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Dolarhyde’s blade cut through the air like the edge of a wing, but Will’s bullet pierced into him before it could make its final descent. One clean shot to the head and The Great Red Dragon crumpled boneless at Will’s feet.
Will reached down and clicked the whirring camera off, gaze falling to Hannibal bleeding out on the floor. The gun hung loose in his hand. Will tightened his grip and raised it, aim set right between Hannibal’s eyes.
“Will you kill me with a gun after all?”
Will’s hand trembled He was powerless to steady it. “Does this deserve intimacy?”
Hannibal groaned. “Intimacy is all we’ve ever known.”
Will stepped back from the black blood spreading from Dolarhyde’s head, keeping the gun trained on Hannibal. “You can stand. Do it.”
Hannibal got to his wobbly feet and stepped closer, close enough for Will to see the flecks of red in his dark eyes. “How far we’ve come from Garret Jacob Hobbs’ kitchen.”
“Stop talking,” Will said flatly, stepping forward, shattered glass crunching beneath his feet. He pressed the gun to Hannibal’s brow. “I’m taking you back.”
Hannibal clutched at the wound on his belly. It oozed blood between his fingers. “If that’s what you wish, I won’t resist.”
Will’s hand began to tremble and he pulled the gun away, tucking it back into its holster. “We should take a look at that first,” he said, motioning for Hannibal to follow.
Hannibal stripped off his jacket and perched on the edge of the table. He lifted the front of his blood-soaked sweater. “I don’t believe it’s hit anything vital. The greatest risk now is infection. There should be a kit in the bathroom.”
Will walked slowly down the hall, his head a mess of static. His thoughts turned to water, spilling away before he could reach them. He clicked on the bathroom light and searched beneath the sink and in drawers, finally finding the kit on a high shelf in the closet. He took it to Hannibal and watched as he searched through it, setting what he needed on the table.
Saline solution, gauze and bandages, several orange bottles of pills. Hannibal flushed out the wound and pressed a pad of gauze firmly over the area. “A little help, please,” he said, sliding off the table and turning so Will could access the spot where the bullet cut into him.
Will rucked up the back of Hannibal’s sweater. The entry wound was small and barely bleeding, but Will flushed it out anyway. His fingers brushed the skin around the wound, gently. It had already gone cold.
Together they wrapped a bandage around Hannibal’s middle and Will watched as Hannibal popped a handful of pills.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Will said.
“The doctors back in Baltimore will see to it that I survive, I’m sure.”
Their eyes met, Hannibal’s expression unreadable. Will turned away before speaking. “Do you want to change before we go?”
“Of course.”
Francis Dolarhyde lay with his arms spread out on the floor, dark blood pooling like a halo around his head. Will circled him slowly, eyes trained on the entry wound on his forehead. Dolarhyde’s eyes remained wide open, reflecting the dim light of the room. Will’s shoes were spattered with his blood.
Hannibal’s footsteps approached. Will looked up just in time to see him enter, clad once again in his white jumpsuit. Will’s heart clenched and ached. Suddenly he was so very tired.
“Shall we?” Hannibal stood near the door. Beyond it, the night. Hannibal opened the door, and the sound of waves battering rock came crashing in.
Will followed him out into the dark. “I should call Jack once we’ve gone, let him know what happened.”
“He’ll be quite disappointed to hear you’ve decided to let me live,” Hannibal said, eyes trained upward at the moon.
Will stepped away, close to the edge of the cliff. He gazed down into the dark water and wished the answers to come. “Molly will be out of the hospital soon,” he shouted above the booming sound of water on rock. “We’ll go home. You’ll be back in your cell.” He turned to watch Hannibal approach. “The world will return to her preferred state of calm.”
“You know too well the world prefers to thrive in chaos.” Hannibal’s words came slow. In spite of his resolve, Will knew he must be hurting.
Will dared move closer to the edge now. Bit-by-bit, the bluff continued to crumble. “I’ve had enough chaos for one life.”
“How do you feel about the life you have just taken?”
“I don’t feel anything,” Will said, and it was the truth. Inside he remained pleasantly numb. His head still buzzed like television static.
Will turned, feet dangerously close to the edge, Hannibal even closer still. In the light of the moon Hannibal’s skin shone pale as bone, eyes glassy and dark.
“We should go,” Will said, trapped in Hannibal’s depthless gaze. “I’ll call Jack…” Without thought, Will reached out a hand to cup Hannibal’s face. His skin like ice, the shape of his skull set firmly below. “I’ll call him, and…”
“I’ll go back to my cell,” Hannibal whispered.
“Yes.” The word flowed from Will’s lips a mere puff of air, and he pulled his hand away.
They walked from the cliffside in silence, waves calling out into the night. Come to me, they seemed to beckon. Will ignored their calls and got behind the wheel of the police car.
“Tell them that I forced you into the car after Francis ambushed the convoy. They’ll believe you.”
Will didn’t respond, pulling out of the drive and making his way onto the road. They drove in silence for twenty minutes before Will pulled over on a darkened stretch of road.
“You love me,” Will said.
“Very much,” Hannibal replied.
“Then tell me what to do.”
“Your plans are to call Jack Crawford, and return me to the confines of my solitude.”
“I know what my plans were.”
“Were?”
Will sighed, resting his head against the steering wheel. “We’re going to need another car. You need blood.”
“I’ll be fine without the blood. Drive until you see a car.”
And Will did, down the dark road, trees looming on either side, the only light around spilling from the car’s headlights. Hannibal clutched at his belly in the passenger seat. They came upon a dirt road cut into the forest, and Will turned the car onto it. A quarter mile down the road there sat a house, a half dozen rusted cars parked out front.
The windows of the house were dark, but still they treaded lightly. Will picked out the car that looked the least likely to fall apart, climbed inside, and set about the process of hot-wiring the car.
“You’ve done this before,” Hannibal said, amused.
“My dad lost the keys to his truck more times than I can remember, taught me how.”
Will pulled the flashlight from his keys and held it between his teeth, working as quickly as memory and his fingers would allow. Soon enough, the car sputtered to life, and he and Hannibal tore back down the road as fast as they came. Will tossed his phone out of the window and into the woods for good measure.
“No calling Jack Crawford, then.”
“No,” Will said. Then, “I don't know where I'm going.”
“Drive south. I have another place, but it will take a day to get there. You'll need to rest.”
“So will you.”
Will watched Hannibal from the corner of his eye. He sighed, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Will knew he was worse off than he let on. Just south of Baltimore, Will pulled into the parking lot of a Walmart.
“I’ll be right back,” Will said, leaving the car idling with the heat on. Hannibal was shivering.
Inside he bought a change of clothes for both him and Hannibal, a heavy fleece blanket, bottles of water, and protein bars. The store was mostly deserted, and the cashier didn’t seem to notice the blood on his shirt and in his hair. He paid using half the cash he had left in his wallet and hurried back to the car.
Hannibal was shivering still, despite the heat running on full blast. Will climbed in and covered Hannibal with the blanket. “I got food and clothes,” he said. “Enough to get us where we’re going. Tell me where.”
“Georgia,” Hannibal drawled. “Just outside of a city called…” He breathed in once, deep, “Graham.”
Will laughed. “You’re serious.”
Hannibal gazed at him out of one hooded eye, half-smiling. “There’s a cabin. One I acquired long before I met you.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Put your seat back, get some rest.”
Hannibal didn’t have a day, Will knew, and as he drove he began to wonder about the blood on the floor back at the house. How much of it had been Hannibal’s? Some of it, certainly, perhaps more than he had realized. Hannibal was pale and cold. Will drove faster.
It would take half a day if they only stopped for gas. They could eat while the car was in motion. Will could sleep when the drive was through. He sped, uncertain what he was racing toward. There was little he could do for Hannibal once they got there, but at least they could rest. Maybe time spent in an actual bed would make some difference.
He had to stop for gas outside of Ashland, and Hannibal was still asleep. Will filled up the tank and bought a gas can which he also filled, using up the last of his cash. He put the gas can in the trunk and opened the passenger seat, leaning in to take Hannibal’s pulse. It was thready beneath his fingers.
“I’ll be alright,” Hannibal mumbled.
You’d better be, Will thought, though he’d meant to say it out loud. He made Hannibal sip water before driving off again, downing a bottle himself as he drove. He made it as far as Fayetteville before having to pull off the road, blind from exhaustion.
“When was the last time you slept?” Hannibal drawled, weakly turning his head.
“I don’t know. It’s been a few days...”
“Sleep. I’ll be alright.”
“I’m not sleeping,” Will said through gritted teeth. “You should eat. I got protein bars.”
Hannibal grimaced and turned his head away. Will reached into the backseat and pulled two protein bars from a plastic grocery bag. He unwrapped one and pressed it to Hannibal’s lips. “Don’t make that face, just eat it.”
Light spilled into the car from a nearby lamp post, turning Hannibal’s pale skin yellow. He reached up groggily and took the protein bar from Will’s hand and took a small bite.
“I’ve had worse I suppose,” he said after swallowing.
“Finish it,” Will said. “Drink some water, too.”
Hannibal ate and drank slowly. Will didn’t feel any relief watching him do so. Will ate his protein bar but didn’t taste it.
“How much blood do you think you’ve lost?”
“Three pints, perhaps a bit more.”
“You need blood. Tell me where to go.”
“The cabin.”
“Do you have blood there?”
“No.”
Will rubbed at his eyes and pulled back onto the road, going dangerously above the speed limit. He had to stop an hour later to refuel the car with the gas can but arrived just outside of Graham as the sun was coming up. Hannibal managed to direct him down back roads and into a thick patch of forest until they came upon the cabin.
There was a car parked out front.
Will eyed Hannibal, now even paler in the morning light. “One of yours?”
“No.”
Will lifted Hannibal from the car and bore the brunt of his weight to the door. It was unlocked and, stepping inside, Will was unsurprised to find Chiyoh, standing rod-straight near the window.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Will said, helping Hannibal to the sofa.
“Did you do this to him?”
“Not directly.”
Will settled down between Hannibal’s knees and began unbuttoning his jumpsuit. Hannibal smiled but didn’t open his eyes. Exposing his abdomen, Will could see blood beginning to seep through the bandage.
“I need to change this. He needs blood,” Will said, and again, “He needs blood,” repeating it like a mantra. As if saying it enough would fill Hannibal’s veins.
“Move him into the bedroom. Down the hall, on the left. There are supplies beneath the sink in the bathroom. I’ll go and get him what he needs.”
“You can get blood?” Will grunted, helping Hannibal to his feet.
“I can if I need to. And it looks like I need to.”
“Hurry. Look for O negative. I have a gun if you need it.”
“I know what to look for. And I don’t need your gun,” she said, walking to the door.
Will struggled to get Hannibal’s down the hall, nearly toppling over once, the short trek feeling more like miles. In the bedroom, finally, Will helped Hannibal into the bed and stripped his jumpsuit down to his hips.
Hannibal’s pulse was rapid and weak. Will rushed to the bathroom, gathered up the supplies, and all but ran back to Hannibal.
“Just promise me you won’t bleed out if I change this,” Will said, slowly unraveling the bandage.
“The blood will have clotted by now,” Hannibal breathed, still somehow managing a smile.
Will pulled the bandage free and, wincing, peeled the gauze back from the exit wound. “Chiyoh’s getting you blood.”
“So I heard.”
“Will this need stitches?”
“It’s best to leave it open for now.”
“Okay,” Will said, peeling back the bloodied gauze with caution. “Okay.”
The wound oozed as Will flushed it, but the flesh around the area didn’t appear infected, and the bleeding had mostly stopped. With some struggle, Will inspected the entry wound on Hannibal’s back, then applied fresh gauze to the wounds and secured them with a fresh bandage.
When he was through, Will found a quilt in the closet and covered Hannibal with it. “Just promise me that you’re going to be alright,” he said, voice more breath now than words.
Perhaps Hannibal would have answered, but sleep had come to claim him.
—
Will dozed curled up next to Hannibal in the bed, reaching up to check his pulse now and then. By mid-morning, Will began to worry Chiyoh would never return.
“If you don’t die, I’m going to kiss you,” Will said, resting his hand over Hannibal’s heart. Still beating.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Hannibal slurred.
“I should have done it, back at the house. I wanted to.”
“We’re here now. Why wait?”
“Maybe to give you something to fight for.”
Hannibal hummed and surrendered to sleep. Will sat up and watched the bedside clock tick away the minutes. Finally, just before noon, Chiyoh returned, hauling a cooler full of blood into the bedroom, along with all the supplies needed for a transfusion.
“Do I want to ask how you got this?”
“I broke into a blood bank,” she said, hanging a bag of stolen blood from an IV pole.
Will watched in silence as she set up the transfusion, thankful she knew how to start an IV, wondering if Hannibal had taught her, wondering when he possibly could have done so. The ache in Will’s chest subsided a little at the first sight of blood flowing down the tube into Hannibal’s veins.
Hannibal mumbled his gratitude, which Chiyoh acknowledged with a hand on his shoulder. “He should rest now,” she said, snapping off a pair of nitrile gloves, and it was only then that Will realized she had been wearing them. “What happened to the person who did this to him?”
“I killed him.”
Chiyoh nodded and silently walked from the room. Will crawled back into the bed.
“You’re going to live,” Will said, gazing at the bag of blood slowly draining into Hannibal. “You are.”
—
By mid-afternoon, the color had returned to Hannibal’s skin, and he was strong enough to sit up in bed and eat the soup that Chiyoh brought them. She stood in the doorway, watching them eat it.
“They’ll be looking for you,” she said. “Where will you go?”
“They won’t know to look for us here,” Hannibal assured her. “We should be alright for now.”
Her gaze flitted between them, and Will could practically taste the disbelief. “Have the two of you ever been alright together?”
Will took their empty soup bowls and set them on the nightstand. The spoons rattled around with a metallic clink. “We’ll be alright now.”
“History has a way of repeating itself,” she drawled, backing out of the room.
Will frowned and looked over at Hannibal’s bare arms peeking out from his blanket. “I have clothes for us in the car,” he said.
Hannibal nodded. Will brought the plastic shopping bags in from the car and did his best to avoid Chiyoh’s gaze as he passed through the cabin. He dropped the bags on the foot of the bed.
“I hope you’re okay with a cheap sweatsuit.”
Hannibal half-smiled. “I may need some assistance getting it on.”
Will’s cheeks burned hot and his heart sped up, but he did his best to ignore his body as he pulled the quilt from Hannibal and tugged the jumpsuit from his hips, down his legs, and onto the floor. He’d already kicked his shoes off hours ago.
Will pulled the tags from the pants and slipped them onto Hannibal’s legs. When Will reached his hips, Hannibal struggled to lift them, and Will struggled to keep his eyes trained on the floor, the blanket, the space above Hannibal’s head. Anywhere but the places his eyes wanted to roam.
Will checked Hannibal’s bandage and wondered if Hannibal could smell the heady mix of emotions rushing through his veins. The bandage looked fine for the time, no visible blood, and Will helped Hannibal pull his shirt on and down over the last visible strip of bare skin.
Will went to grab his own clothes to change in the bathroom, and it was only then he noticed the open closet, its insides brimming with sweaters and pants and shoes.
“You have your own clothes…”
“It would have been rude to refuse your gift.”
Will laughed and crossed to the closet. From a hanger he pulled a soft blue sweater. Will turned and let Hannibal watch him strip off the blood spattered shirt. He tossed it onto the floor with Hannibal’s jumpsuit, then slipped the sweater on over his head.
“Cashmere,” Will drawled, perching on Hannibal’s side of the bed. “You let me dress you in a Walmart sweatsuit when you could have cashmere.”
“The experience of your hands was softer.”
Will’s whole body was alight, heart racing so fast he could taste it. “You’re not going to die, right?”
“There are plenty of antibiotics here. And more blood should I need it. I believe I’m going to survive.”
Will cradled Hannibal’s cheek, leaning in. “Good.”
Hannibal’s lips were warm when Will kissed them, his tongue even warmer still. History repeats itself. Chiyoh was right, Will knew, and perhaps they would always be doomed. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before the taste of death returned to their lips. For now, all they could taste was each other. All they could feel was the warmth of blood rushing beneath living skin.
Hannibal’s soft moans filled Will’s mouth and lilted on the air like music. Hannibal’s hands found Will’s skin, and together they burned.