Chapter Text
Will waits and he plots and he sits in cold silence, his rage sinking deep into the marrow of his bones. It's an ugly, seething anger, and at times it feels as though the rage has hollowed him out entirely and filled him with its leaden presence. Some days Will thinks he might not be able to move because of it, that he'll grow slower and slower in its paralyzing grip, unable to fulfill his desire for revenge.
(It's ironic that he recognizes the danger his fury brings him so early on- he had time to prevent his anger from becoming his undoing, and yet---)
He works tirelessly to get out or at least affect Hannibal Lecter, his once-friend. Matthew Brown is a failure, but Will hadn't expected much from him. He could always hope, of course, and he had, but the attack was meant more as an invitation. Will figured that speaking in Hannibal's language was the best way of getting his attention. He's walked in the minds of killers before, and so he knows they can't seem to resist the call of another like them.
(But what kind of call will Hannibal take it as? Later, Randall Tier will show Will how the man had taken it, but he doesn't know this yet.)
They meet and exchange remarks heavy with implications through a thick plastic barrier. And suddenly Will is free and he can do as he pleases without Chilton's slime getting in the way, so he goes home to his dogs and his rage and his plans. Will brushes off Jack's job offers and the FBI's calls and resumes his therapy with Hannibal- the man seems to enjoy his company even more now that they recognize one another.
Hannibal thinks they are kindred spirits. Will isn't sure if he agrees, but every time he tries to deny it he remembers the calm determination he felt when sending Matthew Brown hunting, and the simple acceptance upon hearing of the man's failure. Then Randall Tier comes crashing through his front window, and though the adrenaline causes tremors to run up his arms (he's only human, after all) he feels no hesitation, no squeamishness, in doing what needs to be done.
And that is when Will realizes that he is Hannibal's equal- they've exchanged killers, much as couples exchange gifts- and the notion rattles him. The kind of revenge he dreams of isn't moral in any regard, but knowing that Hannibal expects Will to join him beyond humanity is unsettling; while he'd always been a step apart from others, Will had never thought of cultivating the disdain for humanity that Hannibal possessed, and this confusing opportunity is what leads him to Hannibal's door late one snowy evening with Randall's organs neatly packaged in brown paper.
Will knocks twice carefully, mindful of his burden, and then his- enemy? Friend? Something else entirely?- opens the door, smiling as he sees the package.
Hannibal gestures to his spacious entry, a silent invitation, and Will hesitates, knowing that his next move determines his future. He shifts uneasily, staring at Hannibal, who merely quirks his lips further. Their eyes meet, and Will swallows at the intensity of Hannibal's gaze. He isn't quite sure what will happen inside, but- he's here, and he has what they need for dinner, and it's been so long since they last shared a meal- and so Will gathers himself and steps over the threshold, Hannibal beckoning him inside.