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Summary
“This wasn’t the plan,” Will grits out, still eyeing the matching pregnancy tests on the bathroom counter like they might bite him. They’re lined up parallel to one another, at perfect right angles with the marble countertop, because Hannibal is an asshole. He takes a deep breath and counts to ten. It doesn’t help. “What the fuck, Hannibal.”
The plan was that Will was supposed to be the one to get pregnant. It was what they'd agreed on. There was the plan, and now there’s this.