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"Y--you were supposed...to leave."
Will turns around slowly. The oxygen in the room has turned dense and the pressure of it restricts his movements. Behind him stands Hannibal Lector; bloodied, indomitable, and seductive in his element.
"We couldn't leave without you."
Will is in awe of what he sees. On the otherwise stoic face of Dr. Lector he sees pain, sadness, anger, and contempt. A metronome made of light swings into his vision and he is Hannibal Lector. He is standing in Hannibal's polished shoes, seeing himself through Hannibal's eyes. He feels a hurt, deep and real, as his mind re-imagines scenes of their past. Inhale: Freddie Lounds' scent on Will's shoulder. Will’s silhouette by the light of a fire, intentions made clear. Their last supper. An offer, a chance at forgiveness. "They know." He hears his own voice through the receiver and knows it's the closest thing to an apology he will ever get.
He sees himself as the one person Hannibal had a connection with. The one person who could understand Hannibal, master of deceit that he is. Hannibal wanted Will and Abigail in his life. The rejection cuts deep and he is gutted.
The realization snaps Will back into his body in the present time and he can do nothing to resist the gravitational pull that draws him into Hannibal. Betrayal is heavy in Will's heart when he hears Hannibal sigh and bring a bloody hand to rest on Will's cheek. Will leans in and feels the barest brush of soft lips against his own chapped ones before a curved blade slices its way through Will's abdomen. The Wendigo appears behind Hannibal and remarks on the fact that this is the most intimate kiss Will has ever experienced.
Emotion wavers in Hannibal's voice as he holds Will to him. "Time did reverse. The teacup that I shattered did come together. A place was made for Abigail and you, Will." Fury. Will knows that twist in Hannibal’s tone as fury. "Do you understand?"
He does. He understands the path of Hannibal’s thinking and he knows the dead end that awaits them. He knows there is nothing he can do to stop it. Nothing but shake his head. "A place was made for all of us, together. I wanted to surprise you. And you, you wanted to surprise me." Hannibal drops him. Will is not in control of this situation, in fact control is something he knows very little of. He surrenders and shuffles into a corner, preparing himself for the dead end Hannibal is racing them down.
"I have let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn't want it."
"D-Didn't I-?"
"You would deny me my life."
"N-no-no, no. Not your life no."
"My freedom then, you would take that from me. Confine me to a prison cell. Did you believe you could change me? The way I've changed you." Will thinks the answer to that is obvious, and he would revel in the fact that he knows Hannibal better right now than the man knows himself, if it weren't for the fact that he is dying on the floor of the man's kitchen. "I already did."
Hannibal is inconsolable now. The Wendigo looms behind him, tripled in size and transformed into a monster made of fang, claw, and antler. "Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment. When the teacup shatters. I forgive you will. Will you forgive me?"
Black ink swirls in the corners of his vision, coiling, encroaching. The wetness in his eyes does little to hold it back. "I-..." Consciousness is rapidly slipping away from him. He doesn't have much time left and he realizes there is only one thing he wants to say. "I f-forgive you. You found what you love...and you let it kill you. T--. Tell me, how does it feel w-with my teeth in your heart?"
Will hears the Wendigo seething. It blinds him completely and the last thing he feels is wetness on his cheeks.
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Darkness breaks and lingers in the corners of Will’s vision. Dust motes float around the room, pushed by a force only they know, weaving between the beams of fading sunset that filter through the window blinds. Above him a ceiling fan slowly spins off kilter due to a broken blade. For a now, Will is nothing but this moment. A temporary gift bestowed on him by a mind in chaos, holding off the tsunami of memories threatening to spill. He revels in the bliss of ignorance for just a few minutes longer as his eyes roam over his surroundings. He finds himself laid chest bare on a chaise lounge and he carefully avoids looking at his stomach. He sees mahogany paneling, tattered oriental rugs overlapping on the wood floor, a fern, a generously stocked bookshelf, and a fireplace burning through its fuel supply. The word ‘where’ enters his mind unbidden and there is nothing he can do as the dam breaks, his ignorance ripped from him, and everything that is Will Graham rushes into him at once. It is overwhelming and he is nauseated.
Will’s gaze snaps down to his stomach seeking out the wound he can feel pulsing with every quickened heart beat. What he finds instead is gauze fastened to his skin blocking his view. He has to see it. He moves and feels the tug and pull of the wound. He lifts a corner of gauze. A sudden movement to his lefts startles him and a cold, cold fear grips his body. Abigail is leaning over him now, her hand reached out to stop his from disturbing the stab wound. “D-Don’t “she says breaking the long quiet of the room. Words between the two rush from heart to throat, needing to be free, but there are too many and they choke each other in their race to be known. In the absence of things said, eyes must be enough.
Abigail is not sure how long they stay like before Hannibal enters the room. He is rigid, head held high and he is frozen for a minute when meeting Will’s wild gaze. Hannibal hands her a bowl of broth he had prepared not an hour ago and she envies his forethought not for the first time. She takes a seat by Will to help him drink. Will speaks, voice unwavering, tone vindictive. “Somehow I knew kissing you would be like that. Can’t imagine I would survive the sex.”. Abigail flushes and feels like she definitely shouldn't be here right now.
These months with Hannibal have left her tuned to his subtle moods and she knows what’s coming before Hannibal tips his head and replies. “In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.” Hannibal leaves and misses the twisted smile that distorts Will’s features.
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Days pass and Will remains on the chaise lounge, refusing the only other bed not occupied by Hannibal regardless of Abigail's insisting. His mornings and evenings blend together and he suspects that he is being sedated.
Will thinks of Hannibal often, not the cold and distant creature he now resides with, but the Hannibal free of the lies that constrained him, there in the kitchen, drenched in the blood of Will’s obstacles. He sees these two Hannibal’s in juxtaposition, and at once knows the difference between forgiveness and trust.
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Will and Abigail are sat at the dining room table. The entire house is too modest. Absent is the exuberant style Will has come to know of Hannibal Lector and Will is comforted and alienated by it at once. “Do you need to lie down? You’re sort of pale”. Something must have shown on his face. “Where do you go every day?” he asks instead. Abigail frowns and looks out the nearby window. It’s surface is cloudy from years of neglect but through it he can make out a narrow cobbled street. Snow gathered in corners and clinging to the red roofs of the neighboring townhomes. If he’s really lucky, he might see a person or two about on their daily errands. He thinks they must be somewhere in Europe.
“Walking” she says eventually. “There’s a bridge close by I like to go to sometimes. Or I’ll go to the town square, visit the shops, act like a tourist here on vacation. This is kind of like a vacation, isn’t it?”. The laugh barks out of him unbidden and startling. A small rare smile graces Abigail's lips but it quickly pulls into a frown as Will puts his head in his hands and sinks into his chair. The tail end of Will’s laugh hitches and he clamps down hard on the stirrings of an emotional breakdown. Abigail slips out of the room without a word and a steaming cup of tea is placed in front of him. Will glances at Hannibal, then back at the tea. He knows what this is. He drinks it anyway.
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Will stirs. Dreams seeping through to reality. He is in Hannibal's dining room laying on the chaise lounge where Hannibal's table should be. He can hear Hannibal's deep baritone wandering in through the kitchen door. "...our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real." In this waking dream, Will wonders which of his imaginary friends Hannibal is talking to. He blinks and the Ravenstag, Wendigo, and Garrett Jacob Hobbs appear before him. "Will is morning the loss of the life he once knew as his mind is struggling between repression and surrender. He must deal with the inconsistencies that are at odds with his denial." The remnants of his dream fade to black and he is back in that rustic bohemian townhome. He hears the clacking of dishes, the running of water. "He likes dogs" says Abigail, "We should get him a dog". He drifts back to sleep and instead of his usual nightmares, he dreams of his canine family, and hopes that he is lucid enough in the morning to thank her.
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Their life now is permeated by a stagnate silence in which every uttered word must be carefully prepared, chewed, and digested. Conversation is sparse. Functional. Hannibal gives nothing of himself away. Will dwells on the nature of defense mechanisms and a memory enters his mind, a confession '...all my palace chambers are not lovely light and bright. In the wall of our hearts and brains, danger awaits. There are holes in the floor of the mind.' Will is uncomfortably familiar with the tug of war that rages in his psyche, acclimated to it years ago. He uses bitter sarcasm to cope when he can, runs when he can't. But what of Hannibal's mechanisms, his memory palace? Had he retreated there, betrayed and abandoned? Will shivers thinking of what demons must be lurking in the recesses of that place.
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The bookshelf is stocked with nothing but poetry and it's on this particularly long afternoon that Will chooses one at random and starts reading. Hannibal is in the kitchen prepping their dinner; whether human or animal Will finds that he no longer cares. He peeks into the living room, donning an apron, holding a glass of wine. "Where has our little bird flown off to this time?"
'Our.' That's a new one. Will isn't sure he's in the mood for awkward small talk so he just shrugs. Hannibal glances at the book in Will's lap and continues, "I have always aspired to a more spacious form that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose." Will glances up to find Hannibal watching him. Trying to rile him up? He continues, "In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent." Definitely trying to rile him up. Will huffs out a laugh. This game of chess between the two of them has been long drawn out and he refuses to play.
Hannibal continues determined, "A thing is brought forth which we didn't know we had in us. So we blink our eyes," Hannibal says approaching Will from behind. Will feels the energy coiling within him, he shakes from the effort to keep it in check. Hannibal notices, leans forward and sets the wine glass down beside Will, breath ghosting over the back of his neck, “as if a tiger had sprung out and stood in the light, lashing his tail."
Will can't stop the shiver that thrums through his body. His response is ripped out of him, "So you have tamed the tiger and made him your pet. Wild animals don't live long when raised in captivity you know." Will is shaking by the time he finishes speaking, from the truth of the words or Hannibal's breath on his neck he doesn't know.
"So it seems."
Hannibal abruptly stands and returns to the kitchen. Will clenches his jaw and returns to his book. "And yet the world is different from what it seems to be and we are other than how we see ourselves in our ravings" Will reads aloud to an empty room.
Hannibal’s voice comes steel and even through the kitchen door "How do you believe I am to see you?" This is a conversation that Will wants to be far, far, away from, but one that desperately needs to be said all the same. "You see me as a killer I am not." Will licks his lips and tries to steady his breath. There is silence for a beat before Hannibal replies "And you? What did you see of me?"
"Salvation. Resolution." There are no sounds from the kitchen for a long time until he requests Will's company at the table.
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Abigail still has not come home. Will and Hannibal eat in silence.
Will is cleaning the dishes when Hannibal walks in with gauze, salve, and medical tape. Will struggles with a ridiculous fight or flight response and tries to force nonchalance. Abigail is the one who assists Will with caring for his stitches. Not Hannibal. He slowly puts the last dish in the drying rack. He wants to stall for time but Hannibal is waiting for him patiently and...yes the gravitational pull he feels towards the man did not bleed out of him entirely that night on the kitchen floor like he had hoped it would. The words of a long dead poet float in his mind 'Everything carries me to you.'
Will follows Hannibal into the living room like a man walking to an execution chamber. They stop and Hannibal just looks at Will for a moment with a raised eyebrow, he gestures to the chaise lounge. Will lies down and Hannibal takes a seat on what space is left, his thigh against Will’s hip. They are the closest they have been since last week and Will shakes from the urge to run and lean in simultaneously. Hannibal’s large hands curl under the hem of Will’s shirt, knuckles brushing his stomach. They are warm and frighteningly still when next to Will’s clammy and trembling ones. Hannibal slowly pulls the edges of the medical tape away from Will's skin. It stings and Will is breathless until the entire wrapping is free. Hannibal is preparing another strip of gauze with salve when he asks “Do you hate me Will?”
Will's heart is in his throat, cold and constricted. His teeth chatter. His body struggles. He feels as if he is being split in half. "Some days" he says finally, and it feels damning.
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Will teaches Abigail how to play Bourre by the fire. He is flipping his fifth card when he hears the clap of polished dress shoes on the wood floor, follows the sound with his ears down the hallway where they pause for a moment before the front door opens and closes with a soft click. Only now does he realize how tensely he is holding his body. He quickly pulls his hand away from where it was protectively covering his stitches. Abigail eyes him. She is wary now after his breakdown at the table. “He said we had to wait until you were ready. That he would help you get ready. But you weren’t ready, were you”?
The Ravenstag, Wendigo, and Garrett Jacob Hobbs are nowhere to be seen and Will wonders who he is in this place.
“I know what Hannibal’s therapy does to people. I know he manipulates,” Abigail continues brave as she always is in the face of Will’s silence, “but it’s made me feel like a functional human being again. And is that really so bad?” Will remembers those frenetic evenings spent in Hannibal’s office. An intimacy such as therapy requires trust, and that trust bled out of them weeks ago. Will says “How can Hannibal make me functional or a human being for that matter, when he was the one who made me like this. When I’m the one who made him like that.” He gestures towards the front door. Abigail doesn’t look at him, instead she shuffles the cards. In a low voice she says “You wouldn’t stay if you didn’t want things to be fixed." Will sighs “I want things to be fixed, yes. We both do...I think. But the history of it... it chokes us both. He is a beast, corned, and exposed. Getting too close now would be…dangerous. For all of us.”
Abigail turns away. She loves them, but her dads love their poetic drama more. But that’s ok. That’s what she’s here for. She can fix this. Hannibal will get over it soon, all he needs is some convincing on Will’s part. And Will….she looks over at him, his long eyelashes downturned and arms wrapped around himself, shoulders hunched. Maybe Will just needed a little push.
“When has being close to Hannibal ever not been dangerous?” she says, lines delivered with a confident grace she learned from Hannibal “but that's never stopped you.” She leans in. Not hesitating before she delivers the blow “Even though he was responsible for the death of your unborn baby, you came back. Well, he wasn’t solely responsible for that you know.” Will’s lips part, eyes searching hers for the truth. “He told me about that woman. That she was just using you to get back at her brother. I asked Hannibal to get her away from you.” Will stands up too fast, stumbles. Abigail continues hurriedly “We are your family, Will. Hannibal and I. We have to look out for each other!” Will throws himself out the front door. Sans shoes and jacket.
‘Good, that’s what he needs,’ is what Abigail thinks anyway before Hannibal comes home and sternly corrects her before walking back out the door. If Hannibal’s wrath is the price she has to pay to see her father’s coming home hand in hand then she can deal.
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When Will steps outside, he is unable to open his eyes for a few torturous moments. The bright winter morning sun is blinding and wonderful as it caresses his cheeks, his hair, his lips. He starts to walk down the narrow street he finds himself in. He walks through melted puddles of snow, gets drenched in a few drops that fall off shingles. The contrast of warm sun against his skin and bitterly cold melted snow that licks against his skin makes his nerves sing. He makes his way through the weaving uneven streets. If he ever crossed paths with another person, it didn’t register. His mind is blissfully, beautifully blank. He finds himself on a bridge, one of many in this little town. He stands over a shallow river and watches the water gather and erode what snow remains on its banks. The world is a sharp contrast of yellow morning light and the dark blue tones of winter.
Will thinks of a life that seems so long ago now. He is transported back to times when all he had was a fire warming his face and his dogs cuddled close. He thinks of all that he has lost in his acquaintance with Hannibal. He feels like everything that was Will Graham is gone now. All that remains is this wounded animal that aches and quivers with every breath. A dying animal that must be put out of its misery.
Will stands there and watches the sun change from yellow to red before he feels Hannibal at his side. A tug on his elbow guides him into a waiting car. They sit in silence on the drive back to the house, so like the many car rides they’ve shared in the past. Will hunches, wraps his arms around himself, and tries desperately to hold the disjointed pieces of himself together.
They get back home and Will limps over to a kitchen chair, only now feeling the damage he has done to his feet. Hannibal walks to the back of the house and Will hears his bedroom door close.
There is no place for him in the life. He leans his head back, closes his eyes, and wades into the quiet of the stream.
He hears movement in front of him, water sloshing. A wet hand grabs his right ankle and Will jolts awake. Hannibal is kneeling before him with a bucket of water and a washcloth. He takes Will’s foot, places it in the bucket, and starts scrubbing away the street grim and blisters from Will’s feet. It hurts and it's wonderful. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t think there is a way to fix this”. Will doesn’t know if he said that aloud and Hannibal is giving no hints one way or the other. Hannibal is touching him gently and it feels like that night. That night where he felt Hannibal’s lips, his arms wrapped tightly around him, the knife penetrating, and he is startled to realize that he wishes Hannibal had killed him.
It's late at night, or early in the morning, Will isn't sure. The strong light of a heavy moon pierces the empty space around Will. Space that would normally be filled with Will's pack or any of his mental projections, a space that has been empty for awhile now. Something needs to end, whether it be his loneliness or his life. He stands and takes one forced step after another towards Hannibal's bedroom. He opens the door and feels the plush carpet against his feet. Hannibal is nestled amongst several pillows in the middle of the bed. His eyes are closed but Will knows he isn’t asleep.
He walks to the bed, lifts the covers, climbs in, and seals his fate. As adrenaline spikes within him, any sort of plan he had upon entering the bed is quickly reexamined as possibly the stupidest thing he has ever done. Hannibal is looking directly at him and it's too late to pull back or move forward. Will is lost in the memory of their last kiss and he snaps his eyes shut against the sound of his heart trying to break free of his body. He can feel the slide of Hannibal's lips against his in that kitchen. Will opens his eyes and Hannibal is leaning over him, hand holding Will's face as he keeps their lips together. Will goes rigid, heartbeat speeding to a frantic tempo and he is sure he is going to have a heart attack. They stay like until Hannibal feels the sigh escape Will, feels his trembling subside and his body relax into the mattress.
Hannibal breaks the contact. He leans away and Will goes with him, insistently pressing Hannibal down into his pillow through the connection of their lips and their positions are reversed. Will's leg comes up and over Hannibal’s hips and Will straddles him. There is a deep rumble from Hannibal, a slight lift of his hips and it's the only signal Will needs.
Their coupling is much gentler than Will imagined anything between the two of them could be. Hannibal is an attentive and expressive lover and it's far from the animalistic possession Will needs right now. It's all glistening skin sliding; alighting nerves. A thumb rolling Will's nipples as their hips undulate against each other. The scrape of nails against Will's back. A hand squeezing not nearly hard enough around his throat. Soft gasps turning to urgent groans. The harsh pull and tug of his stitches upon every thrust. It's wonderful and Will is finally human again.
Will finds himself in the large garden tub of the master bathroom, water rising around his navel, lazy with post coital bliss. Hannibal has wandered off somewhere. Will’s mind takes full advantage of this rare moment of clarity to compartmentalize the last two weeks. With his emotion and memories checked and sorted, he closes his eyes and sighs in relief.
A hand works its way into Will hair and he leans into the touch before his face is pushed under the water. Panic grips Will's lungs and he grasps for the hand holding him under and pulls it off, finally getting a breath of oxygen. He coughs and sputters as Hannibal lowers himself to the tub edge dressed in a robe. "I see the fight is back in you. Good." He leans in and presses a kiss to Will's lashes. He flinches away and turns his head. Hannibal just smiles, wets a loofah and drags it across Will's chin.
"Well thanks for that. My mind might be free of hallucinations but you sure as hell make up for it." Will says when he finally catches his breath. "You're welcome Will. One would think you would be pleased at the respite."
It takes a few minutes of silent bathing before Will get's the courage to ask "Where do you think they’ve all gone?" Hannibal rubs shampoo into his hair. "Perhaps you have internalized them." Hannibal sets a finger under Will's chin and lifts. "Would you like a shave?" Will scoffs.
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Abigail can hear the result of her intervention from her bedroom. She wonders if Will is aware of just how loud he is. She puts her headphones in and looks out her bedroom window down to the street below. Hannibal can say what he wants, but this at least, is progress. Still, she wants to cement their familial bonds. She knows this little Czech town like the back of her hand by now, and she knows exactly what she must do.
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The next morning, Will stumbles out of Hannibal’s bedroom. He is dazed with the effects of his first full eight hours of sleep in what seems like months. Abigail is in the kitchen. “Where’s Hannibal?” he asks. Abigail puts the last of the breakfast dishes away her tone sly, “Hannibal? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call him by his first name. What’s changed?” Will gives her a look and Abigail can’t keep the smile off her face so she says instead “He’s out making some last minute arrangements. He said it’s about time we moved on from here…So hey, why don’t we go for a walk, just you and me?” Will smiles and feels like a normal human being again. “I’d like that.”
Abigail keeps a slow pace, knowing that Will’s feet must still be sore. She leads them towards the older part of town. Down one of these streets…yeah this one, is an old apartment building where a sex trafficking ring does their business. She sees a group of men who stopped their conversation to stare at them. Abigail quickly sends a rehearsed text to Hannibal while they walk past the group toward the apartment. Will moves closer to her, most likely sensing the animosity in the air. As they pass the open lobby doors the group of men descends upon them. They are dragged inside, mouths covered. Only half of Abigail has to pretend to scream, the other half is genuinely worried she has gotten them over their heads. She had only ever seen two, maybe three, men here. She counts eleven.
A man throws a bag over Abigail’s head and she is dragged away from the lobby.
Will’s skin is screaming from the force of every serial killer he has internalized fighting to break free. Plans and actions race through his head so frantically he can’t discern or act on any one of them. Abigail is taken from his sight and he goes deadly cold. One grizzled man is leading him somewhere while the others stand in the lobby, unconcerned with their new docile prey. Will waits for a beat before grabbing the man’s gun, spinning the two of them around and using grizzly as a shield. He wastes the whole clip on two of the men and curses his bad aim. The man who took Abigail brings her back out, holding a gun to her head and screaming at Will in some Slavic language.
He drops the gun. Hands in the air, he lowers his knees to the broken tiled floor. Grizzly grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls him back to the center of the room. Will is pushed down into a long discarded pile of clothing before he receives a kick to his side with a steel toed boot. The stitches tear open and blood soaks his shirt. Will is nauseous with pain.
The grizzled man barks orders to the others and they carry their wounded comrades from the room. Grizzly retrieves a knife before walking back to Will. Will kicks the man’s legs out from under him, grabs the knife and plunges it into the man’s throat.
Will sidles to the hall where he last saw Abigail. Slits the throat of a man he encounters there. Will’s hands are slippery and he takes too long pulling the dead man’s gun from its holster. He can hear the other men yelling in the lobby. He limps along the hall, passing too many doors, too many places they could have thrown Abigail and he has to stop himself from calling her name. He’s rounds a corner and thank god, there she is, gun in hand aimed at Will in her surprise but it’s her and she’s ok.
Abigail sees the blood still spreading through the fibers of Will’s shirt and the sweat gathering along Will’s forehead. She takes his hand and they hobble into the nearest room. They make it to the destroyed kitchen before Will collapses. There is a med kit in the sink but Will is too close to fainting to use it and Abigail is too busy listening for footsteps, gun ready.
They hear gun shots coming from the lobby. It must be Hannibal. Abigail is relieved and worried all at once, her body making a strange rocking motion with the urge to go to his aid or stay with Will. Everything gets really quiet for a moment and Abigail looks at Will. He is swimming in an out of consciousness, struggling not to leave her alone in this place. He rests his head on her shoulder and that’s how Hannibal finds them.
Hannibal is wearing a suit made of blood and he gives Abigail a looks that causes her to pale in fright. He takes the med kit from the dusty kitchen counter and moves to Will's side. An urgent finger lifts Will's eyelids, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and presses against his wound. Will's vision has blackened and narrowed to Hannibal's lips and Hannibal's lips alone. He watches them move and form words that Will cannot hear. Will lifts his bloody hand to to Hannibal's lips to silence them, smears thick gobs of blood against Hannibal's chin before falling at his side. Hannibal catches Will's hand before it hits the floor and the last thing Will feels as he looses consciousness is Hannibal's lips against his cheek as he bleeds out on the kitchen floor.
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