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Hannibal pulled up in front of the house in his new, dark green Bentley. Will stood up on the roof and waved.
"Come on up, I'll show you how it's going," he called. A hammer hung loosely in his hand. He'd peeled his shirt off and stuck it through his belt. The sun had turned his skin to gold, and the work had built new muscle and lit a spark of joy in him that Hannibal had never seen before.
"Come down. I've brought you something to eat."
"Come up. We can eat after."
"I don't care about the roof, Will," he said.
Will grinned at him. "I know. But you'll humor me eventually, so save us both some time and get up here."
Unfortunately, he was right. Hannibal would humor him in almost anything these days. It wasn't something he could satisfactorily explain to himself. Perhaps it was the unguarded innocence of Will's pleasure when he did.
Will met him at the top of the ladder and kissed him. His rough hands cupped Hannibal's face carefully, and he smelled of sweat and sun, sawdust and dry grass.
Hannibal handed him the picnic basket. "We can eat up here," he said. "The breeze is cooler."
"I knew you'd see it my way." Will transferred the basket to his left hand and offered the right to ease Hannibal's ascent.
It pleased him to be chivalrous. Remnants of his youth and the culture from which he sprang. Hannibal had thought it might begin to grate in time. Instead, as the novelty drained away, the warmth of familiarity and ritual replaced it.
Perhaps it made an even exchange: his continual indulgence of Will's whims, Will's unnecessary care in handling him. Hannibal had thought they might not last through the end of the summer. Will's morality or his own essential nature would bring them into conflict, and they would flare briefly together in some glorious fashion before the final end.
He'd almost asked once or twice whether Will would be offended if Hannibal consumed his remains, assuming the most likely outcome. It would be more pleasurable and more convenient than hiding his body. But Will seemed to take it entirely for granted that they would last, and Hannibal indulged him in this as he did in everything else.
He spread out the picnic blanket near a section of newly repaired roof and started to unpack the basket. Will told him about timber and roof tiles and nails and the likely cost of the job when complete. Hannibal didn't care and didn't pretend to listen. Will didn't expect it of him.
Instead, he thought of Will's upcoming return to DC for the launch of Ms. Lounds's book. When Hannibal had suggested the trip, it had been partly the necessity of avoiding any unwanted attention here in Provence, but also the imagined necessity of a break for both of them. Time for one or both of them to, as Will had put it, come to their senses.
For the first month, he had looked forward to the separation with equanimity and even some pleasure. The constant presence of another person in his life and home galled at times. In the past weeks, he had begun to feel something more akin to dread at the thought.
Will would go and would not return. Hannibal would inevitably pursue him. His willpower would only hold for so long. He would find Will alone, at the house he still owned in Wolf Trap, and paint the walls with his blood.
"Hey." Will nudged his shoulder. "I said, are you sure nothing's living in this cheese? I think I just saw it move."
"Unless you have a microscope in your toolbox, I'm certain you did not."
Will poured wine for both of them and rested his chin on the rim of the glass. "What are you thinking about?" he said.
"Killing you."
"You usually look happier when you think about that."
"I don't."
"Okay, not happy. Content, maybe."
"Death is inevitable."
Will sipped his wine. "And you are making the face most people make when they remember that."
"Will you finish the roof soon?"
"Now you care about the roof? Yeah, end of the week. We might be able to move in before I go back to DC."
"Will you sell the house in Wolf Trap while you're there?"
"Yeah, probably. No point keeping it, and I don't want to rent it out." He paused and blinked once at Hannibal. "Oh," he said.
Hannibal closed his eyes briefly. "Please don't gloat."
Will grinned. "Then don't tell me you're scared I'll run out on you. And then what? You'd come after me, I guess."
"It's likely."
"And then everybody dies. How do you survive all the drama in your head? It must be like an Italian opera in there twenty-four hours a day."
"You're appalling."
"You like me that way."
"Eat your lunch."
They ate. It was too late for lunch, in fact, and too early for dinner. Hannibal detested disordered meal times, but sitting down to eat in an empty dining room had become nearly as unpleasant. It was good that Will was going. His life would have some structure again.
"You don't need to worry," Will said. He didn't look up from his plate. "I'll come back."
"You can't predict what will happen while you're there. You know Jack will want you to stay. You know the methods he'll use."
"I know." Will looked up at him and smiled. "But you'll come and get me if I decide to stay, right? So I have to go. I'm no use to him dead."
"I don't know how you can looked pleased about that."
"You make my life a lot simpler, Hannibal."
"With threats of murder."
Will shrugged. "If that's what it takes. Are you going to talk yourself out of this while I'm gone? Convince yourself you're no good for me? I thought I could count on you to be more selfish than that."
"You can."
"Yeah?"
"Of course. You know what I am better than anyone."
Will gave him an unreadable look and went back to his meal.
Hannibal gazed past him, over the gentle slope of the driveway and the ancient oak tree. He became less sure of what he was daily, but he could be selfish if that was what Will needed from him.