. Murasaki holds her hand up against the baby’s and sees the extra fingers. Yet, she is the perfect combination of Will and Hannibal. The Lady frowns.
“Hannibal?” she starts, but can’t manage the rest of her question.
Hannibal had wanted to follow Will to the car for the rest of their things, but lingers back.
“She’s hungry,” Lady Murasaki notes instead.
She watches as Hannibal takes her and hesitates. Allegra is bunching down, positioning herself against Hannibal’s chest. She is thumping and mouthing against his shirt. The Lecters watch this, curious. Hannibal watches them, refusing to give into their curiosity.
“I need to get her bottle out of the car,” Hannibal explains.
The two stomach surgeries have taken a toll on Hannibal. He is functioning at maybe 75 percent, but he believes he can march back into the car and drive it out of the country himself.
Yes, the trip had been necessary to introduce Allegra to his family, but the introduction had been made and now it was time to leave.
Will refuses to let Hannibal near the car. He already has a bottle prepared for Allegra. He had gotten Hannibal to pump along the way. They are not going anywhere else. There is nowhere else to go.
Will grimaces and reaches for Hannibal’s hand.
“Husband?” he strokes Hannibal's ego, settling his lips near Hannibal’s ear. “May I tell you what we gain if we stay?”
Hannibal looks past him, refusing to listen. Allegra sucks on the bottle Will holds out for her. In the room over, they can hear Chiyoh arguing about the child. That she is Hannibal’s and not Will’s, so logically Hannibal and Allegra can stay and Will should go. Will chuckles, in good spirits, used to not fitting in.
“We will be able to leave Allegra in good hands while we hunt again,” Will shares.
Hannibal looks up, his eyes scanning Will’s face. Remember? Will wants Hannibal to participate again, to remember who they are. He never ceases to surprise him.
“You miss it?” Hannibal correctly surmises.
“I want to kill anyone who ever thought to harm us before they can,” Will practically shakes with it. “And then I want to eat them.”
Hannibal remembers how romantic their Dragon dinner was. The design and love that Will infused in his presentation, in the preparation of the dish. The honor and respect shown to Hannibal and their victim. Will had been taught well, but like all great students, he was ready to come into his own. "I have a list in mind," Hannibal starts, but Will stops him. "I have my own. And we'll get your family to help. I think that would be good therapy for us all."
Hannibal is moved. He leans in and kisses Will’s mouth.
“A little time for ourselves. Someone we can trust to leave Allegra with for the night. That's all,” reflects Will.
“We'll make a date night of it,” Hannibal promises, murmuring against Will's mouth. "Bedelia lives only a few hours away," they reach the same conclusion, at the same time.
A deal. Will grabs the rest of their bags, and Hannibal cradles Allegra away from his chest, and they walk the distance inside, hand in hand.