Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To say that Will didn't know what he was doing would be a lie. It would also be a lie, however, to say that he planned his own actions.

The proposed plan was to lure The Dragon out with Hannibal, then arrest them both to kill them. If Will didn't find a way get the two monsters to kill each other, then Jack would be coming with back up anyhow. That was the plan Alana knew, the one Jack knew, the one Will wouldn't follow. The first part of his plan went accordingly - the part where Hannibal and him killed Francis Dolarhyde together.

Will did not lie to Hannibal when he called the scene, as well as the act, beautiful. There was something oddly romantic about it, in some messed up way. The blood, the victory, the death. How the stone was painted with wings. The searing pain under thick layers of adrenaline and shock. 

All that was left of his plan was to kill Hannibal. That's where the problem lay, though. Because the thought of living in a world where Hannibal wasn't sharing that life was somehow more impossible than living in a world where there was Hannibal. Clutching at each other, Will knew there was no way he could kill Hannibal.

He couldn't kill just Hannibal.

Can't live with him, can't live without him. But Will was satisfied with dying with him. It was almost polite. He had told Hannibal that he couldn't save himself, the truth that Will could kill everyone was known but unspoken. So Will was very aware of what he did. With their wounds, their collective blood loss, the crashing Atlantic ocean and the rocks, there was no way either of them would survive. That was what he intended, that was Will's design.

Hannibal clutched at him as they plummeted. Elbows locked against his ribs, hands cradling Will's skull. Will didn't have the time to think about the implications of Hannibal's embrace. He just clutched back at him; gripping his shirt, pressing their cheeks together, wet from blood and tears. 

They hit the water on their sides. The cold was expected, as were the rocks that dragged up their sides and cut into their skin. And for the first time in Will's life, perhaps, he was thoughtless. Weightless, floating. Clinging to Hannibal like this, they were one - the same soul inside the two of them rejoicing for the reuniting of its split pieces. Wills throat constricted. He made no move towards the surface. Bleeding fingers made their way into his hair, holding on. Hannibal must have sucked in some water because he started jerking, coughing. Dying.

This isn't what he deserved. Hannibal did not deserve to die in Will's arms on his own. They either died together, same minute, same second, or not at all. So with great difficulty, Will detached himself from his other, grabbed him from under the armpit of his good side, and hauled him up. He didn't get very far - Hannibal released himself and dragged Will down by the ankle. Will punched him in the head and grabbed his wrist this time, thumb pressed into the deep scar there. A pleasant thrum drove through Will's body at the memory of putting those gashes there.

Breaking the surface was the most painful thing Will had experienced. The first breath was of water, then cold air that burned all the way down. His chest tightened and the waves crashed him against the bluff. Hannibal grabbed him by the hair and pulled until he submerged in water again. Will kicked his exit wound. He let go of his head and curled in on himself, groaning. The ocean continued to rock them, tousle them, swirling with white and red, and at the sight of a particularly large wave Will pushed himself between Hannibal and the rocks.

He tried to keep his chin to his chest, but with the force of the water and Hannibal crashing into him, Will's body slammed against the jagged surface. His head hit a particularly hard rock. By the time his eyes could focus on anything, Hannibal had started to drag Will ashore by the ankle. He started to scoop Will off the pebbles with apparent intent to carry him off somewhere.

"Stop." Will's voice surprised him. His mouth was full of salt and just breathing hurt. He licked along his cheek and gagged when it poked through the hole The Dragon punctured there. He tasted blood, but whoever's it was, Will couldn't tell. 

Hannibal ignored him. He swept Will off his feet and suffered the consequences. Relentless, after a painful grunt and a stagger, he stumbled across the sand to the grass. Will wriggled in his arms.

"You're making this-" Hannibal winced, voice dry. "Increasingly difficult."

"That's the point." His feet hit the ground but Hannibal gave him the dignity of fisting his shirt to keep him from tripping. Before he let him go completely, dropping him and stepping over him.

Will watched his back. His shirt was soaked. Water, sweat, blood. Hannibal's figure got smaller. Not quickly, though, because the ocean had sapped what little energy they had. For a moment, and just a moment, Will was content watching him leave, content dying never seeing Hannibal's face again. But Abigail's body lay in his peripheral vision and Will had to swallow the bile rising from his gut.

He scrambled to his feet. With open arms, he called, "So this is it, then? It's over. You're just gonna leave? Again?!"

Hannibal stopped. Didn't turn, didn't make a move towards or away from Will. Will moved. He toed out of his shoes - they were wet and ruined anyway - and stomped towards him. Will blinked salt water out of his lashes and the deer appeared, and he blinked again and it was gone, Hannibal in its place.

"Why not just finish me off with your hands." It would be a more fitting ending, Will thought. Intimate and personal. "Or is it too below you?"

That sparked something in him, enough to get him to turn around. Hannibal's face was clean of blood. Better to see the sour look on his face, lips down turned in a frown, eyes black in the dark.

Will opened his mouth to say something. Maybe to yell at him, scream until he passed out, never to wake up. Not a word left his blue lips before Hannibal covered them with his palm. He pressed himself against Will's front, until the both of them were nestled against a tree.

The sound of an engine cut off Will's breathing. They didn't look for it, even as it drew closer, drove behind the tree they were situated against. Will knew who was inside the cars that passed - Jack definitely. Alana was likely, FBI agents, police, an ambulance. They listened to the cars pass without taking their eyes off each other.

When they had stopped at the top of the cliff, Hannibal took his hand off his mouth and wrapped his arm around Will's shoulder. It was unclear who was supporting who. "It is not below me." Hannibal's words were harsh. "In fact, it would be a great pleasure to kill you. But the day you die and the day I die are the same. And I am not ready to die yet."

"You have the determination of a roach," Will laughed, then regretted it due to the pain. Strangely, he found comfort in Hannibal's words. His vision started to grow hazy again and the adrenaline had started to wear.

Hannibal rolled his head to the side and looked at him, a tired smile pulling across his face. "Roaches do have cannibalistic tendencies." He shrugged. "Though, usually after sex."

Will coughed out another laugh. "Well we both have plenty more holes to explore."

Hannibal made a noise akin to a chuckle. The rest of the walk was in silence. It was hard enough moving their bodies and staying awake. Will had no clue where he was being led, and in retrospect, he should have been concerned. A cannibalistic serial killer who had tried to kill him multiple times was dragging him through the trees, while he was wounded and vulnerable. He was ripe fruit for the picking, but Hannibal wouldn't reach to pick.

With the perception of time slipped from Will, by the time they reached a shack in the thick of the woods, hidden under a valley, he had started to slip from Hannibal's hold.

"Will," he said. They stopped on the porch and Hannibal cupped either side of his face. "You need to stay awake. Just for a little while longer."

But his voice was distant, in another room. The hands around his face were cold and cracked dry, and they shook just a little. Will closed his eyes, the sweet call of sleep beckoned him. The stinging sensation against cheek, the one without the wound, woke him up plenty. It took a few seconds to register that Hannibal had slapped him.

"Awake?" Will nodded. "Good. Sit."

Hannibal guided him to the porch chair, the same greyish brown colour as the house. He sat and leaned against the wood and watched the other man back up, then lunge himself at the door, shoulder first. He winced for him and clutched his own wounded shoulder. The bleeding hadn't stopped. Neither had Hannibal's, and with every crash against the door the stain on his shirt grew.

He could only watch Hannibal shove himself against the door a few more times, making pained sounds every time, before he grunted.

"The windows, Hannibal. They'll be easier to break."

Hannibal huffed like an animal. "Nothing to board them up inside. I can fix hinges and locks."

With a roll of his eyes, Will stood. Hannibal looked a second from protesting, but then Will started for the door and he joined. By throwing both their weight against it, the door gave. The two of them scrambled against each other, grappling to stay standing.

After he caught his breath, Hannibal propped the door against the frame. Will didn't bother to look around. His vision was dark around the edges and he couldn't see more than three feet in front of him.

Hannibal was back in his field of view and guided him to sit on the floor of the kitchen area. It was freezing and smooth, not wood. Moonlight streamed through the edges of the curtains. Hannibal let the tap run until the water turned from brown to clear. A glass was guided to his lips. He managed to drink half of it before it was tipped over half of his face. Will gasped at the pain, and hissed when Hannibal dabbed a cloth across it.

"You too," mumbled Will. He felt a little more stable while he wasn't standing.

"Do not exert yourself, Will. I am the doctor here." Hannibal started to slip on the buttons of Will's shirt, but gave up and tore it off him. The buttons clacked against the floor illuminated by faint light.

Will elbowed Hannibal's hands from him and returned the favour by tugging off his shirt. He resisted the urge to get distracted, and apparently so did Hannibal, if the constant caresses against his cheek while he tended was any indicator. The first aid kit was conveniently in the cupboard right next to them, which was how Will guessed that Hannibal owned this little house. By the time Will had gotten to rubbing dressing to the exit wound, Hannibal had done that and bandaged up half Will's face, covering his eye and the wound.

It was too awkward to reach for each other's bodies, and Hannibal wasn't about to give up apparently. Instead Will gave in and let him inspect the wound.

"This one will need stitches," he said after clearing the blood.

"I don't suppose you have any numbing cream in here, do you?"

It was a joke, or light hearted at the least. But Hannibal looked at him, face struck with an overwhelming sense of apology. As if he hadn't hurt Will much worse before. Will feared the wetness in his eyes wasn't from pain or exhaustion. He reached for his discarded shirt, rolled it, and stuck it between his teeth.

Hannibal took a deep breath. "It'll be easier if you lay down."

Will wanted to ask for who it would be easier for, but he didn't want the answer. He lay on his back and gnawed into his shirt. Salt water poured into his mouth, though he didn't have time to think about it before Hannibal started. Will coughed on what he swallowed.

Hannibal had his legs under him while sitting beside his shoulder. He didn't miss the way Hannibal briefly touched the smiley scar on Will's stomach as he worked. Will chanced a look down. Everything was a little clearer now he could only see from one eye. That would have been a bonus in his books, if he hadn't had to witness Hannibal's expression. It was the same one he wore the night he gave Will that smiley scar he was tracing when he needed only a hand. Will leaned his head back down.

The absence of his touch told him he was done before his words did. Hannibal helped Will up to sit again, and he spat out his shirt and a half mouthful of salt water.

He did Hannibal the same courtesy of stitching him up. Will was less precise, less practiced. However, after Hannibal had given him some instruction, he found it wasn't so different to tying knots on a fishing line, and removing the hook from the fish's mouth.  "Turn around," Will said, "let me do the back."

Hannibal didn't argue. He scooted around and drew his knees up to his chest. With him slouching, Hannibal's spine was prominent. Bone bubbled from the skin of his back, scattered hair slick like a rodent. Will tried not to pay much attention. The weeping hole on his side was gifted his full attention. The skin pulled tight with each stitch. Hannibal didn't even flinch, just forced his breath even. 

To bandage his wound, Will had to wrap his arms around him. He didn't hate it. He tucked the tail end in, either hands drifted to the entry and exit wounds. Will wrapped both his arms around Hannibal and tucked his chin over his shoulder. Hannibal leaned his head against his.

They sat on the kitchen floor smelling of antibiotic cream and blood. They were half naked, barely conscious. They breathed in time, blinked in time. Will could hear a heartbeat, and yet he wasn't sure if it was his or Hannibal's. There was still the possibility of death. Hell, there was a high chance of it. And Will smiled because of it.

Eventually, Hannibal helped him off the floor. He led Will around the counter and they crossed the room to a bed after taking a handful of pills. They didn't say anything else, just climbed in together, slotting together like they were on the floor. Will lay his hand on Hannibal's chest. His heart thumped. It was faint and slow. And what a way to go, wrapped together, if they died in their sleep.

Will didn't remember falling asleep, but as he woke, he didn't remember any dreams either. He might have had one, feeling how much he sweated during the night, but that could have been from the heat radiating off Hannibal. He opened his eyes and couldn't see. His good eye was mashed against the singular pillow.

Groggily, Will sat up against the headboard and made eye contact with a deer in the centre of the room. The whole shack was one room - kitchen and living/sleeping area divided by a breakfast bar, a bath between the oven and the wall. The deer was sniffing in the tub and hadn't noticed them yet.

Either that or it wasn't real.

Will was no stranger to nightmares featuring both deer and Hannibal. They were usually different, somehow less confusing. But he could imagine the kind of fever he was running.

"My name is Will Graham," he started. But he had no idea how long he had slept. It only felt like a few minutes, but the light outside told him it was afternoon by now. On top of that, his memories of how far they walked left him without knowledge of exactly where they were. And true honesty would reveal he didn't know if he was Will Graham anymore, the lines between him and Hannibal blurrier than his singular eye's sight.

"It's real." Hannibal's voice came out weak, and he was still facing the wall. "Don't move."

Will silently watched him slink below the blankets and slip down the length of the mattress. Hannibal reappeared at the other end and paused, watched the animal. It had resorted to nosing at the cupboards, trying to find what's inside. Hannibal rummaged through the top drawer of the dresser opposite the bed and brandished a hunting knife.

In the back of his mind, Will picked up on the way Hannibal winced as he moved, limped towards the animal. He thought about stopping him. Shooing the animal away would have been much easier than killing it, especially for Hannibal. Will didn't voice his opinions. Instead, he watched the deer get crowded into the corner, hoofs slipping on the tile for just a second before Hannibal drove the knife through its jugular.

The animal fell limp to the floor, blood pooling with their own. Hannibal sniffed drowsily. "Dinner."

Will managed seven minutes watching Hannibal struggle to haul the deer on the bench before he got up and helped him. Only when Hannibal started to cough and wheeze did he get concerned.

"You need a bath," he told him.

"You've never been one for polite conversation, have you, Will?" Hannibal remarked, once he wasn't using the bloody bench to hold himself up.

"I mean to clean yourself up properly. Does the water work?" He didn't wait for an answer before side stepping Hannibal and twisting the faucet on the tub. It ran, so Will pushed in the plug and watched it fill up. "Is there an outhouse?"

"About two minutes that way." Hannibal gestured towards the far wall then started to pluck at his belt.

Deciding that he wasn't even going to risk two minutes out there, especially not with one eye and dozens of people looking for them, Will pissed off the porch. When he came back in, Hannibal was settled into the brass tub. His pants were neatly folded on the floor, a towel on a clean part of the kitchen bench.

Will propped the unhinged door back up by the frame. The deer must have knocked it down, the two of them too exhausted to notice. Finally, though, Will took in the rest of the room. There was a light switch, but no bulb. A simple stove top oven, a fridge freezer that was a little on the small side, and a kettle flanked with tea, instant coffee, and sugar. The bed they had slept in was pressed into the corner on the opposite side of the shack, with not much between but a miniature library of ratty books, two chairs and a stool.

Will plucked the knife that Hannibal used to kill the deer and began to skin it. He quickly realised it would take twice as long with half as many eyes, but Hannibal wasn't in much state to do so. Speaking of him, Will occasionally dropped looks over to him. Steam wafted off the water and Will needed to make sure his silence was from relief and not unconsciousness. The discolouration of the water didn't leave him hopeful.

He needed to go to the hospital. Will probably didn't - as much as he fucking hurt, and cutting up this animal only agitated his shoulder more, he would be right in a few weeks, a month. But Hannibal was shot. And yet, going to the hospital was equally as dangerous as the possibility of blood loss, coma, infection. 

Water sloshed and trickled off Hannibal's body as he stood. Will promptly ignored, slipping the blade on his fingertip on accident. He didn't flinch. Hardly focusing on his task, Will paid attention to Hannibal behind him taking his medication, redressing his wounds, rebandaging himself. He dug through the dresser and emerged with clothes this time, but Will noticed from the corner of his eye only pulled on simple sweats and a loose shirt. Hannibal leaned against the bench behind Will, the one separating the kitchen and living area, and waited.

"What is it?" Will asked, cutting the last of the deer's pelt from its flesh.

Hannibal sighed. "I must apologise." That made Will pause, but not turn around. "I will have to rely on you for the foreseeable future. The adrenaline has worn off and I fear I will be bedridden for the next few weeks, possibly longer."

There was a bubble of conflict in Will. He wanted to laugh, because Hannibal Lecter had actually apologised for something. Will wanted to express his concern that Hannibal had been bearing through the pain the past twenty four hours (give or take) and, somehow, this extraordinary man had found his breaking point. Will wanted to stress to Hannibal that they may not even have a few weeks.

Instead, Will scoffed and continued working on the animal. "Who says I'm going to look after you? Who says I'm even going to stay?"

"Nobody," Hannibal said with no hesitation. "You are in no obligation to stay here, or to carry the burden of looking after me. I only ask that you do not expose my whereabouts."

Will turned around finally. Whatever words he was about to spit out died on his tongue. Hannibal's hair was still wet and slicked back. The greys looked more prominent, though that might be to do with how pale Hannibal fared. Part of his face and neck was bruised from the impact of water, and Will had no doubts that it spread and ached down his entire body, the same as him. Will felt the ache of cuts from the rocks. Hannibal was clean, yes, free of dried blood and dirt and smell. But he did not look well. So much so that he was hard to recognise.

Will swallowed over the lump in his throat. "We aren't going to make it. You aren't, at least. Hannibal, you need medical attention. One that isn't your own."

"Perhaps."

"There's no 'perhaps' about it. You- you need to be hooked up to an IV, at least, if you're going bedridden." Which of course Hannibal would courteously notify him when he planned on going bedridden.

Hannibal's lip twitched at the corner, almost a smile. "As you wish. But I must offer to help you redress your shoulder.”

“I can do it myself, after this.” Will gestured to the animal behind him. “No point doing it before, I’ll only aggravate it further.”

Hannibal considered this, glanced at Will's shoulder as if he could assess it through the bandage. Seemingly pleased, or at least tired enough to give in, he bent under the bed and pulled a long cardboard box out into the open. He unpacked IV fluid and an intravenous pole. Will couldn’t help but scoff. 

“You were prepared,” he teased. 

“If you hadn’t guessed, this shack is my own. I knew that on the off chance I was caught, I would need some place discreet nearby. And how it came to my favour, the safe house on the hill. Lucky me.” Hannibal talked as he set himself up to the IV with practised efficiency. He winced as his body twisted and a new sheen of sweat was starting to form on his forehead. “So,” he continued, “I loaded this home up as a shelter. Plenty of canned foods, first aid, clothing, hunting equipment.”

Will was once again floored by Hannibal. Whether it was his intelligence, abundance of resources, or thorough preparation for absolutely anything, Will wasn’t entirely sure. He watched Hannibal get himself comfortable on his back and sigh as he closed his eyes.

“You should eat,” he found himself saying. To his surprise, Hannibal groaned. Will laughed, shocked to hear such an impolite noise come out of him, and immediately regretted it at the pull of the cut on his cheek, again. He searched through the cupboards looking for the cans that Hannibal had mentioned. Though, he only found more medical supplies, cups, pots and pans, plates, and the occasional dead mouse or bug. 

“The tiles,” Hannibal said. His voice had grown weaker. He wasn’t kidding when he said his condition was worsening. “The last four open up to a pantry.”

Will looked carefully on the floor and searched the tiles for a handle or a rope. There was a small indent that he managed to get his fingers in and lifted the same tiles Hannibal had told him. Beneath was an impressive amount of cans - soups, beans, corn, others with the labels worn off. There was also beef jerky, rice, and dry pasta. Some of it was hidden beneath packaging or cans. If the space wasn't so full of food, it would be big enough to fit a person. He reached down and grabbed the first thing. Tomato soup seemed about as good as anything.

He ignored the deer still on the bench and instead began to heat up the soup for Hannibal. In just a minute he had it hot and in a bowl that was painted around the edge. Will sat on the edge of the bed and helped him prop up against the pillows. When Hannibal made no move to reach for the spoon, Will did. He held it up to Hannibal's mouth and watched him tentatively eat. 

Hannibal made a face. “Foul,” he said.

“Shut up and eat it.” Will spooned him a few more mouthfuls.

“The tables have turned,” Hannibal noted. Will looked at him and, for a moment, only saw the indifferent look he gave him then, spooning soup into his mouth, just moments before sawing his head open. The scar on his forehead ached. Will grabbed Hannibal by the face and not so gently shoved the last of the soup in his mouth. Hannibal twisted away from his grip and wiped his mouth with his wrist. It came back red.

Will was close to throwing the bowl in the sink when he returned to the kitchen. His nerves were on fire, but decided to take it out on the deer. He cut it up into smaller pieces to fit the bits worth eating in the freezer. Will hoped he did it right - he was a fisherman, not a hunter, after all. He looked at the entrails left on the counter, all the blood that was staining the kitchen. He thought about saving the guts. Hannibal would know what to do with them. With a grind of his teeth, he stored the heart, liver, and kidney along with the flesh. The rest he bagged and took outside.

He didn’t stray far from the house, but far enough that they wouldn’t smell the rotting animal where he buried it. Will ignored the feel of the deer's head in the bag. When he returned, Hannibal was still. Sound asleep, only his chest moving minutely with every shallow breath. Will sighed and some tension released in his shoulders. 

Will cleaned the kitchen before he did anything else. The intense smell of blood was nauseating. By the time he was finished it was dark and he fished out some candles he found while rummaging around for food before. He lit one on the small table by the bed, by Hannibal. It cast deep shadows on his face and made him look even more sickly. Will lit the next one by the tub and turned the faucet. 

The water turned brown as Will picked at the dried blood on his shoulder and from out under his nails. His fingers ghosted over the stitching. With a sigh he scrubbed his face and popped the plug out. Will sat in the tub while the water drained. 

Once his skin had cooled and started to jerk in the cold, he towelled himself off. Quickly he dressed his wounds and swallowed a few painkillers dry. It was so difficult to wrap his shoulder up again he almost gave up. Finally, Will managed, and then did the same to his face. His eye was bruised and he could hardly see out of it from swelling. He tiptoed past Hannibal to the dresser and found the drawers stocked with clothes. They were a little big, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He found a woollen jacket and snagged that as well. 

Will dried the tub with his towel and rolled it up when he was done. The previous night he needed to be next to Hannibal. Needed to feel his heartbeat beneath his palm to reassure himself. Now, Will was agitated and overstimulated. So even if the tub was cold and his makeshift pillow was damp, Will would settle. He was so exhausted that he might just pass out straight away. He almost did, wrapped under the jacket, functioning eye heavy. He would have if it weren't for the sound of Hannibal's teeth chattering. 

Will looked at the door. It was still busted from its hinges and though it was propped up mostly covering the opening, a steady breeze breathed through. He knew he could leave it. Whenever he woke up would be a better time to do so anyway - it was dark and he only had dim candlelight, and his shoulder protested any movement. But one more look at Hannibal convinced him to get up. 

The first place Will looked for tools was the dresser. Hannibal had the hunting knife in the top drawer, so he tried there first. He didn't find anything but a few more knives, a scalpel, and some fishing line. In the small one beside it were some hooks, drill pieces, and small tools like a screwdriver and a hammer. Will grabbed the drill pieces. The next two long drawers were just clothes - shirts, pants, socks, underwear, jackets, and mostly warm clothes. The last had a variety of things Will couldn't make out from the dim light, but he saw the power drill. 

After making sure there was a battery inside, Will got to work. Thankfully, only one hinge had to be replaced and the others just needed a tighten. The frame hadn't sustained any damage, but the door itself had a split in the middle. Not enough to convince Will to fix it at the moment, however. He lit three more candles just to give him substantial light when propping it in the frame. Will's shoulder screamed for mercy, but he was almost done. 

With every screech of the drill Will cringed and stopped. Waited for any movement outside. Then, after a minute more of silence, continued. The task probably took an embarrassing amount of time, but Will wasn't a carpenter, so he wouldn't have a clue. To be frank, he didn't care either. 

He tested the lock and was pleased to see it worked. He was even more pleased when he noticed Hannibal had stopped shivering. Will settled into the tub and pulled the jacket back over himself. 

In the morning he ventured out to the outhouse. It must have rained while they slept because the dirt had been reduced to mud. Will walked close to the tree trunks to avoid making footprints. The outhouse wasn’t as dirty as he was expecting. There was enough toilet paper for a year's usage squeezed into the corner. 

When he came back to the shack, Hannibal was still asleep. Will kept quiet as he made himself some coffee, took his pills, and changed his bandages. His stomach protested at the liquid breakfast, but he ignored it. Hannibal didn’t make a sound as he slept. Will had privately hoped he snored, he wasn't sure why, and still unsure why he was disappointed that Hannibal didn’t. He pressed the back of his hand to Hannibal's forehead. Hot.

After he carefully pulled back the blankets, Will unravelled the bandage from around him. Hannibal's wound was red and weeping blood and pus. He pressed around it and more oozed out, making Hannibal groan.

“Hey, you gotta sit up.” Will got no response. “I can’t help you if you can’t help me.”

Hannibal huffed like a sick dog. With a scoff, Will hauled him up by the shoulders and felt around the blankets for the ointment. Hannibal rested his cheek on his good shoulder and wrapped his arms loosely around Will. Will only allowed himself a second to get distracted before getting to work. He didn’t apologise when he smeared the vile smelling stuff on Hannibal and he hissed through his teeth. Once he was done, he smoothed the bandage with his hand. Hannibal refused to let go and clutched his shirt tighter.

“Get your rest, Hannibal,” Will said, guiding him to lay down again. “I may need to do this twice a day.”

He was correct. They started a routine, and Will wasn't sure how long they had been doing it - there were no clocks, so he quickly lost track of time. He guessed it was over a week, but he couldn't be sure. Will would wake up, redress and bandage himself, then do the same to Hannibal. Only, Hannibal needed to be cared for twice a day, so Will would do so before he went to sleep. Most nights Will slept in the tub to give both himself and Hannibal space. On the nights that Hannibal's fever worsened, Will couldn’t bring himself to be that far away.

Those days scared him like nothing ever had. Not so much the possibility of Hannibal dying, that was something Will knew would come sooner rather than later. The fear sparked loneliness, both for himself and Hannibal. If Hannibal died now, Will would truly be alone, and he wasn't sure he could handle that. 

Will must have grazed through the entire little library. He refused to leave the house apart from the occasional trip to the outhouse, so there wasn't anything to do. He had become all too familiar with the four walls around, with the silence, even if his head tried to fill that silence. 

If Will thought optimistically, he could think about how his own wounds progress. In such a small amount of time he had grown mostly accustomed to one eye. The bruises under the bandages and along his body kept him awake most nights, but they started to fade in colour if not in ache. His shoulder still protested with every movement, but it wasn't infected like Hannibal's wound was. Will humoured himself in thinking he hadn't gotten so much as a fever through sheer willpower. 

Hannibal hardly woke up. He would sometimes wake when Will was taking care of him, but it would only be for a moment. Most days he was too weak to eat, but Will wouldn’t allow him to go two days without food. Will heated up soups every night until he grew sick of them, which happened quickly. So on a day when Hannibal was awake, with more colour to his face, Will boiled some rice and cooked some of the venison. He made a haphazard stir fry with the rice, venison, and a can of beans and corn he found in the pantry. 

Hannibal seemed as grateful as he was for some better food, even if he did only eat half of what was on his plate. He watched as Will finished the rest of his own, sitting on the end corner of the bed while Hannibal was propped against the pillows. 

“Are you going to join me again tonight?”

Will didn’t look up from his food. “I hadn’t realised you were aware of me sleeping next to you. Does it bother you?”

Hannibal shook his head. “My sleep has been rather broken. I’ve been having frequent dreams, whereas I used to rarely remember them. An unexpected outcome.”

“Nobody really expects dreams.”

“You do.”

Will still didn’t look away from his plate, even as he scraped the last of the rice from it. “I lay next to you some nights to make sure you make it through.”

“For my sake or for yours?”

Will refused to answer. He picked up their plates and cleaned them. The sun started to dip, so Will lit a few candles. He felt Hannibal's eyes follow him all the way.

“Have you wandered further than the outhouse?” He asked, and Will was grateful for the change in subject.

“Don’t see the point. There are no towns nearby, and I’m still too weak to hunt.” His face and shoulder still ached, only relieved when he was jacked on painkillers or asleep. Will had gotten better at bandaging himself up over the past, what he guessed, fortnight, by now. “Every time I go outside is another risk of being seen.”

Hannibal tipped his head in consideration. “Well, if you ever feel brave enough, or cabin fever starts to get to you, there is a river a little ways down the valley. A beautiful spot, surrounded by trees. Plenty of fish.”

“Are you trying to convince me to get more dinner varieties?” 

“Is it working?” 

Will laughed, and didn’t mind the pull of his wound under the bandage this time. Hannibal beckoned him closer and he went willingly. He sat on top of the blankets again, this time where Hannibal could reach him, where he could feel his heat. The silvers in his hair shone in the dim light, as did the scars on his face and hands. 

“Let me see you,” Hannibal said. For a long moment, Will had no clue what to do. Hannibal had seen him. That night they took down Francis Dolarhyde, they both saw each other and themselves. By staying with Hannibal now, he was giving everything, willingly too. But then Hannibal motioned to Will's shoulder and he flushed, embarrassed of his thoughts once again reading too much into things.

Will stripped off his shirt and shifted closer so Hannibal could touch. Once more Hannibal looked at him with that expertise. Will used to hate it in Baltimore - felt like he was put under a microscope. Examined as if he were something strange and unexplainable. Now, though, he noticed that Hannibal looked at him with care. Possibly more than care. Touched him gently, even as he checked for pain. A bloom of pride bloomed in Will's chest. He had looked after his wound well, and the doctor seemed impressed.

“I will need to remove the stitching, now.” Will wordlessly stood and handed Hannibal a pair of tweezers. 

“Are you sure you’re steady enough to do this?” He asked, even if he was already ready himself.

“I am.” 

Hannibal worked swiftly. His hands shook a little, weak and exhausted, Will guessed. He still managed to remove the stitching with doctors precision. Rubbing his shoulder, Will clicked the joint and inspected the wound. Most of the scabs have given way to scarring, marred with the bullet wound next to it, courtesy of Chiyoh. 

“When do you need your stitches removed?” 

“A few more days, I would guess.” Will nodded.

He stood and blew out all the candles and triple checked the lock. By the time he was done dawdling around, Hannibal was laid back down flat, hands neatly crossed on his chest. Will looked at the bathtub. He couldn’t bring himself to lay in it, so he settled beside Hannibal. Tucking his arm under his head to serve as a pillow, Will didn’t realise how tired he was until this moment. He almost drifted off, and would have if it weren’t for Hannibal making a pained breath. By the sound of it, he tried - and failed - to muffle the noise.

Will shuffled a little to see with his good eye. Hannibal had rolled on his side, wound squashed beneath him, to face Will.

“I wanted to see you,” Hannibal said, answering the unspoken question. 

“I’m here,” he reassured. To prove it to him, he pressed his hand on Hannibal's hip. He hummed his approval and closed his eyes. 

Will woke much earlier than he would have liked. Six in the morning, if he would hazard a guess. But he was awake and that was that. Before getting up, he checked Hannibal's forehead and spread his fingers over the covered wound on his front. There was no fever, and Hannibal didn't flinch in his sleep, which was enough to tell Will he was alright. 

He started his usual routine. He dressed, stumbled out to the outhouse, and heated up last night's dinner. Will listened to the sizzling and suddenly thought how easy it would be to kill Hannibal. 

He had imagined it, fantasised it so many times it should have made him sick. It didn't. In every scenario Will imagined, Hannibal was silent. Didn't make a sound or say a word. Not because he couldn't, but because he wouldn't allow Will the pleasure. Here, with Hannibal weakened and asleep and trusting, Will could do it. 

He didn't look at Hannibal. Will wasn't sure why - maybe to avoid the temptation, maybe to avoid the guilt. 

Instead, he stepped off the porch in bare feet. Will had borrowed a spare pair of Hannibal's boots on his tracks to the outhouse, but had decided against them for now. Once he stepped onto the dirt track, Will couldn't help but to run. 

His legs pounded against the hard ground and his shoulder ached from the impact. His breath came out in puffs in front of him. Will stumbled a few times, unable to see protruding roots or stones with a single eye. He didn't fall. Didn't even slip on frosted grass. 

Will couldn't stop until he started to wade into water which forced him to stop. The river, he realised. Cold, fast current washed around his knees and threatened to push him over. 

In all of this, Will was washed with nostalgia. Of the splashes of his dogs and Walter playing in the stream by home. Or, what used to be Wills home. He wasn't sure when he stopped considering it home, but he was sure that if he went back, it wouldn't feel like home. Nothing would be the same. Just as he had warned Molly. Over the sound of water rushing over rocks, Will heard her laughter. 

He reached for his wedding ring and found it gone. Will's heart jumped. When had he lost that? On the run? No, in the back of his mind he felt its absence before then. When caring for Hannibal, or cooking their meals? Maybe when he cut up the deer. Though, in his heart, he hoped it was when they fell. It certainly felt like a rebirth to Will, and that would only further prove it. 

What really struck him was the lack of emotion he felt in its absence. And, because of the underwhelming feelings and devoid of loss, the overwhelming sense of guilt. He loved Molly, and Walter as if he were his own. His feelings for them were very real - still were, in some parts. But he didn't miss them, not as much as he hoped he would. Will had to pick between a life with Hannibal and his life with Molly, and he already chose. 

He was surprised to see Hannibal standing in the kitchen when he got back. 

"Good morning," He said, voice steady. 

"You're up," said Will, in lieu of a greeting. 

Hannibal regarded him. Will had run back again, body thriving as well as aching in the exercise, so he was panting and wiping muddy feet on the porch. 

"You left the stove unattended." 

"Shit." 

Hannibal hummed. "Nevermind. It was about time I got out of bed. I must build my strength up." 

Will didn't say anything. He just changed into clean clothes and sat on the bed. After a beat, he sighed loudly and flopped onto the mattress. 

"Your hair curls when you sweat," Hannibal mused. 

Brows furrowing, Will propped himself on his elbows. Hannibal had his back turned to him and busied himself with making a cup of tea for himself and a coffee for Will. Will ran a hand through his hair. 

When Hannibal handed him his mug, he spoke again. "Would you mind if I join you tomorrow? Though, perhaps it would be smarter for me to walk. I do not believe I am quite capable of running just yet." 

"Yeah," Will said. "Yeah of course." 

Hannibal smiled around the rim of his mug. He stood leaned against a wall, getting used to using his legs again. After they both sipped the last dribbles from their mugs, Hannibal readied himself a bath while Will scrubbed the dishes. And once he was done that, Will hung up some clothes to dry on a rack he kept inside. 

His restlessness continued, unsated by his run. There was only so much Will could do to put himself at ease. He had no way of telling if the investigation was still occurring at the top of the cliff. Were they deemed deceased? Maybe, but both he and Hannibal knew Jack wouldn't be satisfied until he found bodies. Maybe they were declared missing. The report could call Hannibal the fugitive who possibly kidnapped Will, or perhaps they were both named criminals. It wouldn't be wrong - Will had no doubt the team figured out what happened from Dolarhydes body. 

"Will." Will jumped. Hannibal was kneeling, with some clear difficulty, in front of him. His expression was open with concern, eyes searching, attempting to see what he was seeing. 

Hannibal didn't look like himself and the realisation struck Will uncomfortably. His face wore a shadow of stubble, and under his eyes were dark bags and hard lines. His hair was still wet from the bath - which made Will question how long he had been stuck in his thoughts for. Clearly not long enough for Hannibal to throw on some clothes, as he was braced on one knee in just a towel around his waist. It took much longer than it should have to register the hand on his cheek. Though, when Will did, he brushed his own hand against the back of Hannibal's and leaned into the touch. 

Hannibal melted along with him. He brushed his thumb under Will's eye, where the bandage had begun to fall off. Neither said anything. Just stole comfort in each other's eyes. 

Will didn't know how much longer they had of this. Any day now, any second, Jack could burst through those doors and ruin this. Whatever this was. He did know that they wouldn't go down without a fight. It didn't suit either of them to rot in prison, or take the death penalty. The thought of either of those outcomes made Wills eyes prick and he rubbed into Hannibal's palm firmer. Will wasn't a religious man, not in the slightest, but he prayed to anyone who listened that the two of them would burn out and explode like identical stars. 

Hardly a word was spoken between them for the rest of the day. Will bathed while Hannibal cooked dinner. Not to his usual standard, but still too good to be canned food that if Will didn't know any better, he would get suspicious. They relaxed in the evening. Hannibal sat back in bed, a book in hand. He was totally engrossed in it while Will used a shiny pan to inspect the wound on his face. 

It had mostly closed up, though it would leave a jagged and identifiable scar. There was still bruising around his eye, yellow and green and sore. Will blinked furiously. He saw no need to replace the bandage as it had done its job, and would like the benefits of two eyes again. Will also took the time to brush his hair with his fingers, untangling knots. 

Will didn't even look at the bathtub as he climbed in next to Hannibal. The itch for productivity had since settled, but it would be long before he found sleep. He inched closer to Hannibal and scanned the words on the page. 

"Do you wish for me to start from the beginning?" Hannibal whispered, not tearing his eyes away from the book. 

Will shook his head, brushing against Hannibal's shoulder in the process. "I know the book. Stephen Kings 'Pet Sematary'. Rather cliché of you to enjoy horror." 

Hannibal laughed and his body shook with it. His smile revealed slightly crooked and sharp teeth, a reminder to Will that the man laying next to him was human and imperfect in some societal ways. 

"It is not my favourite. Unfortunately, my library here is very limited."

"Unfortunate indeed. 'Pet Sematary' is not the most likeable of his books for me. Although, there aren't as many animal deaths as the name suggests." 

Hannibal chuckled, this time a closed mouth hum of a laugh. He tilted his head towards Wills until his cheek rested on top of it. "I should have picked you as one to be squeamish of animal death." 

Will huffed and rolled his eyes, eliciting another easy noise from Hannibal. "Not squeamish. I just don't like thinking about it." 

Slowly, and carefully, as if Hannibal would burn him, Will rested his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder. He pressed his body against his side. Then, he did nothing more. Not until Hannibal wrapped his arm around Will and pulled him closer, then Will comfortably draped his own arm over his front. 

"No," Hannibal said. "Animal cruelty is one of the worst sins on the planet." 

Will hummed. 

Hannibal turned the page, then said, "Do you miss your dogs?" 

"Of course," Will said simply. "But I know that wherever they are, they're safe and happy. Even if Molly decides to give them away, I trust that she'll give them to good owners." 

Hannibal hummed. Will waited with a stalled breath for the same question about Molly, and let out a sigh when it didn't come. He eased, boneless, as Hannibal absently brushed his fingers through the indents of Will's ribs with his free hand. He didn't mind that the arm trapped between them started to grow fuzzy with pins and needles, especially not when sleep finally started its call. The last thing he remembers was Hannibal blowing out the candle and the room going black. 

The walk to the river was a slow one, but an easy one. Will listened to the birds chirping, the trees rustling. He would hear the odd rabbit dig under leaves or dart in bushes. If he wanted, he could catch one. He was well enough now to be more productive. Though, at the moment he was perfectly satisfied strolling alongside Hannibal. 

"The woods are peaceful," he said in a low murmur, as if his words might disturb the peace somehow. 

"Were the woods in Wolf Trap not peaceful?" Hannibal's arm brushed Wills as they strolled. 

"Not with my dogs." Will smiled when Hannibal chuckled. He wasn't sure how many times, in all the years he had known him, he had heard Hannibal laugh. Now, he was grateful it came so easy to him. "It's a little strange without them. Is it weird I miss being covered in dog hair?" 

Will watched, amused, as Hannibal so clearly tried not to say that yes, it was weird. "I certainly don't miss the smell of dogs in my office after our sessions. But, perhaps we should find you a companion."

"You don't mean that." 

"I do," he promised. "Pets can be linked to a healthier mentality. After everything we've been through, and will go through, it would be wise to have something familiar." 

"It wouldn't be familiar for you." 

Hannibal looked at him, a smile tugged at his mouth. "You are familiar, and that is enough for me." 

Will let himself bask in the sentiment for a moment before saying anything more. Then, because he couldn't help himself, "So you wouldn't mind a dog on the furniture?" 

Hannibal sucked through his teeth and Will's laughter echoed. They arrived at the river and Will toed out of his shoes and socks. Then, after only a second of consideration, peeled his shirt off too. He felt Hannibal's eyes on him. Will stepped into the water, sucking through his teeth at the cold, and slipped down the sand of the bank. He dove under and flicked the hair from his eyes as he came up. 

"Not going to join me?" He asked when he spotted Hannibal still on the grass. 

An entertained look waved over Hannibal's expression before he stripped off the same as Will had. He dove under, just as Will had done, though came up with more of a flourish. And because Will was petty, he splashed at him. 

Eyebrows raised, Hannibal stared at him. Then he splashed back, a stunning grin across his face. Will chuckled and kicked his knees above the water as he ran towards Hannibal. Before he had time to react, Will scooped him off the river bank in his arms, just as Hannibal had done out of the Atlantic ocean, off the Verger Estate, and dunked the both of them in the river. They were back in the ocean, now. Together as one, though this time with smiles and care, and something more Will wasn't brave enough to name yet. 

When he surged up, Hannibal gasped beautifully for air. His face was just a breath away from Will's. Water dried in their hair while they were lost in each other. 

Will let go of him when his shoulder started to chastise him. He crouched, then spread out on the surface of the water in a starfish. The sound of the water told him Hannibal had done the same. Clouds travelled lazily across the sky as they floated, birds flew and watched them with curiosity. 

Their clothes dried against their skin on the walk back. By the time they reached the shack, the sun started to wish them farewell. Will was genuinely surprised how much time had passed. 

When they entered, Will made a beeline for the bed. He didn't get under the covers, but just laid on top of them. Stretching his arm across the mattress, he felt the warmth residue and the rumpled sheets. He closed his eyes for a moment, a smile on his face as he recounted the day. He peeled his eyes open eventually at the smell of food. Pleasantly, he was greeted with the view of Hannibal's bare back, obviously uncomfortable with how the shirt stuck to him. 

Hard muscle stretched as he moved around the kitchen, making some kind of venison stew by the scent. He was impressed that even after years in a solitary cell he found motivation to stay in shape. He certainly couldn't picture it. Will could make out faint scars beneath the hair. When Hannibal's whole figure came into view, not blocked by the bench dividing them, Will caught sight of an unmistakable brand on the small of his back. He didn't have to ask to know who it was from, and he touched the scar on his chin. 

Instead of digging up sickening memories of one Mason Verger, Will thought about how wonderful he felt. Content and, surprisingly, happy to watch Hannibal mill around. The domesticity of it was a little daunting, though in an exciting way that brought colour and heat to his face. 

His thoughts led him to Bedelia. In one of their conversations, she had expressed her - almost - need to be as close to Hannibal as Will was. As close as he was, Will was out of his firing range. Maybe he wasn't out of the woods for Hannibal's ruthlessness or cruelty, but Will wouldn't know what to do without it, except to lash out with his own stubborn head to invoke Hannibal to do the same. As was the nature their relationship. 

Will thought to another conversation with Bedelia, regarding Hannibal. Of hunger and nourishment, of ache. 

"Hannibal." Will's voice was hoarse. Hannibal hummed and smiled over his shoulder. "Are you in love with me?" 

Hannibal stilled. He looked down at the bench beneath his fingers, then turned around completely to face Will, leaning on his elbows on the dividing breakfast bar. 

"I love everything that is beautiful, Will. Beautiful music, beautiful food, beautiful clothes. I love beautiful people, beautiful minds." 

Will blinked the dryness from his eyes, but made no move to get up. He said, not without sarcasm, "Am I a 'beautiful person'?" 

Hannibal smiled in a familiar way. Lips not quite pulled in a way a regular person's might when smiling, but he made up for it with his eyes. "When I'm with you, I feel like I am Icarus and you are the sun. You are as brilliant as you are dangerous. I know to be cautious, though I can't help but feel drawn to you. My days are darkest in your absence." 

Will had no chance to feel flattered, totally worshipped as he was, before the door burst open and a figure appeared between them.

Chapter Text

Will never thought he would be more grateful to see Chiyoh, though she did nearly knock the door off its frame again. In her hand she held a gun as long as her arm.

"They'll be here in less than an hour," She said, directly to Hannibal. "There's a car waiting for you forty minutes south. Make it."

She tossed a handgun from her pocket to both Hannibal and Will. Before they could ask any questions, she disappeared.

Hannibal pocketed the gun and flicked off the stove, then shoved their dinner down into the pantry. He snatched two pairs of plastic gloves from the first aid kit and tossed the extras at Will, then started to tear the sheets off the mattress.

"What are you doing?"

"We were never here, Will," Hannibal said sternly. "After our walk I can not make it down the hill in time to be missed. So we erase ourselves here."

Will nodded. He wiped down any surface that they could have possibly touched - bench tops, mugs, books, door handles. He stalled for a moment, considering risking the outhouse, but forgot it. In a half hour the whole shack was bare and clean of fingerprints. Hannibal kneeled on the kitchen floor and began moving cans of food into one of the cupboards.

"What now?!" Will said, voice just above a whisper.

"This will have to serve as our hiding place. Help me, Will, if you wish to live."

Will crouched beside him and shifted the cans until most of them were transferred and stacked neatly. Hannibal damn near shoved him inside. With a foot in what was supposed to be their dinner, Will sat on the last of the cans and rice. Following him, Hannibal braced his knees either side of Will's body and flipped the tiles, shrouding them in darkness.

Not ten minutes later, people filed into the house above them. Will could hardly hear anything over the thumping of his heartbeat.

Both guns were pointed at the hatch.

Hannibal had his free hand braced against the wood behind Will's head, and Will relieved Hannibal's knee of a metal can with his own.

Somebody stepped on the hatch and dust cascaded down on their faces. Still, they didn't make a sound. Hardly breathed.

"I don't know what to tell you." Price's voice came from above them. "If they were here, they did a good job covering their tracks. No fingerprints, no footprints, not so much as a hair. Maybe they weren't even here, it certainly looks that way."

"Oh, they were here alright." That tone was undeniably Jack's. "They just want us to believe otherwise."

There was a long pause, some more shuffling footsteps. Apart from Price's and Jack's voice, Will couldn't pick any others, too far away or muffled. His arm started to ache from the position he was holding it in.

Jack's voice returned. "They could still be here. You, check the surrounding area. Every bank, every tree. The rest of us, search the house. Cut the mattress open, check the fridge, hell even search the cupboards."

Will heard Hannibal tightened the grip on his gun.

They continued the search for what must have been two hours. The air in the pantry grew thin, and Will had to fight off a cough. He dropped his hand. A cramped arm was no use to him, and after the first hour or so, Hannibal did the same. His weight made Will’s legs go numb, slightly. When the house above them had grown silent, neither of them moved. They waited out another twenty minutes.

When nothing came, Hannibal dropped his forehead onto Will's and sighed. They had sweated a disgusting amount. For a moment, they breathed each other's relief.

Hannibal straightened up with a quiet groan. He peeked over the hatch, gun in hand. Will watched him look over the bench and around the room, then out the windows before he joined him. The relief on his legs made him hum pleasantly.

With barely enough strength around his knees to stand, Will was dragged by the hand out of the house and down the hill. The adrenaline coursing through them was the only thing that kept them going, aside from the momentum of the hill.

They nearly missed it - a black car shrouded in the shadow of trees. They only found it because they nearly smacked into it, noticing at the last second the glint of metal in the moonlight.

Chiyoh sat in the passenger seat. Will climbed into the back, huffing and coughing, as Hannibal settled into the driver's seat clutching his side and wheezing. Though, he only gifted himself a moment before stepping on the gas. Will didn't miss how white Hannibal's knuckles were around the steering wheel.

"There's a port three hours from here," Chiyoh explained. "A boat awaits you there."

"Thank you," Hannibal breathed. He turned his head, not taking his eyes off the road, but inclining to let Will know he was talking to him. "Please, rest."

"No, we'll split the trip. An hour each."

"I can't drive," Chiyoh said.

"Fine, then an hour and a half each."

Hannibal shook his head. “If you want to make yourself useful, sleep, rest. When we reach the boat we can switch.”

He said it with a tone of finality that Will couldn’t argue with. Will settled on his side and used his arm as a pillow. The shake of the car nursed him to sleep. In his dream, he was laying on his back on the deck of a sailing boat. He heard Alana’s laugh, alongside Margot’s. Jack’s voice was accompanied by Beverly’s, Jimmy, and Bryan’s. He peered his eyes open and what he saw was so clear that he wasn’t sure he was dreaming anymore. Hannibal and Abigail leaned against the railing of the ship, talking easily and comfortably. Abigail was the first to notice him, and she smiled, brighter than the sun on Will's eyelids. Hannibal turned to where she was looking. The look he gave Will was nothing short of devoted love. It left Will breathless, even as he woke.

He was greeted with Hannibal’s face, upside down. It took an embarrassing amount of seconds to realise he was leaning over him from the door. Will reached for him. Judging how dark it still was around him, Will guessed it was just before dawn. Hannibal took his outstretched hand and guided it to his face, then mirrored the motion.

“We’re here,” Hannibal said. “I didn’t wish to wake you, but our future awaits.”

Our. Together.

Will scooted up and fumbled out of the back seat. Chiyoh had already left, so they abandoned the car unlocked after wiping their fingerprints off. With an arm around each other, they walked down the wharf. There was only one boat docked right now. It was smaller than the one in Will's dream, though more tactile for sailing long distances, and definitely on the luxurious side. Will just started to lean down to untie the vessel when a set of new, heavier footsteps followed behind them.

“Hey.” A man's voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Will straightened up, and felt Hannibal lock his shoulders back behind him. “Setting off early today. Going to get a head start.”

“Do it on your own boat. The Amazonite is my friend's baby.” The man crossed the wooden boards until he was face to face with them. He had a close crop beard and he stood just an inch taller than Will, broader too.

“No reason to worry,” Hannibal said, “They gave us permission to use it for the day. We’ll be back by sundown.”

“I was meant to take her at this time.” Will rolled his eyes. This interaction was more annoying than worrying. He felt Hannibal inhale to speak, but was interrupted. “Hey, wait. Have you guys been on the news lately?”

Will couldn’t even think before he punched him. Knocked him with such force that he stumbled back. He was, though, in his right mind when he hit him again. Will smacked him until he fell on his back, then clambered on top of him just as he had done in his old living room in Wolf Trap. In a second Hannibal was behind him. Will slapped a hand over the man's mouth as Hannibal gutted him with the hunting knife he must have snagged from the shack. There was a beat of screaming, writhing and pleading. Then Hannibal twisted the knife and he went limp.

Hannibal stood and walked back down the length of the wharf. “Tie his arms and legs up, Will.”

Will did as he was told. He used the rope holding the front of the boat to the wharf to tie his legs, then slipped out of his shirt and tied it around his arms. It was low tide. When high tide came around, the blood would be washed off the wood.

Hannibal came back with arms full of sinkers and rocks. They worked in silence. Will filled the man's mouth with his own lead sinkers, while Hannibal stuffed him where he was gutted. His skin bulged more and more. They manoeuvred him onto the boat and untied the last mooring rope. Hannibal used it to tie one last stone to the fishermans body, then rolled him overboard once Will had put a significant distance between them and the port.

He shivered in the cold ocean air. Hannibal disappeared under deck for a moment, and came back with a warm flannel, as well as a shirt and jacket for Will. Sluggishly, Hannibal wiped the blood off Will's hands and under his nails. Will stopped him with a hand on his.

A wave lapped at the boat and Hannibal stumbled forward. Will caught him by the shoulder. His arms came around him naturally, just as they had the night The Red Dragon met its end. His mind flooded.

“We just killed an innocent man,” He whispered. Will’s words were almost lost to the sea, but Hannibal squeezed his waist tighter.

“And you were beautiful while we did so.” Brushing a hand through Will’s hand, he guided him to the centre of the deck where they could be more stable. “He threatened our escape, our future.”

Will nodded. He knew. But… “It was unfair. He was only killed because he had an unfortunate morsel of knowledge.”

“How far could that morsel have gone? Far enough to Jack, I would assume.” He held Will like he had when they fell. Elbows locked around him, trapping him in a weirdly comforting way. “I am aware of your prerequisites for killing. Please, Will, consider. Who’s life is worth more, his, or ours?”

“We don’t get to decide that,” Will said, suddenly distracted with how close Hannibal was. How many times he looked at Will’s lips. How he admired him in just the same way as he had in Will’s dream. “We aren’t Gods.”

“We are, Will. We are the Gods of our own lives now. A new beginning, for the two of us, where we get control.”

Will nodded again, and this time meant it. The fisherman would have only ruined them, torn the fraying thread that held Hannibal and Will together. It was easier to forget his sorrow when Hannibal was looking at him like that. So close he could feel his breath. Hannibal wet his lips, but didn’t otherwise move. With a sigh, Will leaned in.

Hannibal placed his palm over Will’s mouth, though it looked like it physically pained him to do so. All Will needed to do was twitch his eyebrows to pull an answer out of him.

“You aren’t in the right headspace, Will. I couldn’t.”

Will said nothing. Part of him was thankful, and part of him hated his own doubts and second guesses. Hannibal left a kiss to his bloody knuckle and didn’t turn around to look at him one last time before heading under deck. Sighing again, Will sunk to the deck. In the jacket, he found a map that would lead them to Canada.

It was midday when Hannibal came up again. He had changed into new clothes, much more akin to his usual fashion, if a bit more casual. A red button up with a black waistcoat, matching his black pants. His hair looked clean and was swept back. The grey stubble had been shaved off, making him appear much younger than he had a few days ago. Hannibal approached offering a sandwich.

“You have been awake entirely too long,” Hannibal said, watching Will tuck into the sandwich,

He all but groaned around the food. Fresh lettuce, bacon, cold tomatoes. The bread was soft. He hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, and didn’t notice how hungry he was until he ate, or how much he missed fresh food.

Will didn’t answer Hannibal. He didn’t even know how he stayed awake so long. His thoughts carried him through the morning, hands busy with the ropes and the map and the wheel. They had gotten a fair bit of wind and Will used that to his advantage. They were sailing quite the ways out from shore, but he kept an eye on the horizon.

"After you've eaten, make yourself familiar below deck. It's a more suitable home than what we've been used to these past few weeks. I think you'll quite like it."

"Trying to get rid of me?" Will asked, because he couldn't help himself. "I tried to kiss you and that's what's making you push me away?"

Hannibal looked at him with the same pained expression he gave Will when he pushed him away. "You understand well why I didn't kiss you, regardless of the fact that I want to. There's no reason to be butt hurt about it."

With his heart in his throat, Will looked out to the ocean. The sun danced across the surface and blinded him. He disappeared below deck and took his plate with him.

When Hannibal said that it was more suitable, he was right, for himself at least. Varnished wood benches and tables in the galley with a fully equipped kitchen. That must have pleased Hannibal, Will thought. The table had a stunning tablecloth on top of the main dining table, held on with two candles. Scented ones. A nice change from the bland ones he had gotten used to in the shack.

His favourite room so far was the bathroom - clean, functioning, smelling of lavender and vanilla. Will made note to use the bath later, and all the soaps that lined it. There were two bedrooms, both identical. Large beds with soft linen, drawers stacked with fresh clothing.

Will returned to the kitchen and made himself another sandwich. Jam dropped on his fingers as he ate. He missed Hannibal's cooking already. A perk of being trapped with him for a week or so would be the meals, Will mused.

He decided to make use of that bathroom, seeing nothing better to do. Probably a mistake, because after the first five minutes he started to doze. Using all his strength, Will stayed awake long enough to scrub himself clean and pulled on some clean boxers, leaving his stale clothes in a heap. His head hit the pillows and he was out.

Will didn't feel well rested, but it was dark behind the lacy curtains. The sheets and blankets twisted around his legs and body, and Will groaned and gave up trying to escape. The smell of food convinced him otherwise.

Will buttoned a shirt up hastily and zipped up some trousers. He sat at the table and smiled at Hannibal's surprise at seeing him.

"Lovely to see you this evening, Will. We've made good progress towards Canada."

Will nodded, eyes fixed on the food before it even hit the table. Hannibal sat at the head as he always did. He had made them chicken fettuccine and steam wafted off the plates after the smell, making Will's mouth water. "Thank you, this looks delicious."

They tucked in. Will resisted the urge to cry with a mouthful of such high standard food after weeks of soup and canned corn, in case it came off as rude. He didn't usually keep his politeness in reign, but he would at the dinner table with Hannibal. It was the least he deserved, after everything.

Will scrubbed their plates while Hannibal stood behind him, pouring them both a glass of whiskey. With a deep breath, Will clutched at a plate under the hot water, then sighed. "I'm sorry. For making you feel uncomfortable."

"It is already forgiven, Will." He could feel Hannibal's eyes on his back. Will wiped the last plate dry and stacked it up before he sipped his own drink. They moved to the living area, and Hannibal asked as they headed towards it, "Did you sleep well?"

"No," Will said honestly. They settled on opposite sides of a sofa. "I'm used to sleeping next to someone, or at least having someone in the same room. If it wasn't Molly, it was my dogs."

"And it has been me, these past few weeks."

Will said nothing. There was nothing to say, so he didn't feel the need. He had no intention of asking to sleep in the same bedroom, and he wouldn't unless Hannibal offered.

Instead, he asked bitterly, "Did you sleep well?"

Hannibal smiled, probably amused at Will's reluctant attempt at small talk. "Not really. If I'm honest, I'm not used to being on the water for long periods of time. I doubt I will get sick, though I may get restlessness or irritability."

Will nodded. He remembered sailing towards Italy, towards Hannibal, all those years ago. It was the longest trip he had ever endeavoured. The sea had remained mostly calm with the exception of one night. Will had rope burns on his hands directing the ship through the storm and he genuinely thought he would die. He would drown, Will was sure. Either from falling overboard or from the pelting rain. But he emerged through the other side, unscathed and shivering.

"Are we staying in Canada?" He found himself asking.

"No. I have some contacts there. We will take a private plane elsewhere, to save the trouble of passports and no flight lists."

"Elsewhere?"

Hannibal smiled again, looking between Will's eyes. "Anywhere you would like to go."

Will hummed. "I always wanted to travel."

"Why didn't you?" Hannibal set his empty glass down on the coffee table and nestled into the sofa comfortably. He watched Will intently. Not as if he was an animal in a zoo, and not in the guarded, clinical way he used to in Baltimore. Interest hid behind those eyes, intriguement. Will would bet he could say the most mundane, boorish thing he could imagine and Hannibal would still find it interesting.

"Never got around to it."

Nodding, Hannibal looked off to the wall, lost in thought. "I have properties overseas. Argentina, Iceland, Cuba. If you're interested."

Will shook his head. "Even if you didn't buy those properties under your name, it could still catch someone's attention. We should go somewhere neither of us have been. That way, as well, we're on equal ground. You won't be showing me around streets you find familiar, talking to people you know and I don't."

"Our own beginnings," Hannibal offered.

"Exactly." Although, they both knew their rebirth was the moment Dolarhydes knees hit the concrete.

There was a moment of silence, though it wasn't uncomfortable. Will thought about somewhere hot, because he already had a lifetime of snow. Somewhere with lots of water for him to fish. Plenty of nature to walk dogs, since Hannibal had mentioned Will getting a dog if they settled, and Will was holding him to that.

"Have you ever been to New Zealand, Will?" Hannibal mused. Will shook his head. "I hear it's a beautiful country."

Will didn't stifle the grin that spread easily across his face. He poured their glasses graciously with more whiskey. Holding his glass up in a toast, smile still pulling at his lips, Will said, "To New Zealand."

Hannibal knocked the bottom of his glass with Will's. "To New Zealand."

The rest of the evening passed quickly. The water was slow and there wasn't much wind, so the two of them enjoyed each other's company and the bottle between them. After three glasses, Will was full of a pleasant warmth. A train of thought made him laugh, and Hannibal gave him a questioning, and equally as amused, look.

Will shook his head and chuckled. "I was just thinking about how not only did some guy wake up to his friend missing, but someone ran off with his boat. Drinking all his alcohol, eating all his food."

Hannibals face split into a grin. "I'm not sure a person has much capacity for confusion beyond the grave. That's if Chiyoh decided to give him one."

With an "ah" of understanding, Will nodded. It brought him comfort that Chiyoh had aided them so seriously, though he made an educated guess it was more for Hannibal's sake than his own.

"Although," Hannibal continued, "The weekend those men had planned wasn't entirely moral, by normal standards."

"How do you know?"

"The man looked to be a fisherman, and the equipment in his car confirmed as much. But this is not a fishing vessel. In addition to that, he had a wedding band in his pocket."

Will raised his eyebrows. "You think the man we killed told his wife he was on a fishing trip and lied?" The dots connected in his head, a little slow on the uptake due to alcohol. "You think he was having an affair?"

"The lubricant and condoms in the dressers in the bedrooms confirmed my suspicions, yes," Hannibal said with a laugh.

"Well, then let's hope that dirty cheater is in hell by now." They clinked their glass together for the nth time that night and downed their glasses.

Hannibal sighed then stood. "I must take my leave. I fear I may fall asleep here on the sofa, or get impolitely drunk."

"I'd love to see you 'impolitely drunk'," laughed Will. Hannibal laughed with him and Will felt more drunk on the sound than on the whiskey.

"Goodnight, Will." He moved a little less gracefully towards his designated bedroom. Before he disappeared inside, Hannibal stopped in the doorway and turned to Will, who had stayed dumbly on the sofa, watching him go. "My door will remain open."

He said nothing more, but Will understood the implications. Lost in his own head, he stared at the empty space Hannibal left, then breathed a deep gasp when returned to the moment. Will left their glasses on the table and climbed above deck.

The night was cloudless. Not even the moon obstructed the breathless view of the stars. New, a black space high in the sky. Will flooded his lungs with the salty air. It always brought him serenity. Even the night he fought the storm alone, and he'd feared death, there was a sense of contentment. Will fiddled with the sails now, adjusting them unnecessarily. If the wind picked up during the night it would take them towards Canada in a beeline.

Will didn't keep track of how long he had been out there, but it was long enough that his neck ached from admiring the stars. He flicked off the lights and blew out candles as he went around under deck. There was just one left, but he didn't turn it off just yet. The remaining light casted a golden shine through Hannibal's door. Half open.

Leaning against the doorway, Will took in his calm face. His hair inelegantly covered his forehead and stuck up in places. His eyes fluttered, but didn't open. Will wondered what he was dreaming about.

With a flick of his finger, he was in darkness again. Will silently shifted into the room and dropped out of his clothes. He stayed in his shirt, socks and boxers, but the rest was piled in a heap. Only when he moved around to the other side of the bed did his heart begin to pound harder. Was he really going to get into his bed, with no other reason than the possibility to rest a little easier?

And the answer was yes, not only because Hannibal had offered, but because this might be what their new life entailed. All they had was each other - that had been true for a long time, despites Will’s best efforts. So Will lifted the covers and climbed in next to him, laying on the very edge of the mattress. He was stiff for the first few minutes. Then, after sleep started to push at his eyelids, he melted into the mattress.

He woke when the boat rocked against a harsh wave. The first thing Will noticed was Hannibal behind him. He didn't hold him like Will had held him in the shack. Whether he had done that in fear or comfort, or both, Will wasn't sure anymore. But Hannibal's arms were trapped between their bodies as opposed to draped over him. His nose was squashed against Will's neck and the deep even breathing told him Hannibal was still resting.

Another thing he noticed was that he had slept like a log. Not even a dream had graced his sleeping mind. Will sighed. He knew the cause, but the treatment was problematic. Though, the thought of sleeping next to Hannibal, and waking up next to him in turn, left him worryingly warm.

Or maybe he didn't need to worry. This was Hannibal. They were two sides of a coin, two halves of a whole soul. Will didn't think he had any reason to worry about Hannibal, for his own safety at least, not anymore.

A harsh exhale behind told him Hannibal was awake. Will turned around, his forehead resting on Hannibal's. He watched his eyes clench then open, half lidded and bleary. Hannibal's hair was sticking up at the back in places, and Will could point out the knots in it.

"Good morning, Will," He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning more into him.

Will chuckled. He reached over and started to flatten his greying hair, carefully pulling the knots out without hurting him. "Morning."

Lazily he brushed through Hannibal's hair and listened to him breathe. When he finished, Will continued to thread his fingers through the strands. He was convinced Hannibal had fallen asleep again when he suddenly groaned and sat up on his elbow. Will dropped his hand.

He watched Hannibal roll his shoulders and click his neck. Once he had stretched, he rolled his head on the propped shoulder and met Will's eyes. He reached and held Will's cheek, thumbing over the mark there.

"It's healing nicely. I worried it wouldn't, without stitches." The cut on Will's cheek was red and the scarring had risen the skin. It still hurt when he laughed, but Will no longer feared it would reopen.

Will hummed. "And yours?"

He fingered the blanket down to Hannibal's waist, revealing the bullet's exit wound. It wasn't pretty, but Will let out a sigh of relief that there was no sign of infection.

"It's probably time to remove the stitches. They've done their job." Hannibal said, watching how Will traced around the wound, his stomach trembling with every breath, skin twitching around the soft touch.

"Do you want me to…?"

Hannibal smiled. "I would appreciate the help for my back. I'm afraid that may be too difficult for me."

Will snorted a laugh imagining it. The boat went over another sloppy wave. With a groan, Will grumbled, "I should check the situation up there. Make sure we're still on the right track."

"I should start on breakfast. I found ingredients for pancakes, as well as some fruit."

Neither made a move. Then the boat rocked aggressively and Will groaned again. He got up, scooping up his discarded clothes and dumped them on the floor of his own room. He quickly tugged on some warm clothes before he emerged up on deck.

The first thing he noticed was the dark clouds ahead. The wind had certainly picked up and their target was just beyond the storm ahead of them. He could see from where they were the way the rain and wind spurred the waves to thrash against each other.

Will immediately returned below deck and smelt Hannibal’s cooking. He flipped the tables and other furniture upside down, and secured anything that could be a liability otherwise. The beds were fastened to the wall and floor, and Will was sure everything in the kitchen would be fine if they stuck the cupboards and doors closed.

He tightened the ropes around the sails. Some of them were old, but Will hoped they would pull through.

Hannibal joined him a moment later, offering a plate and a fork. Will took it with thanks, admiring the stack of pancakes surrounded by banana slices and raspberries, with butter leaking down the side of the stack. It was as delicious as it looked.

When they finished their silent breakfast, Hannibal took both plates and returned with tweezers and scissors. He sat on the side of the boat that was getting the best sunlight. Will watched him fold his shirt and straighten his back, beginning to unstitch himself.

"There's a storm coming. We'll reach it tonight."

Hannibal huffed as the first stitch came out. "Let's hope its force propels us forwards."

Will rolled his eyes. There was nothing better to do other than watch Hannibal, so that's what he did. He managed to get the last one out and shot Will a triumphant grin. Will returned it, then sat behind him.

The sea was sloppy, but Will managed. A shiver ran through Hannibal, exposed to the chilly air. Will made most of the sun while they had it - observed how it glittered on the water's surface, how it bounced off Hannibal's skin and made him appear golden. Watched Hannibal’s shoulders rise and fall, his hair flit around in the wind.

"Do you still think about killing me?" Hannibal asked when Will had snipped one of the stitches.

He took a deep, steady breath. "Sometimes. It's different, though."

"The methods?"

"Yes and no." Will freed another stitch. "Mostly, I imagine you dying rather than killing you myself."

Hannibal hummed and the vibration went down his spine and brushed Will's fingers. "Is that more to your liking?"

"No. I don't know. I imagine dying with you. I think I would rather die with you than be caught by Jack, or anyone else, with you."

"Do you think you imagine yourself dying with me because you have monatophobia, the fear of dying alone? Because you know that after all this, I am the only one who will stay by your side, until death?"

Will shook his head, even though Hannibal couldn't see it. "I think it's more that I'm scared to live without you. I used to be content living on my own, being alone. I felt like the black sheep in a herd, and knew I was alone, and I was okay with it. And then you came to the scene, more a stag than a sheep. You stood out just as much as I did and suddenly I didn't like being misunderstood, now that I had someone who knew me - knows me - like you do."

"Did you marry in my absence in hopes of feeling understood again?" Hannibal reached behind him and touched the mark when Will was finished. He seemed pleased enough.

Will sat beside him, knees curled to his chest and eyes cast to the open ocean. "I knew nothing could even mimic the depth of your understanding. All of my… feelings and moments with Molly and Walter were genuine, I can't deny that. But I also can't deny that I wanted to busy my life to distract myself. Now that I have this-" Will motioned between himself and Hannibal. "-again, I don't want to lose it. And I know you feel the same."

"I do," Hannibal said immediately. Will was taken back to sitting with Hannibal, bloodied, bruised, broken, admiring a piece of art covering the wall in front of him while Hannibal talked about seeing Will every day, and remembering this moment. "I understand your wish to die with me, and the fear of losing me, in fact I share the sentiment. But would you be happy living a life with me?"

Will sighed. He turned his towards Hannibal and found him already looking back. "Yes. Now that we are on even footing, not trying to sabotage each other, to hurt and kill each other, yes. I don't wish to kill innocent people, though. I couldn't stomach it."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "And the guilty?"

"If there was a situation where someone was so terrible, their crimes so horrific, then I would feel no guilt or remorse killing them. The same if someone were to jeopardise our peace, if that were the only option. In a perfect world we wouldn't have to kill anybody. But we don't live in a perfect world."

"We will see." Hannibal smiled. "New Zealand awaits us. We may find our perfect world there."

“We may do.” Will leaned against him, wrapping an arm around Hannibal's waist. In turn, Hannibal held him closer by the shoulders.

Will had a sense of deja vu. Every time Hannibal and himself had a peaceful moment such as this, all hell broke loose. Their conversation in front of the Primavera painting, the moments leading up to Hannibal turning himself in, the glass they shared, or tried to, before Hannibal was shot. Hannibal always felt like the calm before the storm. Will considered himself privileged to be able to witness the calm, the storm, and the eye. Now more closely than ever.

The storm of Hannibal Lecter was treacherous. Impressive in its power and devastating in its destructiveness. The impending threat of Hannibal was always followed by critical damage, then defeat in its wake. The eye of such a storm was, at times, more unsettling. Will noticed it more with an inside view. The relief surrounding them. Guards let down, vulnerability shows, bellies revealed. The eye of the storm is always more dangerous than the storm itself, when regarding Hannibal Lecter.

However, the calm was what Will cherished. When Hannibal's shoulders weren’t so squared, when he laughed and teased. When Hannibal felt more human than reckoning, even if his reckoning was a sight to behold. They sat on deck, their hair stale from salty air as they held each other. Hannibal had his head on Will’s shoulder, breathing in, breathing out, squeezing Will’s opposite arm. They watched the storm close in.

The sun abandoned them and they were blanketed in darkness. With no storm sails, Will reduced the regular ones, and double checked the older ropes. Rain abused the deck, sliced at their skin and faces, caused them to slip and stumble. Will and Hannibal yelled instructions and demands at each other, but all it resulted in was burning their throats. They were desperate. After only a short time, Will's arms begged him to stop and his shoulder hurt worse than it ever had. He caught Hannibal clutching his side more than once.

He lost track of the time. It could have been four hours or twenty minutes, and Will wouldn’t know. He continued aiming for smooth water, limbs sore from the ship lurching and jolting. He cursed. Not that anyone could hear it over the thunder above his head. The wind whipped Will one way, then the boat jerked the other way and Will hit the ground.

Water from the deck flooded his mouth and he spat, then spat again when he tasted copper. Will blinked until he could see again. He managed a glimpse at his own blood before it mixed with rain water and disappeared. Hannibal held him under his arm to get him to stand. Will let him inspect his head, even though he felt fine.

Once Hannibal let him go, Will checked their surroundings. The shore line was almost indistinguishable through cloud and fog and rain. He squinted and saw it, followed it with his eyes. He chewed at his bottom lip. It was all or nothing. Will adjusted the sails to catch the wind. It pointed them in the right direction that could fling them towards Canada, and if all went right, they could get there a few hours ahead of time. This change in action though also led them into rougher waves.

Will sighed and grabbed the mast for support. He whipped around and Hannibal was there, reaching for him. Before Will could even move, Hannibal had one hand cradling his head and the other was holding them steady against the mast.

“Be careful, Will,” He said, directly into his ear.

Will grinned. “Scared, are you?”

Hannibal pulled back just enough so Will could see his face. His lips were down casted in a frown, rain washing down his face. Hannibal’s hair flattened to his forehead and around his ears. He clutched at Will. Never had Will ever thought he would see Hannibal like this. The boat heaved a bit too far to the side and Hannibal took a single stumble back before Will caught him around the waist and flung him onto his own body.

“Me too,” he said, their cheeks pressed together. Neither had to say anything to know they weren’t scared of the storm, or death itself. Possibility and separation was the only thing on either of their minds. This train of thought led them both to the same place, and they separated just enough to see each other again. Will pressed his lips in a line, looking between Hannibal’s eyes and his parted lips. “Please. Just once, can I-... Just in case.”

When Hannibal surged forward, it wasn’t because of the rocking boat or the wind, or the storm. He held Will’s face so desperately it almost hurt, and kissed him so furiously it was a hurricane on its own. Will groaned and felt rather than heard Hannibal do it back. His tongue and mouth were a pleasant warmth against the biting cold, that Will indulged with a sinful supply of greed matched by Hannibal.

Will wasn’t sure how long it had been when they parted, but his lips tingled and he was dizzy with it, and still left unsatisfied. But they hauled the vessel through the edges and the last of the storm. On the other side was harmless cloud and temperature not any warmer, but merciless wind had died down to a chilly breeze. A heavy exhale next to him drew his attention. Hannibal was panting, just as Will was. They shivered and grabbed at each other while they disappeared back under, finally safe.

Wordlessly they stripped and towelled themselves down. They dug through the dressers for the warmest clothes and slipped them on. Even so, Will still had to rub his arms to coax the goosebumps down. Hannibal wiped his forehead with a cloth and taped his eyebrow up.

“A small cut, from when you fell,” he explained. “Nothing major.”

Will nodded as he picked up the blankets that had fallen off the bed during the storm. He nestled into the sheets and pillows and flung the blanket on top of him. With closed eyes, he held one side of the blanket up and felt the mattress dip under Hannibal’s weight. They nestled together, still trembling from the cold. Hannibal had his cheek against Will’s collar, their legs tangled under the mass of blankets, and his arms tucked neatly and tightly around Will. Will had his arms around him, his nose in his damp hair. Sleep took them easily.

It took them another day to sail through the channel. They were in Quebec, Will knew that much. They left the sailboat in the port with only the furniture and utilities - Will stuffed clothes into a suitcase he found and Hannibal took a bag of food. They managed to stuff toiletries in as well some blankets, and anything else they fancied, including the booze. Once again they wiped it clean and didn’t anchor the vessel, in hopes the tide would push it away or even capsize it.

Hannibal hotwired a car, thoroughly impressing Will, and they were off. With all the turns Hannibal took he guessed he knew where they were headed. His assumption was right - after an hour's drive he turned into a gravel driveway.

“Stay here, I won’t be long,” Hannibal said as he opened the driver's door. Will opened his own door and followed. Hannibal didn’t object.

They met a man, short and thin, probably a decade younger than themselves. He spoke to Hannibal in French and Will could only pick up a few words. Neither of them smiled at each other, and the conversation didn’t sound all that friendly, but he could have been wrong because next thing Will knew, they were led inside the house and sat by an open fire while the man disappeared into another room.

Hannibal and Will sat on the leather couch together, cross legged and knees touching. After twenty minutes the man came back with two brown folders stocked with papers. Handing him some American money Hannibal had taken from the boat, Hannibal said what Will recognised as a thank you. He flicked through the folder while they talked.

Fake identification, as thorough as drivers licences and birth certificates, various awards. A few real looking degrees, job references. Will recognised the photos used were legitimate appearing, although he could tell they were edited, only because he had seen the originals. Whoever this contact of Hannibal’s was, he was good. So good that Will doubted he would have been able to notice the legitimacy of the documents otherwise.

Hannibal thanked him again and the Canadian followed them outside. Will and Hannibal waited by the car while the man changed their number plates. This time Will jumped behind the steering wheel and waved goodbye. He didn’t ask questions, even as they pulled out of the driveway and on to the open road.

“Where are we heading now?” He asked instead. Hannibal gave him directions as they went, flicking through his own folder of fake documents.

Another hour into their road trip, Will noticed Hannibal start to shiver. He had nabbed the warmest jackets, and they seemed to be heading north. The windows had even started to cloud. He cranked up the heating system and said, “The blanket is in the black bag.”

Hannibal shuddered his gratitude and wrapped himself in the blanket. “I hope we settle in the North Island. I would prefer somewhere north of Auckland, but I understand it is not just my decision to make.”

Will was too tired to hide his smile. “I’ll be happy to. I’ve had enough of the cold too.”

Hannibal’s laugh and soft voice pushed Will to drive for two and a half hours. They drove up a never ending driveway until they were waved down another path. A person ran ahead of the car through the snow and led Will to drive into a shed, more the size of a warehouse. Hannibal sighed, a clear sign that they had arrived at the largest stepping stone of their journey.

In the shed was a plane. Nothing flashy or first class, but enough to floor Will. They lugged their belongings on their shoulders.

Hannibal took his hand. “Are you ready, Will?”

He squeezed his hand. “Ready as ever.”

Chapter Text

They slept for most of the trip. He didn't ask how Hannibal had so many resources and people who would do illegal things no questions asked. Will figured that a man living the lifestyle Hannibal did, and now he did too, it would be moronic not to have people indebted to you.

Will woke more tired than he was beforehand. He had no doubts his face was covered in red lines from the seat, and his shoulder and arm had gone numb from where Hannibal leaned against him. Never had Hannibal looked so peaceful as he did now.

There was a calmness surrounding him when he hunted. A control over his own body that was almost inhuman. An ease had fallen over him the past few weeks. He laughed more and smiled, no walls between them. But never had he looked so at peace.

When Hannibal slept during the brunt of his recovery, he wasn’t serene like this. His eyebrows weren’t relaxed, his eyelashes squashed against his cheek rather than resting there. His body didn’t rise and fall so deeply nor evenly. There was no peace in Hannibal’s expression those nights in the shack, just like there was no pain in his expression now. Lips slightly parted where they were mashed against Will’s shoulder.

Will hated to disturb the peace, but he looked out the window and saw they were landing. On a similar isolated farm, Will noticed, and he chuckled to himself as he watched several people rush cows out of the makeshift runway. The plane settled and Will brushed Hannibal’s hair from his eyes. The movement must have woken him - his eyebrows pinched minisculely, his mouth closed and he sighed. When he opened his eyes, they were wet and hazy. Will grinned.

Hannibal sat up with a low groan. He popped his neck to the side as he talked. “Have we arrived?”

“Looks that way.”

He watched as Hannibal leaned against the headrest of his own seat, eyes closed. It almost looked like he was asleep again. Then he rolled his head to the side and looked at Will again, just looked at him. Something about it made Will’s stomach roll and his throat catch on fire.

“You look like you’re second guessing your choice,” Will said. When Hannibal just stared at him, confused, he added, “Me. You’re gonna be waking up to this scratched up face for a long time.” It was a tease as much as a warning. Will wasn’t leaving, not unless Hannibal told him to. He could hardly see that happening but Hannibal had always been unpredictable, even for Will. Hannibal cut out everything in his life that was boring and ugly.

Whatever negative reaction Will had thought up had been quickly dismissed when Hannibal’s face cracked into a smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. You are quite the pleasing face to wake up to.”

Will looked to the floor, at his stolen shoes, because it was too intense looking at Hannibal at the moment. Hannibal took his hand but only to help him needlessly out of the seat. Resisting the urge to reach for him again, Will walked in front of him and off the plane. It was dark, but he guessed it wouldn’t stay that way for long. One of the farmers threw a pair of keys at Will and pointed to the end of the paddock. A beaten up pick up truck sat there.

They lugged their belongings onto the tray and climbed in. Will drove along the dirt road until the sun broke the horizon and they found tarmac again. Just as his eyes started to fall, Hannibal’s own slow breathing next to him was so tempting, Will found a small town and a vacant motel. He didn’t wake Hannibal. He did, though, rifle through the files they were given in Canada to find a credit card, its details written on paper taped to it. After paying for the room, he found a parking space near their door.

He still didn’t wake Hannibal until all the luggage was inside. Will had asked for a room for two to find a double bed in their room. It wasn’t what he had asked for, but it was probably for the better. The extra bed wouldn’t have been used anyway. Finally, he woke up Hannibal and they trudged inside. Will heard him say something, but his head was on the pillow and he was already out.

Will woke with a stomach so empty he curled in on himself and groaned. There was a light laugh somewhere in the room, along with the smell of food. Brushing his hand across the mattress, Will felt an ache inside that he didn’t remember sleeping next to Hannibal.

He crawled out of bed, still a little dazed. He made a short trip to the bathroom before he dressed. By the time he was finished, Hannibal had started to plate up a full English breakfast.

“I made a short trip to the shops when I woke,” he explained, sitting across from Will. The table was small, only just big enough for the two of them.

“I didn’t hear you get up.” Will didn’t bother hiding the disappointment from his voice. “Thanks, though. For breakfast. I'm fucking starving.”

Hannibal beamed at him, then at the food on his own plate. He’s easy to please, Will mused. “I was counting on not waking you. I am aware how lightly you sleep, and you need your rest. Deserved it, too, after bringing us this far.”

Will would have had argued that they had only made it this far because of their joint effort, but was interrupted by his own pleased groan around a mouthful of food. Hannibal just continued to smile. They had breakfast in a serene silence, only broken by cutlery on the plates. Will took their dishes when they finished and rinsed them, then dried them. He left them on the bench to be put away later.

He checked the time. He had only checked them in for the night, but would book a few more nights if they needed to, and had enough money. Which reminded him - “How much money is on these credit cards?”

“Enough. For a long while, at least.”. His eyes crinkled at the edges whenever he grinned, which he seemed to be doing a lot these past few days. “So long as you don’t go buying boats.”

Will huffed, a grin spreading across his own face. “You’re tempting me.”

“I would never do such a thing,” he lied. Tempting was one of his greatest skills, and he knew it damn well too.

“Are we staying here or continuing north?”

“North. If we skirt around Auckland City we can avoid most of the traffic.” He produced a map from his pocket that Will recognized from the reception of the motel. Hannibal handed it to him and he noticed an area circled with a pen. “I was thinking we could find residency in Waitākere. A small area, though not too small. Close to the city. I did some research and it’s a beautiful area that I think you’ll like very much.”

Will raised an eyebrow. There were lot’s of questions, of course. The first was how long was he asleep that Hannibal could do all of this? He questioned if they had enough money to purchase a home, or if they were going to have to rent. The thought of Hannibal renting was rather amusing. In the end he folded the map and tucked it under his arm.

“Sounds perfect,” he said, because, absurdly, he trusted Hannibal. Trusted his intuition and choices. Trusted him to compromise their ideal living situations - a glamorous and high end home with a large kitchen for Hannibal, and in an uncrowded area with plenty of surrounding nature for Will.

They checked out and this time Hannibal jumped behind the wheel. Will pressed his forehead to the passenger side window but didn't drift off. Instead he watched the land rush by. Both the countryside and populated areas appeared almost familiar. The fact that he knew it shouldn’t be familiar, that he had never seen this particular herd of cows or these towns with names that were hard to pronounce, messed with his head. They would grow familiar, he hoped. The man next to him certainly had.

It took them just over an hour to reach Waitākere. They quickly found another motel - one Hannibal chose, and Will stifled a grin at how much flashier it was compared to the last. They booked for two weeks, and Will informed the person at reception they may need a bit longer, and would happily pay for extra nights when necessary.

Just as Hannibal was paying, the person asked, “Are you two on your honeymoon?”

Hannibal and Will looked at each other, eyebrows raised and the beginning of matching smiles on their faces. Then, Hannibal turned to them and said, “I’m afraid we haven't quite made it that far, yet.”

They just nodded and Hannibal winked at them. Will’s smile dropped and a sick feeling curled in his stomach. The kind of sick one might get after indulging too much on sugary sweets - sick, yet satisfied. His chest was tight, tighter still when Hannibal took him by the arm and led him to their room.

The inside of the room was just as flashy as the outside. The kitchenette was pristine and white, the bathroom full of fresh towels and soaps and such. There was a double bed in the centre of the room, alongside a dining table big enough for four instead of two. A television was attached to the wall across from the main bed, and to the side a single bed sat pressed against the wall. Will dumped the bags there, knowing it would be otherwise neglected.

“I didn’t pick you as the marriage type,” Will said to break the silence.

Hannibal regarded him, a hint of amusement washed over his expression. “I can certainly see the appeal. Though, mostly I find it rather unnecessary.”

“Because people use it to flaunt their partners?”

“Not so much. You’ve known me long enough to know I have a habit of showcasing some aspects of my life, and if I had a partner, I would love to parade them to whoever would listen.” Will rolled his eyes, disappointed in himself that he didn’t expect that answer in the first place. Hannibal looked him in the eye as he continued. “I find marriage less alluring because the only suitable partner I have met has no need to be further attached to me. We are already as mentally and psychologically close as two humans could possibly get. A piece of paper and a pair of rings change nothing about our relationship.”

Sitting on the edge of the single bed, Will rubbed his socked feet through the carpet. The conversation scared him less than it struck him with the same tightness in his gut. “Molly and I wore rings to remind each other that we were there for each other, even if we weren’t physically. That we loved each other even if we were apart.” He absently ran his thumb over where the jewellery used to be.

Hannibal hummed consideringly. “That I can see the attractiveness of.”

Will excused himself to the shower. The pressure was strong and beat the tension from his shoulders. His hair plastered against his head, long and unruly. He took his time, allowing his mind to drift as his skin turned red. He tried not to think about the storm. About how kissing Hannibal while nature tried her best to kill them gave him a sense of finality. He didn’t want to think about how every step along his life had led him to Hannibal, to that kiss, to sharing his space with him. Will didn’t want to think about those thoughts because they frightened him - not the thoughts themselves, not the realisation that they were true, but that he could so happily and readily live this life alongside Hannibal.

Stepping out of the shower, Will resigned himself to letting Hannibal make the next move. If he wanted to pursue anything more than their platonic relationship, although that word hardly scratched the surface of what they had, Hannibal would have to make that clear. He had hesitated at Will’s first advancement, and caved on the second. Will wasn’t going to push him further than he was willing to go.

He looked at himself in the mirror. The glass was clean of grime and dust, and Will saw himself clearly for the first time in weeks. The scar on his face, the newest addition, was red and angry. It was too far up to be covered by facial hair. The mark on his chin given to him by Mason’s henchman had mostly healed, although Hannibal had gotten to him in time before any major damage could become of him. He scrubbed the scruff along his jaw and chin.

He was in the bathroom for another ten minutes shaving. By the time he appeared back in the main room he was dry and Hannibal was making them lunch. He dug through the bags and tugged on whatever he got his hands on first.

“We’ll have a light lunch this afternoon, as we don’t have much in the way of food right now.” Will could hear him pottering about in the kitchen behind him. “I will remedy that soon and do a full shop for food and necessities.”

“Sounds good,” Will grunted, fighting to shove on his last sock. He and Hannibal turned and faced each other at the same time. Will watched the teaspoon in Hannibal’s hand clatter onto the bench.

“Oh,” Hannibal said, his expression open.

Will rubbed his bare cheek. “Yeah. Thought I needed a change. It makes me look too young, though.”

“You look lovely.” When the words left his mouth, Hannibal appeared just as surprised they were voiced as Will was to hear them. And then, “it’s true.”

Will punched out a sigh. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “What’s for lunch?”

Hannibal seemed to remember what he was doing and stepped aside to reveal the bench. “Some simple sandwiches. Bacon, lettuce, tomato. Just as we had on the boat. We should think about contacting a realtor after our meal.”

Humming his agreement, Will sat at the table while Hannibal placed their plates down at their settings as if it were a five star meal. It was, of course, and Will internally cursed at the man for managing to make something so easy taste so good. As planned, they found a realtor and booked a few appointments throughout the week. After a lengthy debate, Will and Hannibal agreed they would both go house hunting together.

Will didn’t bother sitting down when they got back to their rooms. He helped Hannibal pack their shopping away, though, squeezing past each other as they reached for the cupboards and the mini fridge.

“I’m going for a walk. I need to familiarise myself with the town.”

Hannibal looked at him, lost for a moment. “Would you like me to join you?”

Will pushed down the instinct to say yes. “If you want to. I probably won’t be good company while I do, though. I’ll just be memorising where some shops are, street names, things like that.”

With a deep breath, and a still silence, Hannibal finally said, “I’ll stay. Stay safe, Will. I’ll cook dinner when it’s dark.”

Stagnated, Will just nodded. He collected himself and waved goodbye before stepping out.

The air here was clean. With a deep breath of it in and a heavy push of it out, Will started down the road. Everything looked much the same. The town was largely a rural area, though he noticed some winding driveways that lead into thick bushes. That would be ideal, Will thought. Somewhere secluded for the two of them. In the back of his mind Will knew they didn’t have to live together. It was something that they both had silently acknowledged, and silently ignored any other option. Even now Will grew anxious being away from Hannibal.

He didn’t pay attention to how long he had been out. Will just kept in mind where the main road was and resumed his walk, zigzagging down the streets and across town. When he turned a corner, he didn’t expect to be face to face with a goat. The animal skipped past him and he had to turn around to make sure that he had really seen it.

“Catch him!”

Will almost threw up with the surge of fear and adrenaline. It must have taken at least half a minute for him to realise the woman was talking about the goat and not him. He jogged over and grabbed it by its collar, pulling it over to her.

“Thank you so much,” She panted. Then, to the goat, she said, “For fucks sake Gerold, can you just stay home for once!”

Will chuckled and scratched the goat's spine. “Does he do this often?”

She looked at him, surprised. “Yeah, he’s a real pain in my ass. You’re American?”

“Yeah. My, um…” He didn’t have a word to define what he and Hannibal were at the moment. “...friend? And I are staying in a motel while we look for a house.”

“Ahh. Complicated relationship?”

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

She laughed. “I get it. My wife and I were the same.” Will doubted that. “We don’t get many fellas from overseas looking to live here.”

“We’re sort of retiring? Just looking for somewhere quiet and secluded.” He shrugged. Gerold started to fuss against the ladies grip on his collar. Will summoned the memory of whatever his new alias was in his papers. “I’m Logan, by the way.”

She took his outstretched hand. “Anahera. My wife and I would love to have you and your complicated friend over for dinner one day, when you’re settled in home.”

Will didn’t know how well that would go down, but he thanked her nevertheless. “How should I get in contact with you? I don’t have a cell.”

Anahera snorted a laugh. “You don’t have a cell? What, are you on the run?”

Will forced his face not to drop. He punched out a laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not that interesting.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. Small town, remember? I work at the animal shelter, and I run around the place like a mad woman, so we’ll see each other around.” She patted him on the shoulder, then looked at the sky. “Shit, it’s dark already. I better go take this-” Anahera tugged at the animal's collar. “-asshole back home and tie him up to a chain. You would not believe how much rope he’s chewed through this past month.”

With a laugh, Will waved goodbye. He followed along the dim streetlights. The colour of them reflected off the tar and made it appear wet. He passed a few shops he remembered seeing on the way, only this time a notice board caught his eye. There were a few business cards, a few papers so old they had gotten yellow and the writing had faded. In the centre, though, was a piece of paper stapled with a woman's face on it. A missings persons poster with all of her details in red on the bottom.

Will had no idea what compelled him towards it, or what drew him to find the same poster elsewhere so he could fold it into his pocket and take it with him. A sense of normalcy, perhaps.

He dug around the paper and found the motel door key, but Hannibal opened the door for him. Stepping inside, Will let out a sigh. The unnerving feeling he got away from Hannibal had disappeared. Although, now a new sense of tension came to life.

“I apologise,” Hannibal said, careful and neutral, “your dinner has gone cold. I wasn’t sure how long you would be out so I ate mine already.”

Will could practically hear the words ‘What kept you so long’ and knowing the separation anxiety was mutual made him feel a bit better. “Thanks, for dinner. I don’t mind that it’s cold. I was only out so long because I made a friend.”

Hannibal sat across from him nevertheless and poured them both a drink, eyebrows raised. “Did you?”

“A woman named Anahera. Her goat was on the run, so I helped her catch him. She invited us over for dinner, once we’re settled.” He took a mouthful and swallowed before he continued. “I don’t know how great of an idea it is, especially so early. Interacting with neighbours and such.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Hannibal said. Whatever turmoil he was feeling before had dropped and his tone returned genuine. “It would be rude to decline. Besides, if we were anti-social it may raise suspicion.”

“Even if there was a legitimate sounding, albeit fabricated, reason to miss the dinner?”

Hannibal smiled sweetly, eyes tracking over his face. Clearly he was still getting used to it bare, probably more than Will was. “Here I was marvelling at how you had begun to step out of your shell since we first met.”

“Oh, trust me, if me four years ago could meet me now, I think it would be a race to see who would kill the other first. I’ve definitely changed, you made sure of that. I’m just not as comfortable around other people as I am with you.”

The confession seemed to strike a chord in Hannibal. He looked at Will’s hand on the table and his own twitched around the glass. “I feel the same. If you are uncomfortable with visiting other peoples homes then perhaps when we find our own, we can invite them over. It’s been much too long since I’ve hosted a dinner party.” Will raised an eyebrow and Hannibal chuckled. “The meat will be from the local butcher. This time, at the very least.”

The following week was rather mundane. Hannibal and Will went around to a few open homes each day. The first was too close to the town, the second had too small of a property. The next had a strange layout and the next had a kitchen so small they had to walk single file. That one they hardly made it through the front door before Hannibal turned around. They bought groceries when they needed them and Hannibal cooked and made their meals, no matter how many times Will insisted he was capable of making himself some food. They slept in the same bed, the single still covered in clothes and cold. Hannibal hadn’t made any advancements towards Will, so neither had he towards Hannibal. Aside from tangling together when they slept and the occasional touch here and there, he hardly made any sign of interest. Although, occasionally Will would catch him staring with such an intense fondness he had to look away. The mixed signals were not good for his headaches.

“I’m going out for my walk,” Will said to Hannibal, who was laying upright on their bed and sketching. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Enjoy yourself Will, I’ll be here when you’re back.”

Since the first day, Will would walk around town. It was good exercise and he had the place mapped down in his mind for the most part. It was also good for him to spend time on his own, Hannibal had brought up over dinner once. They shared the same anxiety at being apart, but sooner or later one or both of them would have to start working, and then it would be really impossible for them to be joined at the hip. Neither, however, were quite ready for more than an hour apart and Hannibal informed him the credit cards they were using still had enough money to last them just over a year, depending on how much the house would cost.

Anahera was right when she said they would run into each other a lot. In just over a week they had bumped into each other three times. One of those times she was with her wife - a tall blond woman named Kate, who’s cherry cheeks complimented Anahera’s dark brown. She was a midwife in Auckland and was very affectionate with her wife.

Will didn’t see her on his walk this time though. He was rounding a corner and was about to head back to the motel when a car pulled up beside him.

“Logan!” The man inside called, and Will recognised the voice to be their realtor before he could panic. He was an eccentric man named Toby. The man was startlingly tall and broad with muscle to boot. He had a keen eye for things, even if he hid it well with his outgoing and extroverted personality. Will grew more uncomfortable the more he was around Toby, and Hannibal was the same. They had to memorise their fake stories before meeting with him, since he was the only resident who they stayed with for prolonged periods and a few times Will almost slipped up, almost called Hannibal by name, and Toby would eye him, though said nothing. Now, though, he was leaning out of his window and grinning like a madman. “Jump in, I think I found the perfect home for you and Pieter!”

Will winced. “We arranged to meet again next Friday.”

He swatted the air. “Don’t have time! This house is perfect for you two, and it’s below your budget.”

The air was cold by now, the sun starting to set, and it stung Will’s throat as he sighed. He gnawed on his lip and looked down the street. He could only just see the motel from where they were. “Let’s make this quick.”

Toby grinned wider. “Quick as I can!”

Will regretted it immediately after jumping in the car. Usually he and Hannibal would follow in their truck, and watching from afar Will wondered how Toby still had his licence. Being in his car was a whole other story and Will now wondered how Toby hadn’t gotten into a major accident with his reckless driving.

The next thing Will noticed was that Toby had been driving for over twenty minutes, doing his best to distract him with useless chit chat.

“Where are we going?” Will asked finally. He held onto the seat as they flew over a bump.

Toby took a hand off the wheel and Will almost went blind. “There’s a house on the outskirts of town that’s primo for you guys, I promise. Big property, lots of yard and a big kitchen. The neighbours are a five minute drive each. It’s got plenty of bush around it, too.”

Will only kept himself composed because if Toby was something other than a madman, he was an honest man. It took them another ten minutes to get there. The property was just as described, so Will expected some kind of damage inside, or mould, or infestation. He found none of that. The house was perfect and cheap. Partially furnished, although the furniture was not to Hannibal’s tasteful standards, but they would do.

“What’s the catch?”

Toby chuckled awkwardly. “The catch, I’m afraid, is a very serious one. A family died in this house.”

“How?”

“An accident,” Toby explained. “Some drunk asshole was driving his lorry and drove onto the property.” He motioned out the kitchen windows to where the road was, and Will could see faint tracks on the grass. “The only family member that wasn’t hit was killed by the rubble. Obviously, the house has been repaired since then.”

Will nodded. “I’ll talk with Pieter about it tonight.”

Toby handed him some paperwork. “If you choose to take it, you can fill this out. Bring it to me tomorrow and I can sign off what I need to sign off. Don’t feel pressured to take it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Will thanked him, even if it was the last of his worries. Toby took him back into town, but something caught his eye and he asked to be dropped off by the shops. Beeping obnoxiously, he pulled off. The thing that caught his eye was the notice board, another missing persons case. He had three - four, now - so far. Will wasn’t sure why he kept them, less sure why he kept them from Hannibal. He hadn’t even had the time to look into them further between hiding the posters and sorting out the house. This newest one was just a day after the last girl had gone missing, and they hadn’t even bothered taking the last one down.

Will stuffed it in his pocket and jogged down the street back to the motel. Only, the door to their room was open, just a slight. Alarm bells sirened through Will's head. He peeked through the door and saw the room was empty. Brandishing a kitchen knife, he checked the bathroom. Empty as well. There was not a single speck of blood, not a sign of struggle. The truck was gone, too, Will noticed. Hannibal had left.

Will considered calling the cops.

He didn’t. Mostly because the chances of Hannibal being the victim was slim, and because it felt wrong calling the cops on him after so long.

He thought about all the missing people. Will struggled to read the poster in his panicked state. The woman had gone missing in the area. Chance of abduction was high.

Will was going to look for him. He shoved the paper back into his pocket and stormed towards the door. The chance of Hannibal being the victim was slim, but it was a chance all the same. Will was smothered with a new resolve. If someone had taken Hannibal from him, they would have to suffer his consequences. And if Hannibal had started hunting already, and without him all the same, then Hannibal would have the same consequences. Either way someone would be getting hurt.

He hardly had enough time to step out the door before their truck swerved back into its spot by their room door, Hannibal behind the door. Will saw him alone and in perfect shape, so he was ready to yell. Ready to scream and chew Hannibal out for making him panic, for leaving without a word, as hypocritical as it was.

The fire inside him was fanned by Hannibal colliding against him, crushing their mouths together. He pushed Will back inside and slammed the door closed with his foot, not breaking away for a second. Will found himself trapped between a wall and Hannibal. He found he quite liked being trapped there, and made it clear with a groan, spilling it from his lips to Hannibals. He made sure Hannibal knew exactly how furious he was by biting him, pulling his hair, and let him know how fucking thankful he was that he was alright by licking over where he bit him.

After an eternity Hannibal pulled away, though only enough to whisper words between them. “I looked for you all over town. Up and down every damn street. I thought the worst had happened.”

Will pecked his face on either side, finishing with a sweet kiss on the lips. “So did I when I came back and you were gone.”

His head was wrenched back by Hannibal’s hand in his hair. Will deserved it, deserved the sting on his scalp for at least not contacting him first. Hannibal kissed from his chin down his neck, then up to his ear. “Never do that again.”

Will knew his words were both a plea and a warning. “I won’t.”

Hannibal released him, stroking his hair instead, and holding his face in the other hand. “What happened?”

He pointed to the paperwork discarded on the bed. Hannibal looked reluctant to go without him, so Will held him around the waist and they sat on the bed side by side. Their sides were pressed impossibly close.

“You found us a home?” He asked, after a moment's reading.

“Possibly.” Will explained the issue the same way Toby had explained it to him. He left out all the ways Toby had scared him, just in case the realtor's face was the next to pop up on the missing persons posters. “The house is perfect. And I know dead things hardly bother us much anymore. I just wasn’t sure if living in a house where there’s already been death would raise suspicion, and I needed a second opinion.”

Hannibal hummed. “I think we’ll be fine. To anyone that questions us, we can tell the truth. We’ve been living in a motel for the past two weeks and desperately need a real home to stay. We found the ideal one, and neither of us are bothered by the deaths that occurred there, and neither of us believe in hauntings. It’s perfectly reasonable.”

Sighing, Will rested his temple against Hannibal's shoulder. He locked their fingers together, squeezing them tight and receiving a delicate squeeze in return. “You’re right. I guess I was overthinking. You’ll really like the place.”

“I trust I will,” Hannibal hummed, and placed a kiss to the top of Will’s head. They filled out the papers, recalling back to their aliases.

Will suggested they get some takeaway so Hannibal wouldn't have to cook, but he shook his head. Regretfully, he shuffled out of bed and Will heard him start to pot around. He stayed in their bed, not tired, but not willing to get up now that he was laying down. A grin broke across his face remembering that soon they'll have their own home.

He knew that it wouldn't be permanent. They may be able to live here for a year, maybe two. Will didn't expect to be able to stay in the country for more than five. But their very own temporary home had its appeal.

There were three bedrooms. Multiple bedrooms was a criteria they had, silently agreeing that if one or the other wanted to sleep separately, then the option was there. Neither of them wanted to take the option, Will knew this. Hannibal knew this.

He touched his lips. He still felt the way Hannibal had kissed him, firm and desperate. It wasn't unlike their first. Will rolled onto his back and looked up to the ceiling. Hannibal was the first man he had kissed. The realisation hit him like a butterfly. It didn't matter, he knew, and it didn't bother him. He wouldn't tell Hannibal - not yet, at least - because he knew of Hannibal's possessive streak, and a smug Hannibal was an infuriating Hannibal. It would be his own thing to smile about for now.

Will's smile dropped when the distinct sound of glass shattering came from the kitchenette. He was on his feet so fast he got a head rush. The sight of red made his heart leap in his throat.

"Ha-"

"I'm alright," Hannibal said, hands up. "I'm afraid we are out of wine."

Will looked down again. The floor was covered in wine and deep green glass. Hannibal sighed and bent down, but Will flicked him away.

"Out of it, I'll get it."

Surprisingly, Hannibal did as told. He retrieved a small plastic brush and shovel while Will picked up the big pieces, then got the mop while Will swept. The kitchen floor was clean and safe again.

Noticing Hannibal sigh again, running his hand through his hair, Will stepped into his space. "Everything alright?"

"Just fine." His smile was tight and he reached for Will. He fell into his arms. "I'm almost done. Set the table for me, please."

Will fisted his shirt a second before detaching himself. They finished their tasks at the same time and sat for dinner. Small steaks with beans and potatoes. Will wasn't surprised that it tasted more than it looked. He watched Hannibal, making sure he was as fine as he claimed he was.

Will could see how jittery he was, and how hard he was trying to hide it. Hannibal was always harder to read than most people - careful walls placed around, formed from years of perfection. But the past month or so, and their last few meetings before Hannibal was incarcerated, Hannibal had nothing to hide from him. Especially these past few weeks. He was open, let himself be seen, allowed Will past those walls.

Whatever the reason for Hannibal erecting these walls between himself and Will had something to do with more with Will's disappearance. Something deeper.

But Hannibal looked tired, so Will wouldn't push it. He cleaned up while Hannibal showered. Once the dishes were rinsed, he packed up most of their belongings they wouldn't need immediately tomorrow. He hoped they would be able to move in as soon as possible.

Will stepped into the shower once Hannibal finished his. He scrubbed quickly and dried and dressed himself quicker. Going straight to the kitchen, Will pulled out something he hid from Hannibal in the warming drawer of the oven. Will grabbed two spoons and squeezed into bed next to him.

"Tiramisu?" He asked, managing to read the label before Will chucked it on the floor. "I could have made some, if you wanted."

"That defeats the purpose of me buying it. I would have made it, for you, if I knew how, and could be bothered." Will offered Hannibal a spoon and laid the container between them. The first mouthful melted on his tongue and his mouth watered. "Mm. It's good."

Hannibal huffed his laughter. "No plates? Not even a table? Just eating on the bed like animals?"

Will shrugged. "It's cosy."

"If I find a single crumb or bit of cream on these sheets-"

"I know, I know," chuckled Will, "I'll never hear the end of it." Hannibal side eyed him. "If you don't want any, I'll happily take it all."

Will grabbed the container and began moving it, but Hannibal's hand clasped over his and settled it back down. The box was like a bridge between their legs. He spooned a mouthful and hummed.

"I could still do better," He said bitterly. He was easily consoled when Will slipped his hand in Hannibal's.

They couldn't eat all of it, so Will stored it in the fridge. The two of them brushed their teeth together, side by side. Will watched Hannibal in the mirror. He had relaxed some; he wasn't over stimulated like he was when he dropped the wine, but something was still settled beneath his ribs. Though, Will knew better than anyone that sometimes pestering questions was worse than the problem itself.

So he took Hannibal by the hand and flicked the lights off on the way to bed. As soon as they were settled into bed he draped an arm and a leg over Will, his ear nestled onto his breastbone right over his heart. He breathed in slow and huffed it all out at once like a dog looking for attention. Will complied. One hand he tucked under the hem of Hannibal's shirt to draw some circles with his nails, the other rubbing up and down the forearm across his chest.

Will stayed awake until he was sure Hannibal was asleep. Whatever shook him shook him well. He hated not knowing. Will always hated not knowing, hated it even more when it related to Hannibal. His hatred of being in the dark was at its worst regarding Hannibal these past few weeks. Not knowing if he would pull through his fever, through the blood loss. Not knowing if they would lose one another in a storm, both literal and figurative. Will hated not knowing what Hannibal was thinking about now in his sleep, hated more that he had dug up whatever bad memory or experience he was reliving.

They remained in the same position through the night and Will woke with pins and needles all along his side. He resumed his ministrations along Hannibal’s arm and back. Payed attention to the dips in Hannibal's skin, the hair on his back and arm, the bumps of moles and scars. Will was still dozing. Slipping in and out of sleep and wakefulness.

Hannibal sniffed. Wet and sick sounding. He clutched Will tighter in his sleep, nudging impossibly closer against him. He sniffed again.

Will didn't open his eyes until he realised his shirt had grown damp from where Hannibal was resting against it. He sniffed again. Pushing his hair from his face, Will could see the red puffs around Hannibal's eyes. The even breathing suggested he was still asleep.

He didn't have to wait much longer for him to wake. Will could feel the thumping of Hannibal's heart against his arm, and how he turned his nose into the small puddle he made on Will's shirt. He took a deep breath and the persistent drumming in his ribs calmed. Will felt a spark of pride, and a flood of privilege, at being the one to be able to calm Hannibal Lecter.

When he looked up, he smiled, crooked and tired, and a little sad. He cupped Will's face. Brushed his thumb over the soft bristle of facial hair growing back in. It wouldn't be long before Will would have his beard back, if he wanted.

"You really are a lovely face to wake up to." Hannibal's voice was as broken as expected.

Will caught a tear before it fell off his jaw. "What were you dreaming about?"

Hannibal's breath tickled his neck. "Mischa. And the day I lost her. It was around this date, all those years ago."

With a frown, Will brushed his fingers through his hair. The strands were thin and shiny. A shiver ran across Hannibal's spine when Will massaged his scalp.

Will held his breath. "Will you tell me about her? About what happened?"

"It's appropriate to do so, I think." Hannibal's hand slid down Will's flank. "She was the only person I felt consumed by entirely. Before you.

"We were young, very young. It was darker than most days. Mischa wanted to chase fireflies so I took her to her favourite spot. I was so distracted watching her that I hadn't realised we were being chased as well."

Hannibal's eyes were still misty as he talked, but he didn't hiccup or shed any more tears. His back was warm under Will's hand. Staying silent, Will listened intently, clutching Hannibal closer.

"We were separated when those men took us. The last time I saw her alive I promised that I would find her and protect her, and she promised she would stay safe until then. The last time I saw her, she was already half eaten."

Hannibal took a deep breath before he continued. It was a controlled inhale, exhale. To force himself steady. "I swore to myself that I would honour her, and also that I would never love someone so deeply like that again. I had learned from a young age how cruel humans could be - not God, not the loving Christian God, because He doesn't exist in a universe that I know the taste of my own sister. But humans were cruel, so I devoted myself to being cruel to the cruel. I believed to love was to have weakness, up until recently."

Will thought about that night many years ago in Hannibal's home in Baltimore. When Hannibal held him so tenderly, face displaying his clear heartbreak, before gutting him. He thought about the night in Florence, across the table from Jack. His memories from that day were hazy, still, but the scar across his forehead was clear. Hannibal knew his feelings for Will long ago. He was motivated by self preservation, to relinquish vulnerability. And yet, he never had the strength to follow through. If he had, Will wouldn't be here holding him.

"When I went missing yesterday," Will said in a whisper. As if just the words could bring back the pain Hannibal felt, "you thought I would suffer the same fate as Mischa."

"Yes," Hannibal replied inelegantly. No metaphors, no frills to his words. Blunt and straightforward. "I had feared that I would suffer the same extraordinary pain that I had with Mischa, but this time I wasn't so sure I could survive it. In fact I was certain I couldn't."

Will kissed him. Closed mouth and firm, and somehow more overwhelming than any kiss he had ever experienced. Hannibal fisted his side, a desperate sound escaping him.

"I am here," Will murmured when they parted, foreheads pressed together and noses nudging. "I will always be here, whether you want me or not.

“We've survived each other." Will touched the scar on Hannibal's wrist while Hannibal caressed the gash along his forehead. "We will survive together. And if we don't, we die together. I will never be separated from you, nor you from me. No police, cruelty, or God could tear us apart now."

"In life or in death," Hannibal lamented. "In sickness or in health."

A smile broke across Will's face, and Hannibal matched. "That sounds awfully like marriage vows, Dr. Lecter. Mr. Marriages-Are-Mostly-Unnecessary."

"And a marriage between us would be just as unnecessary. We are already conjoined in every way that matters, and we have no one to prove anything to."

Will hummed. He glanced up at the clock behind Hannibal. With a gasp, he sat up, knocking Hannibal off him. "Shit! We have twenty minutes to check out."

He scrambled out of bed, Hannibal following in a much more organised matter. They tugged on new clothes and cleaned their motel room, stuffing their belongings wherever they fit before tossing their bags on the tray and jumping in. Will held the paperwork for their new home in his lap while Hannibal drove.

Toby greeted them with a toothy smile. "Come, come, into my office."

He disappeared behind a door. Will grabbed Hannibal by the wrist to stop him. "I'm gonna grab us some breakfast. And phones, for emergencies."

Hannibal pressed his lips in a line but nodded. He kissed Will's forehead. "Be back soon."

"I will."

Will strolled out of the realtors building. Anahera had mentioned a shop around the west part of town that sold sushi. His stomach growled as he passed a row of other shops, the smell of food wafting through the doors.

On his way, he passed the notice board. Another missing. Another woman. She had gone missing on her way to work three days ago. Will looked at his surroundings, and found another poster of her taped to a wall of a dairy. He took it, folded it, and stuffed it in his pocket.

He found the sushi place soon after. Will bought two trays of sushi and two packets of dried seaweed. He swung the paper bag along his side, and threw their phones in the same bag once he bought them. The town was peaceful this morning. Not many people were out. The occasional dog walker and pedestrians wandering to work, but it was quiet.

Will found Hannibal in Toby's office, on the phone. He lit up when he saw Will, flared his nostrils and nodded in approvement. Waiting outside, Will watched trees away in the breeze. At some point he realised it wasn't just the town that was calm, but he himself was too. Serene and content.

He and Hannibal ate on a bench outside the realtors building. Apparently there were a few more things for them to sign before they got the keys, and it took until the afternoon before they could get them.

Hannibal made them a late lunch while Will took their bags upstairs. There was only one bed in the whole house and it was musty and firm. He brought it up with Hannibal over their meal, and he planned to buy a new one immediately.

Will hated cities. Auckland was no different. The crowds, the traffic, the tall buildings, the smog. Today they just came for a bed, but tomorrow they would do a full furniture haul and Hannibal insisted on filling their new expansive closet. Will pictured himself as one of those men tailing their girlfriend, holding several bags in each hand.

They agreed on a soft mattress. Will helped get the bed on the tray of their truck with the help of the employees and strapped the mattress down, all while Hannibal was across the road buying sheets and blankets. Probably for the better, since Will assumed he would pass out if he saw how expensive the silk sheets were. He noticed, when he got back, the price tags were ripped off and there was no receipt.

By the time they got back to the house - to their new home - it was dark. They struggled getting the bed and mattress up the stairs, so had a dinner break before putting the frame together. Will pulled on the sheets while Hannibal stuffed the duvet in its cover.

It was splendidly domestic. The room was cold and so were the sheets. They would warm them, eventually. Take the time to make this place familiar and their own.

The next day was busier. All the furniture they purchased was stored in a moving truck and, once the day was over, was taken to their home. Will started to sweat with how much damn heavy things they were pushing around. Even Hannibal cooked them a quick dinner, eager to sit down and relax.

The sun started to settle, and Will looked out at the bush through their kitchen window.

"I think I'll go for a walk. To see how long it'll take to walk from here to town." Hannibal pressed his chest to Will's back and hooked his chin over his shoulder, arms coming around his waist. Will grinned and leaned back into him. "Would you, perchance, just real stab in the dark here, like to join me?"

The grumble Hannibal made vibrated through his chest and up Will's spine. He kissed his neck and Will shivered. "Yes, I think I would enjoy accompanying you."

The walk was more of a comfortable amble. Will tried to keep up his regular pace, but Hannibal was insistent on patting nearby sheep and cows along the fence line. It took them fifty minutes to reach town, so Will took that down to forty on his usual pace.

His eyes drifted to the notice board. No new missing persons today. Hannibal asked Will to wait outside while he bought a few groceries. Instead, he wandered inside the animal shelter, expecting to see Anahera but saw Kate instead.

"Hey Logan," she said with a little wave.

"No Anahera?"

Kate sucked through her teeth. "No, she's staying home. All the women going missing really freak her out. Which is fair, since she seems to fit the demographic."

"Maori, young, medium height, medium weight."

Kate regarded him and Will cursed himself internally. "That's the one. You one of those crime nuts?"

"I guess you could say that."

She hummed. "Well stay safe." Then, she laughed. "If you manage to find those girls, I'll buy you a box of a dozen."

Kate looked at something behind Will and he turned to see Hannibal peeking around the door.

"Ahh Pieter," He said, motioning him in. Will saw the minute twitch of his nose when he smelled the animals, "this is Kate, who I was telling you about. Kate, this Pieter, my… uh, well this is Pieter."

He shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"And yourself. So, have you guys moved in yet?"

"We have indeed," Hannibal said. "Logan tells me about the arrangement he and Anahera have made, but I've reimagined it a bit. I would like to invite the both of you over to our place."

"Sounds fun to me." She shrugged. "You guys really are strange - in a good way, of course. I've never had the new friends in town host the party instead of the other way around."

"Oh, he just likes to show off," Will interjected. "He hasn't had the chance to in a few years. It's eating him up inside. We'll see you Saturday?"

Kate snorted her laugh. "Well, I look forward to it." Will gave her the address.

"As do I."

They wished Kate farewell and Anahera best wishes. The walk back was in a companionable silence. Their shoulders kept brushing so Will just took his free hand. Hannibal squeezed it.

"Dessert?" He offered as they put away the groceries.

"Mm, please."

Will sat on the counter while Hannibal milled around the kitchen. He kept looking at him over his shoulder while he did so.

"You alright?" Will chuckled.

"Yes." That was all Hannibal said before stuffing what Will assumed was apple crumble in the oven. When he turned, he pressed his palms behind him on the opposite bench. He looked Will up and down slowly. Then, he pushed off and stood between Will's knees, hands either side of his thighs. "I don't normally condone people sitting on my kitchen bench."

"Our kitchen bench," Will corrected. "But?"

"But you look stunning sitting there, so I'll allow it."

Will locked his ankles around him and draped his arms around his shoulders. "I'm just sitting here."

"And you look beautiful while you do it."

"You're ridiculous."

Hannibal smiled up at him and pulled him down for a kiss. He drew his index down Will's spine and held his hips firmly. Dragging him forward on the counter, Hannibal pressed against him, firm and eager. He licked into Will's mouth and drew a groan out of him. When he ran his hands over Will's thighs, hand span covering both of them, was when Will pulled away.

"Wait, wait." As soon as the words left his mouth, Hannibal pulled away. Will kept him close with his legs. He gnawed his bottom lip and sighed. "I've never…"

Hannibal tilted his head back. "Ahh. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to assume."

Will leaned against his shoulder with a heavy sigh. "Sorry, I know it's so mundane. And annoying."

"No, no. I could never find you mundane nor annoying." Peppering kisses down Will's neck, he played with the hairs on his neck. "I feel privileged to have this much with you."

With a deep groan, Will sat up and cupped his cheeks, warm and flushed. "You have to listen to me. I may never want it. I'm not a sexual person in the first place, and, with a man, this is… new. If you want to find yourself another-"

"Not at all." Hannibal covered Will's mouth with his palm before he could continue. He had done the same when they tumbled off the cliff, pressing his bloodied hand against Will to keep him from yelling. "You could tell me I could never touch you again, and for the rest of our lives I had to stand across the room for you."

Will raised his eyebrow and pushed his hand away. "You would do that?"

"I would tell you every day how lovely you look, and respect the physical distance."

"We've never really been good with boundaries."

"This is my exception. I would hate to touch you where you wouldn't want to be touched. If you want to pursue this, you know where I am."

Will nodded and hauled him closer with his legs to kiss him. "Well you'll hardly need to stand across the room from me." He sniffed. "Dessert smells ready."

He was right. The apple crumble was a perfect balance of sugar and syrup, soft and crunchy. Will rinsed their dishes in hot water and left them for the morning, the days exhaustion catching up to him. They followed their regular routine, and Hannibal was in the bathroom while Will fell on the bed.

He stretched right out in a starfish, like he was in the river at the beginning of their journey.

"I've never had a big bed like this," he said to Hannibal when he stepped into their bedroom.

"Not even with Molly?"

"We had a double, not a queen." He reluctantly shuffled over for Hannibal, taking his side of the bed. Will was on his side, watching him crawl under their brand new covers and mirror his position.

The night outside their home was peaceful. The wind rustled through the leaves of the surrounding bush area. Cicadas and moreporks chirped and cooed, a much more pleasant sound than cars passing or drunks singing. The only light came from the lamp behind Will - one that had come with the house.

Tentatively, he reached out to Hannibal. He met Will halfway across the sheet. Their hands fit perfectly together down to their calluses. Hannibal kissed Will's knuckle and sighed. Will felt the breath across his nose.

"I suppose we should think up some label for what we have. I'm normally unopposed to leaving things as they are, but people may find it strange if you continuously introduce me as just my name."

Will hummed, but said nothing.

Hannibal continued. "For your information I am vetoing 'boyfriends', the term is far too twee and adolescent."

With a muffled laugh, Will agreed, even if his face burned. Never in his life had he imagined having this particular conversation with this particular man, in this particular time and place. And yet.

"We could call ourselves partners," suggested Will. "The word is used both in romantic context and in the term 'partners in crime'."

"A fitting play on words," Hannibal hummed. He pulled their intertwined hands closer to himself and rested his cheek on the back of Will's palm. He could see a shine in Hannibal's eyes, his mouth tugged into a smile.

Reaching behind him, Will clicked off the lamp. His free hand rested on Hannibal's side.

"Goodnight Hannibal," He whispered as he watched Hannibal slip into sleep.

"Goodnight, Will."

By Saturday, the total number of women who had gone missing racked up to seven. Will had all the missing posters on the desk in the spare room. Neither he nor Hannibal used it very often, so he had some privacy to think. Will had purchased a map and a bag of pins, and marked the approximate location they had all gone missing, the closest being right in the middle of town.

Hannibal was out buying a few last minute things for their guests. Will had insisted they don't dress to the nines as he doubted their guests would. Somehow he convinced him. Will wore a white button down and some nice pants, and Hannibal matched him and donned a blazer.

He stared down at the map. He had been for the past half hour. With a curse, Will ran his fingers through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. For once, he actually wished for a badge. That way he could talk to the families, know the full story.

Some part of him was shocked that he still even wanted to do this. He had seen the same amount of horror as a cop and profiler as he had alongside Hannibal. The only difference was what side of the crime he was on, and Will found he preferred being on the side committing the atrocities. And yet.

Maybe it was because Will thought it would disturb their peace. He wanted a calmer life, no more hauntings or nightmares, no more looking over his shoulder. So he stuck himself to trying to figure this out.

The door downstairs opened and Hannibal’s voice echoed. “Will?”

“Coming.” Will closed the door to the bedroom on the way out, and took the stairs two at a time.

He set the table while Hannibal started on dinner, and their guests arrived soon after. Will heard them greeting Hannibal, Anahera’s voice loud and excited. The three of them came into their dining area with a flourish. The women wore matching dresses and matching smiles, a bottle in Kate’s hand.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Hannibal said, glancing at the wine. “Although I must say I love your taste in wine.”

“It’s a common custom here for guests to bring food over, but I wasn’t sure what a fancy man like you would eat. So, we went for the safer option and brought the alcohol,” Anahera explained as her wife handed it over.

Hannibal read the label, his eyebrows raising, clearly pleased. With a smile, he said, “I will get us some glasses.”

Will directed them through the house to the living room and they sat around. The two of them were silently looking around. Probably wondering how they furnished the house so quickly. Will wondered that himself sometimes. Even his house in Wolf Trap wasn’t as full as this, but this was comfortably full. No cold corners or dark patches. It felt more like a home, but Will wasn’t sure if that was all because of the furniture or the man he lived with.

Hannibal entered with four wine glasses and offered them up. He sat next to Will on the sofa across from Anahera and Kate, close enough that their thighs touched and their arms brushed. They talked easily - pleasantries at first, then Hannibal asked about their home and they chatted away about their miniature farm of animals they had adopted from the shelter over the years.

“Ahh,” Hannibal mused, “that reminds me of what Logan used to do. My partner here used to have quite the collection of dogs, back in America.”

Will’s heart leapt at the endearment, even if they had discussed it earlier. He hadn’t heard him say it yet, and had certainly not expected the words to fall so easily from his mouth. By the looks on the ladies faces, neither had they.

Instead of dwelling on that, though, Anahera turned to Will and asked, “did you now?”

Will shrugged. “Picked up a lot of strays. I wasn’t living with anyone at the time, and a quiet house makes me uncomfortable.”

Humming around her mouthful of wine, Kate nodded. “I know what you mean. My work is so busy, and at home I have a very… enthusiastic wife-” Anahera laughed at that. “-and a house full of animals. It doesn’t feel right when it’s quiet.”

“Easier to sleep with noise than without it,” Will added, and Kate agreed.

After a glance at the clock, Hannibal excused himself to the kitchen. Will led the women back to the dining area. The table itself was large, though not the same length as the one Hannibal had in Baltimore. Will sat where he usually sat - in the seat to the left of the head of the table. Kate and Anahera sat side by side across from him.

“You know,” Anahera started as Will poured them all another glass, “I’m so glad you and Pieter figured out your complications.”

“Why’s that?” He covered his genuine curiosity with a mask of humour.

“Because of the way he looks at you. Like you have the world in your hands. It’s almost sickeningly sweet.”

Will couldn’t help but grin to himself. If it was obvious to outsiders, let alone people who had only seen Hannibal once or twice, then Will really had him wrapped around his finger. He didn’t bother to hide the smugness in his tone. “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?”

The three of them looked at each other knowingly when Hannibal came in with the food.

“You all looked very pleased with yourselves,” he said with a hint of amusement. The food he was serving was beautiful, of course, and the smell made Will’s mouth water. The dish was called something Will couldn’t pronounce or remember, somewhere from Italy or Spain.

“We were just talking about you,” Anahera teases, eyeing up the food.

“All good things, I hope.”

“All very good things, dear.” Will watched the elated expression on Hannibal’s face at the nickname, stifling a smile himself as he seemed to forget himself for a moment.

Kate swooped in the conversation, saving Hannibal from embarrassing himself. "This food is delicious! Are you a chef?"

Will felt light hearing Hannibal's laughter. He was surprised when Hannibal sat next to him instead of at the head of the table, though said nothing of it. "I used to work as a doctor. When the work became too stressful, I switched careers to cheffing."

Almost truths, Will noticed. The best lies are the ones that are partially true.

Dinner went swimmingly. Will didn't talk much, but he was content. He didn't feel left out or overwhelmed by company, and would speak when prompted. They finished off the wine and Hannibal offered another bottle, which had been left half empty in the middle of the table. When their plates were scraped clean, Will took their plates into the kitchen.

The night had winded down and Kate cleared her throat. "We should be heading off. It's late."

Anahera clutched her wife's hand under the table and bit her lip. It didn't go unnoticed by Will nor Hannibal.

"Is everything alright, Anahera?" Hannibal looked to her, then her wife.

"Yeah," she sighed, a nervous smile on her face. "I guess the recent disappearances are just making me nervous."

Will downed the rest of his glass as Hannibal looked at him. In his peripheral he could see the cogs working in his head - realising that Will knew, and realising that Will had said nothing.

"I wasn't aware there were disappearances occurring," he said, not taking his eyes off Will.

Instead of looking back at Hannibal, Will kept his head straight. "I can drive you home. I know you walked and it's pretty dark out there."

With a frown, Anahera shook her head. "We've all had one too many glasses to be drinking." She took a deep breath and her arm tensed. Will guessed she squeezed Kate's hand for reassurance. "That's ok, we can walk."

"We'll walk you home." Hannibal finally turned his attention to their guests. "Safer in groups. We have nothing to do here apart from clean, and that can wait until morning."

Anahera let out a heavy sigh. "Thank you. I know it's silly, I've lived here all my life and walked up and down these roads for nearly forty years."

"That's probably why you feel nervous," Hannibal noted as he stood. Everyone followed his lead and tugged on their shoes. "You are used to a safe town, not a dangerous one."

The walk was mostly in silence. There was little footpath from their home to town, so they walked along the side of the tarmac, Kate and Anahera up front with Will and Hannibal close behind.

Hannibal stood two feet to the side of Will. It made his stomach twist with guilt, even if he didn't do anything wrong. Hannibal was his own man, Will reasoned, who could have paid attention to the news as he usually does, or taken a look at the missing posters around town. Though, no matter how many justifications Will came up with, the broken look Hannibal had on his face felt like being gutted all over again.

Kate and Anahera thanked them again and offered them another bottle of wine, but Hannibal refused politely. He reasoned that it was no trouble, which it wasn't. The walk was physically pleasant if not emotionally, allowing Will's meal to settle in his stomach.

Walking back, neither said a word. Will crossed the distance between them and linked their fingers together. He heard Hannibal sigh and he took Will's hand and squeezed. Will all but fell against him, craving the contact.

Hannibal helped him with his coat when they got back home. He stood in front of Will, not hiding how hurt he was that Will kept it from him.

"You knew," he whispered. It was a statement, but posed as a question.

"I didn't want to tell you," Will answered. "I didn't see the reason to."

Hannibal exhaled, tired and still a little tipsy, but mostly disappointed. He slinked his arms around Will's waist and tugged him close. Will went willingly, arms around his shoulders and leaning his head against Hannibal's.

"If… If something happened to you…" His voice quivered and he tugged Will closer. "I don't know what I would do with myself."

"Nothing would." Will shook his head and fisted Hannibal's shirt. He rocked them side to side. He wasn't good at comforting people, let alone someone like Hannibal, but he lost some tension in his shoulders. Drawing his bottom lip into his mouth, Will gave in. “Let me show you something.”

Upstairs, in their spare bedroom, Will laid out the missing posters. He laid out the map, he laid out his notes that look more like scribbles. Hannibal took it all in without saying a word. Expression blank, now. He’s calculating - seeing how long Will kept this from him. Trying to see what Will sees.

The first thing Hannibal asks is “Do you think it’s racially motivated?”

Will’s eyebrows twitched. He wasn’t angry with him, nor disappointed anymore. Perhaps he can see it too. No, Will knows he does. Sees that even halfway across the world, their past comes to haunt them, history attempts to repeat itself right from the very beginning. Only now, the women going missing aren’t young, white with long, dark brown hair. Will looks at these women on the posters and wonders who looks closest to the original image, who looks closest to this Abigail.

Will shakes his head. “I think it’s a collection. These women look like someone the killer knows, or did know.” An imitation of the Hobbs case, though likely to not be intentional. “It’s hard to get inside the criminal's head like this. I need to see where they went missing, the files would help, and being able to talk to the family would help more,” He rambled. “I don’t think they’re being killed, though. I can’t be certain, but call it instinct. I’m not used to analysing cases that aren’t homicide cases, though, so maybe I’m being optimistic.”

“I’m not going to help you,” Hannibal says sternly. His lips part with a breath and his shoulders slump an inch. “I understand your empathy as well as I can, I believe. I understand that your disorder is your greatest skill at hunting both predators and prey, that knowledge comes first hand. But I will not aid you in this endeavour. I fear it may lead you to believe I can change my morals. That you may be led to believe that I can be what your morals deem ‘good’, by saving these women with you. Only because I want there to be no misunderstandings between each other. I see you, and I love every piece of you.”

“I wouldn’t have asked for your help.” Will steps in front of him and cups both of his cheeks and brings him down those few inches. Doesn’t kiss him, not yet. “I see you. This isn’t going to be a habit of mine. We are here to enjoy our lives together. I’m not going to fry my brain again. But this case feels… personal. I can’t describe it with words, but there is so much more to this than I can see with bits of paper.”

Hannibal ended up being the one to close the gap between them. He scooped Will in his arms and pressed them together with a firm kiss. “Then I support you. Your mind is beautiful in its complexity.”

They crawl into bed after that. Not many more words were spoken the rest of the night. The two of them cling together, bodies pressed in every way they can. Will dreams of eight chairs - seven of which have the same perfect pair of black womens’ shoes lined up straight in front of them. The end has Abigail’s white shoes at an imperfect angle, one of them tipped on its side. He picks it up. He isn’t sure why. When he turns, he sees the other seven chairs and shoes occupied with the missing women now. The door behind Will opens and Anahera walks in carrying an identical chair and places it on the opposite side of the line and sits in it. They all look to the front, not acknowledging Will. Abigail’s chair remains empty.

After breakfast, Will asks if he can use the car. Hannibal nods and insists on packing Will a lunch, knowing he’s going to be out all day. While he does so, Will tidies up from last night. Then he packs a backpack, his notes, map, the posters, and his lunch all inside. He almost feels like he’s going to school. Hands fisted in the front of Will’s shirt, Hannibal drags him forward. It’s the dirtiest, most frantic kiss they’ve shared. Will’s knees go weak and his toes bunch in his shoes.

When Hannibal pulls away, his lips are red and shiny. “Stay safe.”

“I will.”

“And you will call me if you get into trouble. If you aren’t home by midnight, I will come looking.”

“And God help anyone who comes between us.” Will kisses him. Short and sweet, and yet his chest floods with heat. “I’ll call you.”

“I look forward to it.”

Will starts with the first woman. He found more information about the women online, including the approximate location of where each one of them went missing. The first being between Waitākere and Auckland. Will hadn’t expected to get much, but he walked around the area twice before going to the next one. He hadn’t had much luck with the first three, and only at the fourth did he find something. Will almost missed it - a fracture in a tree's bark, the flesh of the trunk still light coloured. The abductor had a weapon. A knife with a thick blade.

Will closed his eyes. Opening them, he was able to imagine himself in the moment. Stepping behind the woman and throwing his arms around her. But she put up a fight, she struggled, so he brandished the knife. He thrusted it and it caught the tree. Though, it was enough for the woman to go willingly. Will figured, anyway, as there were no other signs of struggle.

Checking the time, he was shocked to read it was almost two in the afternoon. He dialled Hannibal’s number.

“Hello darling,” He answered.

Will’s breath caught in his throat. “Hey.”

“Productive day, is it?” Normally, being able to hear Hannibal’s smile would be mildly infuriating, especially one as smug as this one sounded. Instead, Will was pleased to be able to picture it so clearly.

“It is. I’m just wrapping up the fourth. Haven’t found much, but it feels like I’m getting warmer.”

Hannibal hummed. “My day is less interesting, unfortunately. I’m thinking about starting a garden. Perhaps plant a few fruit trees - it has been many years since I have eaten a feijoa, and I would like to have our very own tree. Although, I’m sure Anahera would willingly give us more than enough if I ever mentioned it.”

Will laughed, and agreed without a doubt. “I’ve never tried them.”

“Then it’s settled. When you are next free, we shall find one together.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They chatted a little more about their day, and where they would put the garden. Hannibal listed some herbs he would like to plant, and Will told him he wanted orange trees. Every day in this new life, even simple moments like this, Will imagined them building new rooms to their mind palace. Rooms with more light, larger windows for sunlight. The only shadows that were cast were from themselves or from whatever they decided to decorate this particular room with - decorated to balance their lifestyles, a place comfortable for the both of them to inhabit together. .

“I’ll see you later, then?” Will asks, when they had run out of things to say, just talking for the sake of talking.

“Of course. Oh, and Will?”

“Yes, dear?” The term of endearment felt foreign on his tongue. It wasn’t the same as calling him that last night. He wasn’t teasing him in front of guests to make him blush. It made him feel bubbly and giddy, like a kid again.

“Make sure to eat. I didn’t pack you a meal for nothing, afterall.”

Will sighed. “You know me too well. Thank you.”

“I look forward to seeing you later, Will.” He hung up then, and Will stached his phone in his pocket before digging out his lunch.

The next location had more signs of struggle. A broken rubbish bin, and a broken bracelet in the sewer drain nearby. Whoever was taking these women was taking them because they feel as if they need them. One wasn’t enough. Will doubts seven is enough. They certainly show no sign of stopping. Will just hopes he can stop whoever it is before they reach Anahera, or kill anyone. Because, for some reason or another, he is certain none of them have died yet.

The next location Will had access to security footage. He found it in the article that gave a description of the abduction. He watched it maybe ten times before he noticed anything. The footage is taken from one of the shops in town and at first glance, all it shows is the lady walking out of the shop, stopping, checking her bag, then crossing the road. It was only when close attention was paid that Will saw it - when the lady crossed the road she disappeared at the top of the camera’s reach. But then there it was, her shoes racing across the top, just a sliver but undeniable footfalls, followed by another. Will pauses the video. Wider shoes, longer too. They appeared to be mens shoes, a black sports pair.

Will crosses the road to see if he can find anything, but doesn’t. He never thought he would miss Price or Zeller, but he really did wish he had some forensics on his side. It didn’t matter though, because with each he felt like he was getting closer and closer to finding out the truth.

He thought, at least. The last location gave him nothing. He checked the entire possible vicinity and found zilch. No sign struggle, no left over evidence. There was no security footage nearby, and even the online article gave him fuck all. After an hour and a half of searching the area he dug around in his bag for the poster. He hoped seeing her face would spark some inspiration, bring something small to his attention.

Nothing apart from their general looks linked the women. None were related, they all worked in different places. Some had children and large families, a couple lived alone. One lady had lived as far as the South Island before moving up here, whereas most had lived here most of their lives. The youngest was twenty one, the eldest thirty nine. Half were described as shy, the rest described as outgoing. All this confirmed that it was about their looks and nothing else.

Will considered it a perverted thing, but it was deeper than that. Whoever this guy was wouldn’t kidnap so many women for something sexual. And he worked alone. That, Will knew.

“Are you alright, boy?” A voice behind him made him jump. Will turned and looked down. An elderly woman half his height stared up at him, presumably her husband standing behind her. “We’ve watched you run around for almost two hours.”

Will stuffed the poster into his pocket, but the lady looked at it with a frown. “I’m a bit lost. Do you know which way-”

“It’s a shame, what happened to Maya,” she said, completely ignoring Will. “She was a sweet girl.”

“I sure hope this serial kidnapper doesn’t come for Ms. Foxglove.” The elderly man trembled on old bones, his voice suggesting several decades of cigarettes.

The elderly woman sighed. “Dear, Nicky has been gone for weeks.”

A switch clicked in Will’s head. “Nicky? Who was she?”

“This nice woman who sadly passed away a few weeks ago. She had some hereditary heart condition, and she was taken from us rather quickly.” She clicked her tongue. “And to think, she was so young.”

“How old?”

“About thirty. She fits the description of all the women who have gone missing too.”

“Did she have any family?” Will was grateful this lady was so willing to give information, even more grateful the town was small enough that this elderly lady had so much to say.

She shook her head. “No children, no parents that I know of. Though, she did have a boyfriend. I haven’t seen him since she died. I hope he’s alright.” Smiling at some memory, she continued. “They were such a lovely couple. If she hadn’t died, I would put money on it that they would be married within the year, not that I’m a betting woman. Such a kind lad. I guess it was too much for him to stay here.”

Will sucked his teeth. “Do you know which house they lived in?”

“Of course I do, boy. Just that one over there.” She pointed down the road at a cream coloured house with red corrugated iron along the roof. “The police thought Stevie - Nicky’s boyfriend - had kidnapped all those women. But he’s been gone since she has, and their home has been triple checked. They found nothing, of course.” She shook her head again. “Sorry, dear, did you say you were lost? Where do you need to be?”

“Home, actually. I have to be home for dinner,” Will lied. “Thanks for talking with me.”

“Anytime, dear.”

Will beelines for the car. He digs around in his bag and finds his flashlight he had found in their home. Pulling out, he drove around until the sun had long gone, then parked up the street from the house pointed out to him earlier. He took off his shoes and left them in the car. Creeping around the property, Will avoided stepping on anything that would give away that he's present. He circles around the house until he’s dizzy. There wasn’t any sign of movement or life inside - no lights, no talking or music, no noise at all. Not even a flutter of curtains.

He considers giving up. Just as soon as he thought about it, he disregarded it. Will manages to find a window unlocked and pulled it open as wide as it can go. He used a discarded washing basket as a stepping stool, knife in hand, as he crawled through.

It was so dark he couldn't see a few feet in front of him. His grip tightens on his knife and he holds it at the ready as his eyes adjust to the shadows. Once he could see a bit clearer, Will made his way through the house. He didn’t find much. It really did appear that the house was abandoned in a hurry. Still furnished, a few belongings here and there, as well as gaps where some belongings must have been taken. He finds himself in a bedroom, picture frames propped on a couple surfaces.

Too dark to make out the images, so Will grabs the closest one and crouches by the bed. He fishes around in his pocket until he finds his flashlight and shined it on the image. The glare makes it hard to see, but there was a woman that was unmistakingly Nicky Foxglove - she fit the description the old lady had given him as well as matched the ladies who had gone missing.

The house was empty. Dead. Will spent a long time searching every room and corridor, every closet and nook and cranny. The police must have taken whatever evidence they found, or thought they found. Either that or there really wasn’t anything here.

With a sigh, Will wandered into the kitchen. The floor was yellow, the tiles old and in need of replacement. He stared at it. For a silly amount of time, he thought. But he was transfixed. He followed the pattern painted on the tiles, discomforted when it was uneven on a couple tiles. Four tiles. Will almost laughed at the irony and touched around the edge of them. When his fingers fell in indents, his smile dropped.

His blood was hot. Will lifted the tiles, slowly, slowly. He peeked into it, but only just. He cursed himself for leaving their handguns behind all those weeks ago, but he had plenty of practice with a knife. There was no one below that he could see. With his palms planted either side of the hole, Will steadied himself down.

Unlike Hannibal's shack, this kitchen hidey hole had a corridor. Will tucked away his flashlight. If someone was down here, the flashlight would just give away his location. Better that they're both in the dark.

He followed along the brick. The corridor looped around and twisted and turned. Will turned a corner he swore he turned ten minutes ago and saw some tendrils of light. He followed it, careful to be silent and swift. Will swerved around another corner and was blinded by a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Ducking back as soon as he had turned around, Will gripped his knife and waited for someone to chase after him. After a long time where nobody did, he moved as quick as a snail and peeped around the corner.

The room was illuminated by the light that had assaulted him. There was one empty bed in the corner. Though, most prominently, Will noticed the women, the missing women, all sitting on the floor. From this view he could only see a few, but his best guess was that the others were in his blind spot.

He heard crying. A man's crying. Will remained stock still. Eventually, a man did come into view. Tall, white, blond. He was thin but broad and had a Roman nose. He recognised him from the photo with Foxglove. This must be Stevie, the boyfriend. He wept and sobbed and Will guessed he was either drunk or had been crying so long he had lost his senses.

Will lost track of how long he watched him. The man paced the room in a circle, weaving around the women on the ground. Occasionally he would pet their hair or touch their sleeves. Every time he did it was a delicate touch, a brush, a rub of his fingers. Like he loved every single one of them, or believed he did.

"Oh Nicky," he wailed. "It's so lonely without you. Why aren't you here, Nicky?!"

He bent down and pointed the question at one of the women, who burst into tears. Stevie didn't hit her. Looked like he would love nothing more than want to, but didn't.

Instead he cried harder.

"We were made for each other. I never believed in soulmates until her. She was perfect. We were perfect." He sniffed. "It hurts to be separated. I can't live without her, but…"

He choked, then, on his own sobbing. Everything clicked into place for Will. He checked around the room, darting his eyes for some kind of distraction or clue. He didn't find anything useful, instead he made eye contact with a woman staring at him. She shook and her eyes were wide and white. Will jerked and attempted to tell her to stop staring.

It was too late. Stevie followed her gaze and saw him. No point hiding, then, Will thought. He adjusted the grip he had on his knife and stormed towards Stevie. They met halfway through the room, both positioning a knife to each other's throats.

"Drop the knife," Stevie demanded.

"Have you ever killed a man, Stevie?" The crying woman just wailed. Will was undeterred. "I have. More than once. I once killed a man with my bare hands."

"I haven't, though not because the opportunity hasn't presented itself. I guess I'm not as impulsive as you."

They kept their eyes trained on each other. Not a single move went unnoticed, from either of them.

"Nicky was your girlfriend." Will pointed out the obvious. "You feel lonely without her, but tell me. Would she have wanted this?"

"She would have understood. She always understood me."

"So you try to replace her?"

Stevie holds the knife tighter against his neck. Will feels blood run down the side of his throat. "No one could ever replace her."

"And yet you try anyway. Why not let these women go? Since they have nothing to do with you."

"They've seen my face," Stevie glowered. "I'm not stupid."

"Beg to differ."

"Do you think you're better than me?"

"I know I'm better than you, and do you want to know why?" Will steps into his space, unafraid of the knife at his neck and positions the point of his own blade to the front of the other's throat. Stevie's confidence flickers like an old lamp. "Because you are afraid to kill. You hate loneliness, hate being without the one you love so you try to find a surrogate. Only, you can't kill someone who looks like them, can you? You aren't strong enough. But you have to die at the same time, you have to be with the real Nicky, but no matter how many look-alikes you collect, it's always going to be too hard, too much like her that you could never harm them.

"I know I'm better than you because I could make that step. I could kill myself if the one I loved was dying, or kill him if I was. I'm stronger than you. Your pact isn't strong enough - you are grieving, but if you were really prepared to die with her, you would have already. Allow this to pass."

"I don't have to listen to you." There are tears in his eyes now. His hands shake and it aggravates the cut against Will's neck where the blade trembled.

"If you don't, I'll kill you."

"With seven witnesses?" Stevie motions to his victims with his free hand.

"I'm sure they would stay silent knowing their kidnapper has died. If not, I could always kill them as well." Will shrugged. He would, too. If he needed to. If they disturbed his and Hannibal's peace, he would kill them to preserve it.

Stevie lowered his knife. Will didn't. Stepping back, Stevie held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. His knife was still in his hand. He turned, bringing his hands up to the back of his head, then swung his arm down at one of the women. She screamed, but wasn't hit.

Will grabbed a fist full of blond hair and yanked him backwards. Stevie hit the floor on his back, and Will immediately crouched over him. He pressed his knee to his windpipe. Watched the colour wash from his face. Watched him wriggle and protest, then go limp. He wasn't dead, just unconscious, and Will dragged him onto the bed.

He took off his belt and tied Stevies hands to the bedpost so tight his hands started to turn purple.

He thought about killing him. It would be so satisfying - to end someone who had made such a mockery of the agreement he and Hannibal had. But that would be giving him what he wanted. Will found it more appropriate Stevie lived his life tortured with guilt of not being able to fulfill his promise.

Will addressed the women when he spoke. They all had their hands and ankles cuffed, but they could speak, if they had dared. "I was never here. I will set just one of you free first. You will call the police and tell them you managed to escape. You will show them this bunker. You will explain that you tied this man up, but even with a shitty lawyer you should get off on self defence. Maybe even be named a hero for saving the others. Any volunteers?"

Two women put their hands up. Will found a set of keys on Stevies person and used it to unlock the handcuffs of the woman closest to him - she was fit and looked strong enough to fight off someone of Stevies size. Then, Will bashed the handcuffs against the stone floor to make it look like she had done it herself to force the cuffs open, then stuff the keys where he found them.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, "if I find out any of you mentioned anything to do with me, you’ll regret it."

They nodded, understanding, even if they didn't understand why. Will erased any evidence he was there and handed Stevies knife to the free woman. He led her through the corridor and up the stairs and showed her to the land-line. While she notified the police, Will crawled out of the window again and shut it. He heard the lady lock it closed behind him.

Will jumped in his car and sighed. He slipped his shoes back on and drove off. Cops passed him on the way, as well as an ambulance. He smiled, pleased with himself. Not because he saved people, but because he could live truly peacefully now. Their cover was strong, the FBI would take months, if not years to find them, if they ever did. The town had no more confronting and personal crimes that Will could obsess over. And Hannibal would be waiting for him at home. Will could make it home before midnight, as it had only just turned eleven o'clock.

He almost missed it, but Will caught it just in time in his peripheral vision. The car came to a screeching halt, and he swerved the car into a park. Will had reached the main town now and was surprised to see Hannibal strolling down the street towards him, something resting in his palm and along his arm. Will came tumbling out of the car.

Kissing Hannibal was like slotting a missing piece inside of him together. Natural, satisfying. Hannibal's free hand buried itself in Will's hair, showing him just how much he missed Will during the day. He parted when his hand dragged down and felt the cut against his neck.

“Did you kill them?”

“No.” Will shook his head. “But only because he would’ve wanted me to kill him, and he didn’t deserve to get what he wants.”

Will separated a little further just to look at what the hell he was holding. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't a puppy. Its paws rested either side of Hannibal's arm, chin rested in his large palm and body spread along the length of his forearm. Judging by the shake of his arm, he had been holding it like that for quite some time. It was a St Bernard puppy, probably not much older than a month, if that, so it was bound to be heavy.

He gave Hannibal a confused, but thoroughly amused, look. Hannibal sighed, the start of a grin twitching at his lips. "I grew anxious and bored. So, I made a trip to the animal shelter to visit Kate, for some company. She was the last of the litter," he said, lifting up the dog gently, "and she looked terribly lonely, just as I was. I hope you aren't offended that I was the one to adopt our first dog together."

"They say you pick up habits of those you love," Will said, thoughtless, then kicked himself for using that word. They hadn't said it, not yet, not directly.

But Hannibal just grinned. "Fortunately for me, the man I love has the most charming of habits."

They kissed again, soft, slow, and tender. Then Will laughed. "Why are you holding her like that?"

"She fussed and cried if I held her any other way." Hannibal lifted her, tried to hold her close to his chest, but she whined and shimmied until he returned her to her original position. Will laughed while Hannibal grumbled. "I will refrain from picking her up again. The size of her feet tell me that she will be rather large, even for her size. And I'm getting far too old to be picking up St Bernard's."

Will's face hurt from how hard he was grinning, but he didn't care. The man he loved was standing in front of him, along with a soft big nosed puppy he had adopted on a whim because he was missing Will. It was such a silly situation that Will couldn't help but chuckle.

They jumped into the car, the pup in Hannibal's lap on the passenger side. Will wasn't nervous when he spoke. "I love you. I know we don't need to say it to each other, we know, but I want to say it. I like saying it, to you. Today was a turning point for me. That I love you, probably an unhealthy amount, but I don't care about that, because you love me the same amount."

"I do," Hannibal said. Will took his eyes off the road for a second to take him in. Eyes watery, Hannibal watched Will, his fingers absently smoothing down the dog's hair. "I love you so much, Will."

Will smiled. He knew, of course, but it was exciting to hear it. "What do you want to name her?"

In the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal tilt his head down to the dog in his lap. "How about Anika? A rather human name, but a beautiful one."

"Well, let's pick Anika up some dog food tomorrow before we go garden shopping. How does that sound, darling?"

Hannibal beamed.