Work Text:
Normally Will is privy to nightmares, but tonight he sleeps soundly.
Hannibal watches from where he sits on the edge of the bed, watches this beautiful creature’s chest rise and fall, the way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks and make him look angelic. Part of him is still in shock that Will had reciprocated his feelings at all, and another part of him is too happy to care.
His Will. The words are new and exciting in his head, tempting him to reach out and run his fingers through soft brunette hair.
He refrains himself. It’s imperative that Will sleeps through the night.
Slowly he stands up, ensuring the blankets are covering Will securely before moving out of the bedroom and into the living room. There, he turns on his tablet and returns to the story that had, in part, brought them back here.
Vengeful Ex-Wife Seeking Out Other Woman: Molly Graham Seen with Jack Crawford at Beach House Crime Scene.
With the title comes a clear photo of the woman, dark bags under her eyes as she stands near the cliff’s edge, looking down toward the water. Where they fell. Next to her is Jack Crawford, looking near-ready to pull his hair out.
Molly may understand Will enough to drag him out of hiding, back into his painfully quiet and terribly dull old life.
Hannibal won’t have that.
Will doesn’t read the news anymore. He doesn’t want to see his most recent photo next to Hannibal’s beneath a sanguinary crime scene. He doesn’t know that Molly is looking for them.
And he won’t know about her death, either.
It’s surprisingly easy to get into Molly Graham’s hotel room, easy to shut the door quietly behind him and hear the shower going. Eventually, he hears it patter to a stop. Just a few minutes later she emerges, dressed in pajamas with her wet, blonde hair tied up at the top of her head. At the sight of an intruder, she freezes.
She’s pretty, Hannibal doesn’t deny. She looks comforting, at ease, somebody Will likely picked out with the thought that she would be normal. She was, before Hannibal came returned to the picture.
Her face flashes with recognition. He can see her, torn between anger for taking Will away from her and fear for what he’s capable of.
He stands there easily, waiting for her to take his entirety in. He doesn’t wear a plastic suit anymore. There’s no need. They’ll all know it was him, fingerprints or none. “Hello, Mrs. Graham.”
She takes a step back, then forward, unsure of how to proceed. After a moment, she seems to understand. “I’ve been looking for you.” Her voice is even, unafraid. Hannibal is surprised.
“Yes, you have.” He replies pleasantly, turning his head slightly. She smells like fear, but it doesn’t show. “And Will, as well. Tell me, how is your son coping? Not well, I would imagine.”
Her eyes go almost comically wide, and he holds up a hand to stop her questions before they start. “He’s alright. I’m not so malicious as to kill children-”
“Of course not,” she interrupts, suddenly unflinching and angry in his presence. She’s found her footing. This would be good. “You’ve always been manipulating him, haven’t you?”
Hannibal shakes his head. He’s growing tired of this popular misconception. “No. I’ve been encouraging him to see who he truly is. He isn’t the normal man he once wished to be, he’s extraordinary.”
“Extraordinary like you?” Her voice drips with malice. Her fingers are curled into fists at her side. Strange, that she still wears her wedding band. Will doesn’t wear his.
He nods, shortly. “In a way. He will be better than me, though, very soon.”
She shakes with anger. Hannibal finds it almost endearing.
“He’s not like you.”
“He’s not like you, either.” He takes a step forward, and she takes one back. She acts tough, but she’s afraid. He can tell. “He is entirely of himself. One of a kind, I think the saying goes.”
Taking another step back, she puts up her hands. “Just go. Please. I wouldn’t-”
“Yes you would,” Hannibal replies smoothly, striding until he’s upon her, watching as she glances around, trying to find an escape. “If I were to leave you here the first thing you would do is call Jack. You still believe that Will is good, on your side. I cannot risk that.”
“Will is good.” She spits at him.
He smiles. “I never disputed that.”
“You’re manipulating him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Hannibal grips her chin with a hand, drags her face up to look at him. Her intake of breath, sharp, is all he needs to confirm her fear. Of course she’s afraid. He has the power to take her husband away, he could likely take anything else he wished from her. “Will is perfectly aware of what he does. He is still coming into himself, exploring a side he hadn’t been allowed to explore previously. It’s a beautiful transformation. I’m honored to be a part of it.”
She gives a shaky breath. Her eyes have gotten wet sometime during his statement. “My son, please,”
“He will live.” He says dismissively, refusing to offer her any comfort other than that. A knife materializes in his hand.
“I will take care of Will,” he promises for the second time, spoken now to her rather than the man himself. “I care very deeply about him.”
Molly shakes in his grip, eyes wide as he brings the knife up to drag it across her neck. Before he can, though, she ducks out from beneath him, slipping from his grip, and stomps rather harshly on his foot. He only gives a small noise of pain, but it’s mostly due to surprise. Even still, it’s easy to reach out and catch her hair in his fingers, tugging harshly enough to bring her down again.
It slips out of the tie easily, down her back like yellow water, and he wraps it around his fingers to tug again, making her cry out in pain and stumble.
She had to be smart to escape the Dragon. Hannibal had been anticipating it, but that did not make her smart enough to escape him. She struggles as he pulls her toward him, fingernails digging into his forearms as he traps her against his body, facing him, and pulls the knife across her throat.
Blood pours from her pale neck and Hannibal bathes in it, savoring the silky sort of sanguine against his skin as the woman goes slack in his hold and Hannibal lets her drop to the floor.
It is over. The green monster in his belly is sated, for now. He leaves the hotel room, confident once again that Will is his and his alone.
When he steps back into the bedroom nearly an hour after the fact Will’s awake, sitting up blearily and running a hand through messy curls. He looks up when he hears Hannibal step in, seemingly unfazed by his status of currently dripping blood onto the floor. “Did you go without me?” He sounds disappointed, ready to protest, but Hannibal steps forward and presses a finger to Will’s lips.
“This was one that I had to do on my own.” He promises, and when he pulls away Will’s lips are stained red. He looks good like that, almost-innocent and oblivious with his once-wife’s blood on him. Hannibal smiles. “I wouldn’t leave you out unless I had to. They might’ve forced us apart.”
Will tugs Hannibal close, uncaring of the blood mingling between them, and leans his head against his chest. “I won’t let that happen.”
Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, grip tight and sure. “Neither will I.”