Work Text:
It was the first dip of his head into the water that made Will close his eyes. He had been staring into Hannibal eyes as they plummeted into the raging waters. He found power in them and in some way, he heard the whispers of unspoken words from the deep doors of Hannibal’s mind palace. In a flashing moment, he saw himself standing in a long corridor never ending, rushing water colliding with the walls and opening the doors with its force.
The first dip of his head into the water woke him up. He sat up with a start, looking around the room. Will remembered he wasn’t in the ocean anymore. The space next to him was empty. He still savored the comfortable heat his companion provided him every night.
Hannibal seemed distant these past few days. When Will entered the study, he winced at the hot rush of blood from his body to his head like when he collided into the freezing water. He set down the tray of tea and biscuits onto Hannibal’s desk then left. He couldn’t bear to see what hole Hannibal was digging to hide himself in.
Will watched the days go by. At times when he became distracted too, he held his fingers onto the top most part of his head, rubbing at the spot he remembered where it hurt the most. In these times, he closed his eyes and every time he did this, Hannibal’s presence would suddenly suffocate him. He knew he was in the room. Will knew most of what Hannibal’s tells were.
“Do you need something?”
“Do you have a headache, Will?” Hannibal asked, voice lifting in an inhale.
Will shook his head. “I think I might have but some things aren’t important.”
There was a drawn silence and when the washing machine clicked to a stop, its echoing sound drifting to the living room, Will resurfaced to the present. It seemed that Hannibal came closer--Will shivered at the ghost of Hannibal’s nose on his cheek. He opened his eyes to see that there was no one in the room anymore.
“I have snacks in the balcony,” Hannibal started, voice drifting from the other room, relaying the desert he made for them as well as the make and quality of flour he added to their pastry.
Will rubbed the top most part of his head, trying to seek where it hurt the most.
Hannibal’s voice drifted and Will noticed how garbled he sounded. There was no coherency.
No fluency.
Nothing.
Hannibal seemed to suspend in the air he was walking on.
Will stood up and walked towards the balcony. Hannibal wasn’t there but the pastries and tea cups were arranged neatly by design.
A breath went through Will’s lips. He bit them.
Blink.
Blink.
Will opened his eyes and the gush of hard pain bashing his lungs in greeted him. The salt water gained force and won the upper hand against his survival. He swallowed water. He inhaled it like he needed it.
He plunged into the deep, losing the only thing he knew would save him. His hands were empty. Nothing warm and steady to hold onto. His body started being pulled by the dark tendrils of the ocean beneath them.
Blink.
Blink.
Will opened his eyes. Enduring the sting, he waded into the deep, reaching out for the man he knew held half of his share of the universe. A few moments later, a large creature moved between him and the drifting image of Hannibal. A white orca breached up into the water before plunging back down making Will bob and lose direction.
His lungs were burning. His muscles were failing.
The orca rolled until its belly was face up towards the sky. The ocean suddenly went to a still. The waves above stopped its course. The bubbles stopped between Will’s nose and mouth. Will lost sense of his limbs.
The orca’s eyes gazed into his. A loud shrill came from it before words ringed into Will’s ears.
Do you ache for me? I do, Will. My hand on playing God is not worth to play with if it meant losing you.
The burn in Will’s lungs was starting to get unbearable. His eyes were starting to see black, enveloping him.
In the ring of what vision Will had been left to see, the orca slowly sunk into the water with him, dying. The sound of its heart was a cacophony of uneven beats inside Will’s head.
Beat.
Beat.
Will opened his eyes. A large ivory knife was in his hand, its edge pressing stiffly into a woman’s neck. He was behind her. Her mop of blonde hair swayed in the night air. The window had been Will’s entry to her home and the curtains danced with no audience to their affair.
Beat.
Beat.
His lungs constricted when he saw Hannibal comfortably eating vegetables and fruit. Will watched Hannibal decline into a mundane man. He watched him rocking a good life in the old man’s chair.
Will’s heart clenched at the sight of Hannibal doubling over, sick, food splattering on the backyard ground after he took his time on the rocker.
Beat.
Beat.
On a cold dewy morning, Will opened his eyes, head aching, lungs burning. He walked towards the open bedroom window with a few strings of Hannibal’s thoughts in his ear. There was a figure by a nearby tree and Will watched how Hannibal bit into an acorn. He saw how his gums bled.
Hannibal turned and met his eyes.
The pain that rushed through Will was not the same as when he went into the water. It was not the same as the pain he couldn’t find anymore in his head.
It was the one he held near his heart when they plunged into the waves. The same pain that crashed into his body when Hannibal’s grip on him slipped. His hands that had lost grip on his shoulders. His body that had left its place next to him.
Will had no capacity to scream his agony. The waters stole it from him.
Beat.
Beat.
Bedelia sat heavily on her wheelchair. She had served both her legs, waiting for the days that her totality would be consumed. She looked up, staring at the man who held a tight grip to his knife on her neck.
“Does Hannibal wish to make a meal of me?”
Will swallowed in a harsh breath. He blinked and tried to stave off his emotions. There should be no remorse for these events. He pressed the knife closer to Bedelia’s neck.
“Offer yourself to him.”
“Not until he is ready.”
“He is beyond ready.”
Bedelia pushed the knife away from her neck and wheeled away from Will. She looked over her shoulder, “He will be ready if he comes for me instead.”
Thump.
Thump.
Will was suddenly shoved by a stranger into a nearby alley. He asked for his money and watch. The man was big, muscled and had a hand tightly gripping his throat while his other hand was occupied with pushing a gun against Will’s stomach scar.
“Get what you want.”
The man shoved his hands into Will’s pockets. The market next to them continued on without a glance. When the man held out Will’s wallet, a hand gripped his face, pulling him backward. In shock, the man lay concussed when his head cracked on the pavement.
Will saw how Hannibal clenched his fist and bit his lip. The bob of his throat was noticeable. There was hunger in his eyes.
Will finally saw what Hannibal had been doing all along. There was no doubt anymore when Will reached out to him, pulling his chin towards him and staring into his eyes.
“You long to eat me?”
Hannibal held Will’s hand tightly. “Your flesh has not done me wrong. You have not done me wrong.”
Will bit onto Hannibal’s lip, “Tell me how I can help you.”
Hannibal pulled away from Will, “This is only a mere price I have to pay to keep by you. By your side.”
Thum--
Thu --...
Will closed his car door, locking it. He rounded the hood and grabbed at Hannibal’s shaking hand. He led them into the front porch of a familiar house.
As they entered the threshold, Hannibal looked around, savoring the interior, as if he hasn’t been in it before. He caressed the wooden posts that held the high ceilings. The hand gripping his led him in deeper, arriving into a dining area.
Will did not look at who was at the end of the table rather he stared at Hannibal as they entered. He saw the fire slowly growing in his bright eyes. It glistened before it turned dark. Those eyes were now staring at Will.
“You may make a meal of her, Hannibal. I allow it.”
Thump.
Thump.
Will stood over Hannibal’s side of the bed. He slept soundly that early morning with the moon still up and painting his body in shadows. He leaned over him, tracing a fingertip on his neck. Hannibal roused and turned his head towards Will.
The moon created a large halo above Will’s head. Hannibal sat up, letting the sheets fall onto his bare thighs. He reached out a hand to hold Will’s cheek.
“Hurt and broken. You chose to rise and walk next to me into the radiance of the moonlight,” he whispered, cupping the back of Will’s head and making him stoop towards him.
Will bent at his waist, bracing his arms on the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor. “Was there any other path I should have taken?”
Hannibal raked his fingers through Will’s hair. A soft kiss landed on Will’s lips. A tear fell on Will’s cheek.
Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump.
As they stood over Bedelia’s empty grave, Hannibal removed his gloves. He reached out for Will’s hand.
Will turned and saw the gratitude flooding from his lover. He gave him a smile before walking them away from the tombstone.
Hannibal lost his grip from Will, but they weren’t on the edge of the cliff anymore, teetering between life and death.
He watched Will walking along the path with the cold August breeze brushing up his coat. The clouds parted and the sun illuminated the ground Will walked on.
Hannibal gulped against the swell in his chest clawing out his throat. May the world stop spinning, may their hearts stop and beat again, but Will Graham would now walk as a new person.
The one who chose to walk by Hannibal.