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There’s so much comfort in darkness…
The Bentley comes to a halt in front of Will’s house but neither man makes a move to get out. The light that had come on when Hannibal killed the engine slowly dims until it leaves them in a quiet, warm darkness.
The snow, falling lightly, melts on the windshield. In the distance, the city glows faintly.
Will closes his eyes, breathes. The scent of Hannibal familiar by now.
They had been so close at the stables. The feeling of Hannibal’s hand in his hair still present, their foreheads almost touching, Hannibal breathing metaphors across his skin – whispers through the chrysalis. When Will had finally dared to meet Hannibal’s gaze, he had caught a glimpse of soft admiration and pride, and he felt something begin to shift within himself.
Then Ingram had come into view behind Hannibal and the moment was lost in a flurry of motion, wet cracking of bones, the sound of a body slumping to the ground.
Will had blinked slowly, turned halfway and pulled out his phone to inform Jack.
Hannibal had insisted to take Will home afterwards. Of course.
Jack had agreed reluctantly and waved them off. Their reports due as soon as possible.
This… fishing trip… was starting to evolve into an experiment on how much strain could be put on self-defense claims. And Jack Crawford’s nerves.
“Will. You are not Peter,” Hannibal offers, breaking Will’s brooding. Steady snowfall.
“I’m not.” Will replies, defiantly. “At least he knew how to feel.”
“You’re confused.”
“I’m not weak.”
“Not at all.” There’s a goddamn smile in Hannibal’s tone.
Will clenches his fist, breathes. “It’s… dark.”
“There’s so much comfort in darkness.” Will’s thoughts echoed back at him.
He almost snorts, “Not for everyone.”
Hannibal’s hand on the console twitches, barely noticeable, just a glint of low light reflected from his skin.
Will resists reaching for it, shakes his head. “You’re so good at this.” He rubs his eyes, his face.
He does not need to look at Hannibal to know – these watchfull eyes, black, glistening beads – he’s observing him with this calm, reptile-like scrutiny, and for the thousandth time there’s this tiny voice in the back of Will’s mind, wondering why he doesn’t run screaming.
The snow is coming down in thick fluffy flakes now and despite the warmth in the car, it starts covering the windshield.
You’re not alone, Will…
If it’s the memory of these words, the promise of sharing his darkness, the calm breathing of Hannibal next to him in the complete blackness, Will cannot tell, but he briskly turns in his seat, grabs for Hannibal’s coat and pulls him over until he feels his breath across his face again.
He presses his forehead against Hannibal’s, eyes scrunched shut, through clenched teeth, “I don’t… want to kill you… anymore.”
Their noses brush. Will’s grip on Hannibal’s coat tightens.
Hannibal starts to speak, voice low, and Will silences him with the force of his lips pressed to his.
I… am not alone, Will thinks and the warmth of Hannibal’s lips against his almost makes him believe it is true.
For a moment he wonders what the purpose of this might have been – startling Hannibal? Futile anyway. Shutting him up? More like it. Feeling connected? No. No…? Nooo…
He drags his lips across Hannibal’s as the thought disintegrates.
Hannibal seems to be frozen but not from fear, never fear. His peculiar curiosity seeping from him even in the darkness. What will he do?
Shut up! Will thinks and sinks his teeth into Hannibal’s flesh.
The taste of copper startles him. He pushes Hannibal away, fumbles for the door handle, falls into the snow, panting.
What hatches, follows it’s own nature… Hannibal’s voice in his head, his blood, his very bones.
What is he?
Will slowly gets up. Without turning, walks towards his house – no lights to call him home. He needs a drink.
He knows, Hannibal smiles.