Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hannibal was bitter. After everything he had been through to find family again, he was left with only a woman he had never met. They were not related by blood, but she claimed to have the same loyalty to the Lecter name as he did, born from her love for his late uncle.

Still, he had a purpose. In this bleak world, he had a goal he could work towards. Even if in his pursuit he became a monster without a place in this world, he would not be dissuaded. There were more monsters on this earth than could be accounted for, and he believed he would merely join their ranks. He would willingly do it if it meant he would achieve his revenge.

If only he could remember the names to go with the faces that haunted him. The men who had killed and eaten Mischa. The men who tormented his dreams.

He still woke up screaming more often than not, images flashing through his mind of men who he could not name. Their voices singing that damned children’s song that Mischa had loved so much. Their faces floating in front of him like phantoms from the past.

He would kill them all.

Somehow, Hannibal would find them and kill them. They would pay their pound of flesh for what they had done, and they would know that it was him who had been their end. He would make them pay for it.

For now, he was doing what he could to lead what would look like a fulfilling, if not somewhat fantastic life. He was just a particularly clever young man, where most people were concerned. The youngest ever accepted into this medical school, a polyglot, with an affinity for music and art. He gave the impression of genial politeness and courtesy, ingratiating himself into the higher class social scene and making connections that he might find beneficial. Yes, Hannibal knew he was quite impressive, and there were eyes on him.

One pair of eyes more than he would have liked. Considering.

Inspector Popil knew he had killed that vulgar butcher, but he couldn’t prove it. The man was watching Hannibal, waiting for him to kill again. Popil was clever, but he was bound by the limits of the law. Hannibal knew he would not break the law to catch him, though Popil would be watching him like a hawk to see any small mistake that could give him the evidence he needed to arrest and convict him of murder.

Hannibal didn’t care if he did end up caught, so long as he killed the men first. He only had to evade capture until he was done with this work. What became of him after was inconsequential. He would burn that bridge when he came to it.

Hannibal worked hard. He created anatomical drawings for the school, prepared bodies for classes, and completed all of his work. He studied, his mind soaking up every new bit of information like a sponge. He painted a picture of a perfect student. He filled his days with things that would contribute to this image.

But he never forgot Mischa. She was always on his mind. Nothing could distract him from what he must do.

“Do you think God intended to eat Isaac?”

The voice cut through Hannibal’s thoughts, jarring him back into the reality where he was standing before a painting in a gallery.

“and that is why he commanded Abraham to kill him?”

Hannibal looked at the other boy who had come to stand beside him. He looked younger than Hannibal, but not by much. His sharp blue gaze was fixed on the painting rather than Hannibal himself. While he spoke French, his accent was American, and thick. Hannibal wondered why he was here, in France, but by extension in this gallery today. He was out of place, looking neither french nor wealthy. He might have been a fellow student of some sort, going by the bag that hung by his side, which had the shape of books and pens. 

“I suppose we shall never know,” Hannibal answered, feeling a sharp bitterness in his chest as he considered the boy’s question, “the angel intervened in time.”

The other boy’s expression darkened marginally, his eyes flicking to the face of the angel in the picture with a look of disdain. The boy had a head of dark and unruly curls that Hannibal’s mind quickly compared to other paintings, perhaps by Botticelli. He was classically beautiful, quite like Michelangelo’s David. In that way, perhaps he did belong in this place, where beauty was God and all visitors were also worshipers at its feet.

“The angel doesn’t always come in time,” the boy said darkly, nearly matching the bitterness Hannibal felt. Recognition flickered at the back of Hannibal’s skull, as if this boy was familiar to him. Hannibal was sure they had never met.

The boy turned to face Hannibal, moving only his head while his body remained angled toward the painting. His eyes flicked over Hannibal, though seemed to have some aversion to his face or making direct eye contact. He did not smile, though his features were lax and comfortable. He seemed uncaring that he stood out, unbothered by the opinions of others and the odd looks he garnered.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” the boy said, “sometimes I say things without thinking if others want to hear it.”

Hannibal shook his head, feeling as if a few cobwebs had cleared within his skull. He had been drowning in his dark memories and plans, and had forgotten to allow himself to enjoy the gallery he was in.

“Not at all,” he said, “in fact, I should thank you for pulling me out of my brooding thoughts. I would likely have stewed myself into a dark mood.”

The boy offered a slight smile at that, his eyes fixed on the collar of Hannibal’s shirt rather than his face.

“If my question didn’t turn your thoughts darker, then I suppose that’s alright then. I’m surprised you’re not French. You fit right in here.”

Hannibal huffed a soft laugh at that seeming non-sequitur. He thought he understood where the boy’s mind had gone, but it was curious nonetheless. Not a common method of thought, though Hannibal found it interesting.

“Surely my accent is not so obvious to you,” he said, and the boy flashed his first real smile.

“No, but you didn’t immediately get on my case about mine,” he said, “I know I sound awful to the natives. I just can’t shake my roots.”

Hannibal nodded. He was not surprised to hear that, as the french were notoriously particular about the way their language was spoken. Hannibal had been speaking french since he was young, yet many still claimed his accent was not quite perfect. He had learned not to find offense in it, instead choosing to feign pride in his heritage.

“You are American. My name is Hannibal Lecter, and I was born in Lithuania.”

Hannibal offered a hand, and the boy considered it for only a moment before taking it and giving a firm shake.

“Will Graham. Not just American, but southern. My first taste of French was in Louisiana. People around here don’t like the way they speak French there.”

Hannibal nodded again. He smiled, feeling a bit of kinship with this boy for their shared experience, however small it may be.

“I am often chided for my accent. I dread to think how they feel about yours.”

Will huffed a laugh. His smile was just a tad lopsided, giving him an endearing boyish look that touched Hannibal’s heart in some way that was foreign to him.

“Did your family move here during the war?” Will asked, unknowingly causing Hannibal’s good mood to sour more than a touch.

Hannibal fought the urge to be cruel. He could have predicted that question being asked of him by this boy, and he should have been prepared by now. It had been more than ten years since his family had died. But it still stung to think about.

“Actually, I came to study medicine,” he said calmly, “and what brings you here from the states?”

Will blinked, looking Hannibal over once more. His blue eyes sparked with interest and curiosity, and Hannibal was enchanted. At once, he forgave the boy his inadvertent trespass. He looked so innocent of such things.

“A college thing, too,” he said, “you look young to be in medical school. How old are you?”

Hannibal tipped his head. Will didn’t look any older than Hannibal did. It was curious he was confused. Additionally, it had been just a couple years since Hannibal had begun studying medicine, so there were other students his age, though they were only beginning their work.

“Nineteen,” he replied, “but surely you are not older than I am.”

Will grinned, and his smile was bright and beautiful. Hannibal was struck by his looks, and wondered just what kind of God would create a human that attractive during this time on earth. Everything around seemed ugly, yet this boy shone like a sapphire from the ashes.

“I’m eighteen,” Will said, “It really has been nice to meet you, but I should probably get going. I hope we’ll see each other again sometime.”

Hannibal nodded, finding himself surprisingly curious about Will despite himself.

“I hope our paths cross again, mister Graham.”

Will waved as he walked off, adjusting the strap of his bag as he went, and Hannibal waved in reply.

Hannibal didn’t socialize much with others his age. He went out with Lady Murasaki on occasion, and he was polite with the other students in the medical school. Other than that, he was absorbed in his work.

But he was interested by Will Graham. If they did meet again, Hannibal wouldn’t mind having another conversation with the boy.

The next time Hannibal met Will, it was a surprise for both of them.

Chapter Text

“Who told the nazis where the children were hidden? You must remember.”

“I can’t bear to think about it.”

“This will help you remember.”

Inspector Popil motioned to a man who prepared a syringe for the prisoner. Hannibal looked at the vial curiously, wondering if it did really help recover memories. Painful memories.

“Hannibal Lecter?”

Hannibal looked up and met Will Graham’s sharp blue gaze. Will was standing behind the prisoner, an open notebook and pen in his hands.

Popil turned and frowned at Hannibal, likely finding his presence unsettling given the circumstances.

“What are you doing here?” the inspector asked.

Hannibal nodded to the prisoner, who was coughing as his body reacted to the drug they had just administered.

“The body,” Hannibal said, “I’m a medical student now.”

Popil didn’t seem pleased, but the answer was at least satisfying.

“Yes, I know. I followed your progress. You know Will?”

Popil turned back and fixed Will with a cold and curious look. The boy’s eyes grew wide with surprise and he nodded.

“We met just once before,” he said, wetting his lips nervously. As if he worried he was in trouble for knowing Hannibal.

Popil nodded, making note of that, and turned back to Hannibal.

“You repeat nothing you hear in this room.”

Hannibal nodded obediently, unable to keep from glancing at Will curiously as Popil turned back to the prisoner.

Will had said he was in Paris for college, but Hannibal had not asked what he was studying. It was clear it had something to do with law enforcement, if he was here with the inspector. That could cause trouble for Hannibal if Will did intend to get to know him better, or if Popil tried to use Will to get to him.

Will kept his head down, scratching notes in his book.

“Please, Louis,” Popil said, “Klaus Barbie shipped the children to Auschwitz. Who told them where the children were hidden? Did you tell him?”

The man closed his eyes, pressing them shut as if to protect himself from the pain the memories inflicted upon him. Despite this, he spoke.

“When they broke my fingers, I gave them Pardou. Pardou knew where the children were hidden.”

The man scoffed, his breathing labored and pained. He looked up at Popil, bitterness in his eyes as he delivered the information that would no doubt displease the inspector.

“He’s mayor of Belleville, now.”

Popil pressed his lips together, displeased by the subject matter, but satisfied to have his answers. Pardou would be difficult to get to, if not impossible, even for Popil.

“Thank you, Louis,” he said, as if it had been just a simple conversational exchange of information, and the man was not about to lose his head to a guillotine. Popil turned away.

“Inspector,” the man said, making Popil pause and turn to face him again, “where were the police?”

Popil froze, and Hannibal could see the lines of guilt in his posture, a weight he felt he would never be rid of. Some unintentional sin he could not wash away. It was curious to Hannibal that a man would feel that way, and yet act as Popil did.

Inspector Popil offered no answer to the man who had just offered his. Instead, he turned and motioned for the other men in the room to take Louis.

Will stepped around, nearer to Hannibal, as one of the men removed a crucifix from around the prisoner’s neck.

“Nonononono, please,” the man mumbled, slightly incoherent as if he were intoxicated. Hannibal wondered if it was a side effect of the drug Popil had given him.

At once, Will stepped in and removed the crucifix from the chain, holding it up in front of the man’s face. The prisoner smiled gratefully and accepted the trinket into his mouth, holding it on his tongue as he was led to the guillotine for his sentence to be carried out.

Will’s eyes were slightly glazed, almost shell shocked as the man was led away. He just stood there, staring at nothing until Popil stepped up to him.

“You knew at once what Louis wanted, didn’t you?” he asked, pulling Will from his trance, “his crucifix to remain with his brain, not his heart.”

Will shrugged, clearly uncomfortable to be put on the spot like that by his superior.

“He answered your question, but you didn’t answer his,” Will said gently, his eyes down, likely aware he might be reprimanded for this, “where were the police when the nazis threw the children into the trucks?”

Popil’s satisfied expression soured immediately, and Hannibal could see he wasn’t pleased with Will for his question. Hannibal felt Will was entirely justified in asking, though of course someone in Popil’s position would not see it that way. But Popil must not have had complete control over Will’s circumstances, because he didn’t berate the boy for being insolent. Instead, he turned and walked out of the room past Hannibal.

Hannibal walked further into the room, closer to the curtain behind which the guillotine was about to strike a deadly blow. Closer to Will.

Before Hannibal could say anything, Will slipped something into the pocket of his lab coat, and Hannibal tipped his head in confusion.

“You want to remember something,” Will whispered, unheard by the men on the other side of the curtain, “you lost family in the war, and you want to remember something, but it’s painful for you. If this will help, take it. I just hope you don’t regret it.”

Hannibal smiled gratefully, feeling something stir in his chest at this small act of kindness. While Will was involved with law enforcement in some way, he was not like inspector Popil. He was not set on justice in that way, and was not against bending the rules or even breaking them. Hannibal thought it likely Will was more naturally intelligent than the inspector, and would surpass him in technical skill sooner than the man would guess.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said, “Did Inspector Popil tell you about me?”

Will smiled wanly, wincing at the sound of the guillotine blade as it cut through the man’s neck.

“No. I had no idea the two of you had met. I could just see it in your eyes. As Louis talked about children being taken, and people dying, there was something in your face. I could just tell. And you were looking at the bottle enough I figured you must want it after hearing what the Inspector said about it. I just put the pieces together.”

Hannibal was impressed, and mentally noted his words, thinking he would have to work harder to hide these kinds of reactions, lest someone like Popil saw them and made connections as Will had. He had been fortunate Will did not seem to have any inclination to use this information against him.

“What business do you have with the Inspector?” Hannibal asked.

Will lifted one shoulder in a sort of half shrug. As if he didn’t think it mattered much, though Hannibal would have had to differ.

“Like I said, I’m here for school stuff. It’s a program the FBI is trying out for some students. I’m here to learn how to be a cop. Inspector Popil is actually the best one out of the options, so I was lucky to get him. When I’ve learned everything he can teach me, I’ll go back to the states and learn how to be FBI. It’s kinda like an internship, I guess.”

That was interesting, and Hannibal thought it confirmed the thought that he was incredibly intelligent. At eighteen, Will had been chosen for what had to be a very exclusive program, and had been allocated their finest officer as a mentor. Will had to have something of a reputation, and had impressed his superiors.

Just as he had impressed Popil, before unsettling him.

“I hope you won’t get me into trouble with the inspector,” Will said, smiling a gentle, lopsided smile that made him look boyish and lovely.

Hannibal smiled.

“I could say the same thing,” he said, “but I suppose this will be our shared secret.”

Will nodded, helping to pull the curtain aside so Hannibal could pull the gurney to where the body lay.

“That’s good. Shared secrets are a great way to start a friendship. I could use a friend.”

Hannibal studied Will as the men moved the headless corpse onto the gurney so he could take it to the school.

There was a loneliness to Will that perhaps he usually hid, but was clear to Hannibal now. In a country foreign to him, a stranger among strangers, in work that could further alienate him, Will must have been nearly as alone as Hannibal was. Hannibal didn’t know anything of Will’s family or his friends in the states, but he knew none of them were here with the boy. Will was alone.

He wanted to be Hannibal’s friend. Of all the people in the country, he had chosen Hannibal.

Despite himself, Hannibal felt privileged.

“Indeed,” Hannibal agreed pleasantly, “I hope we will see more of each other, Will. I apologize, but I must be on my way. I have work to do.”

Will glanced at the body as Hannibal covered it in a sheet, his eyes clinically interested rather than afraid or unnerved. Hannibal thought he looked at death the way so many people did these days. As only another fact of life, rather than a horror. But from Will it was somehow also different. Will was familiar with death, intimately. He shouldn’t have been. He had not been there when the tanks had crashed through towns and bombs had leveled cities. He had been growing up safely in the states, away from all the real danger and damage.

What had Will seen that made him like this?

Hannibal wondered if that might be part of the reason Will had been sent here. The states had not been affected by the war the same way the countries in Europe had been, and perhaps the FBI intended to harden Will through exposing him this way to the horrors of the world. Inspector Popil investigated war crimes specifically, and Will was seeing and hearing all of it now.

How cruel of them to do that to Will.

“I can see that,” Will said, “have a good day, Hannibal.”

Hannibal nodded and pushed the gurney out to the waiting car where he would take the body back to school.

Chapter Text

Hannibal left the bookshop with the money from the return. He’d made a routine of buying the required textbooks and returning them once he had read them through. He no longer needed them, and he did have expenses to think of. His uncle’s estate had been challenged after his death, so finances were unstable for Lady Murasaki without the added concern of a medical student to care for.

That was fine, as Hannibal was making his own way. He was selling small sketches and paintings frequently, Paris a fine place to market art if one knew how, and this trick with the books kept his costs as low as possible. With his work scholarship, he was doing well for himself.

But he was no longer satisfied with the way things were. He felt driven to act on all the things he had yet to learn. He needed to find the names of the men and then crush them under his feet. He must find them and make them pay for what they had done, snuff the life from them as they had so easily done to a child no older than five.

Every day he was held back from acting was a scourge on his soul, and he felt as if he left trails of blood in his wake wherever he went, invisible to everyone but him.

And perhaps Will Graham.

Will had seen the pain in him, and the desire to remember. While he hadn’t seen all of it, and Hannibal would not want him to learn the whole truth lest he become a danger to the plan, he had seen enough to know that Hannibal needed a friend. He had glimpsed the beast, perhaps just the hurt and vulnerable underbelly of it, and had extended a hand of kindness.

Hannibal mounted his bike and pulled on the helmet, trying to clear his mind of the other boy. Will Graham was persistent in his thoughts, though. Hannibal could not explain it.

As Hannibal rode through Paris, back to his dormitory, he found his mind continually bouncing between thoughts of his half baked plans and the boy who had asked him if God intended to eat the young human sacrifice asked of a father.

Will Graham was unique, and Hannibal knew he was already ensnared by that intrigue. He would not soon be rid of these thoughts about Will. All he could do was hope it would not become a distraction from his true goal.

Tonight, he would finally use the drug Will had allowed him to take, and he would learn the names of the men. He would find them, and kill them all.

—-

Hannibal lay back in his bed, Goldberg Variations playing into the room from his record player. He stared at the faces of the men that haunted his dreams, depicted in black and white from his own hands, pinned to the wall. Their snarls and grimaces made his thoughts turn dark with fury once more, and he carefully injected the drug into his vein as he had learned to do in school.

Sodium pentothal. It was meant to relax the body and the mind, allowing one to think of things either painful or traumatic.

The drug had been used originally for women giving birth, as it eased pain and relaxed the body, but had evolved to this use after midwives and nurses had noted the way the mother’s tongues would be loosened after they were injected. It was not a truth serum, though rumors circulated. It was simply a substance that made the truth easier to face in the mind of the one holding a secret. It could not force anyone to say what they did not wish.

Hannibal just needed it to help him remember the things his mind had deemed too dangerous and harmful.

He closed his eyes as he began to feel the effects of the drug. Like the sweet song of poison in his veins, it led him by the hand to those dark recesses of his memory. The doors that were barred. At a single touch, the barrier fell away, and he was thrust back into that time of cold and pain and fear.

Images flashed before him, like his dreams, only he could slow down and watch now. He could let his mind process what he saw, and think it through. He saw them pinching Mischa’s arms and cheeks, taking her out, the hatchet. He remembered fighting. He remembered his arm being twisted painfully as one of the men restrained him. He remembered a blow to his head when he continued to struggle. He remembered Mischa crying out to him as she was dragged away into the snow, her small hand reaching back to where he lay on the floor, in pain. His vision going black.

A bathtub, bubbling on the stove. Greedy mouths around a spoon. The smell of cooked meat. Small teeth being tossed out into the snow.

He remembered the explosions outside the lodge. The way the men scrambled to save themselves, never giving him a second glance as they gathered their ill-gotten spoils of war and rushed away. He heard the leader call to another, calling him Potwatcher, and the other man scrambling to gather their dogtags. Putting them into a bag that held other trinkets and small items.

The roof collapsed, killing the man they called Potwatcher. The bag of trinkets pinned under the rubble with his body.

Hannibal remembered stumbling out into the snow, alone and numb. He didn’t even feel the cold. He was too weak to feel his own hunger or pain anymore.

The men who emerged from the trees rescued him from the cold. They had been dressed in white and wore gas masks, and he had thought they were demons come to drag him to Hell. Because he had failed to save Mischa. His only purpose in life.

Chapter Text

Hannibal had only the name of the already dead man, but he knew how to get the names of the others.

He was planning a trip home.

He did worry what might be waiting there for him, either in the physical space or just the one allocated to his past within his mind. The memories he had unearthed using the drug had been painful and difficult to deal with. He was still shaken, and the nightmares had gotten worse. Seeing the place where his family had died may very well cause him more pain, or even a mental break.

He just had to trust that he was strong enough to endure the pain, for Mischa’s sake. He would be strong enough.

“How did it go?”

Hannibal looked up from where he had been drawing a diagram of the dissected heart, smiling reflexively when he saw Will Graham entering the lab. Having only seen the other boy twice, Hannibal had already grown fond of him, and was pleased to see him even though he had not been expecting company tonight. Will did not have his bag with him tonight, and he was wearing a simple plaid shirt and dark grey slacks. His hair was in disarray, a dark halo of curls that Hannibal found immensely charming. Additionally, he was impressed that the boy had managed to approach the lab without Hannibal noticing.

“Will,” he said, setting down his pencil and standing to greet him, “to whatever do I owe the pleasure?”

Will shrugged.

“You said you wanted us to see more of each other, so I figured I’d stop by. If you don’t want me to do it again, I won’t. I admit I was curious to see the medical school.”

Hannibal nodded, stripping off his surgical gloves to shake Will’s hand warmly. He was pleased that Will was taking initiative in this way, as Hannibal would have a more difficult time finding him. He supposed he might ask Popil about his apprentice, though he didn’t currently want to irritate the man in that way.

“I do not mind it at all,” he said, “I was merely surprised. I was unaware they would allow you in.”

Will smiled sheepishly and produced a police badge. Hannibal was immediately struck by his willingness to once more bend the rules for his own whims. He was devious, and Hannibal liked that about him very much.

“It’s amazing the things a temporary badge can get you,” he said, “they didn’t look too close, so I bet they don’t even know I’m not a real cop. They did look at me funny, though, because I look a little fresh faced I guess.”

Hannibal huffed a laugh. It likely had more to do with his accent than his age. These days, young men had more responsibility than before, and had to mature quickly and take on tasks that were greater than they should. The idea that Will had forgotten how obvious his accent was amused Hannibal, and showed that Will must be absorbed in other things often enough that it allowed such a common slip.

“You abuse your power, Will,” he said, “how cunning of you.”

Will shrugged again. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his eyelashes hung thick and low over his eyes as he avoided direct eye contact with Hannibal. Something about it seemed to make him uncomfortable in anything but small doses.

“You didn’t answer my question. How did it go with the sodium pentothal?”

Hannibal considered lying to him. Briefly. Will had earned his honesty on this. Will had been a help, and Hannibal thought he might still be of use to him in the future. That would require his honesty. Additionally, he thought it unlikely he would be able to convince Will of a lie. He would have to use lies sparingly with the other boy, and test it with smaller untruths.

“I gained what I had set out to,” Hannibal said, “I remembered what I wanted to know.”

Will nodded.

“Good. My risk didn’t go without reward, then. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. We can talk about other things.”

Hannibal tipped his head, watching as Will turned and began to wander the lab, looking around at the tools and implements. He seemed entirely at ease, and comfortable in this environment. Hannibal wondered about him.

That he offered to let Hannibal keep his secrets showed that he knew it was likely very sensitive and potentially painful to him, and he respected Hannibal’s right to privacy. Another way in which he differed from his mentor. Popil continually prodded at Hannibal to try to uncover his evils. After the butcher, Popil felt every secret of Hannibal’s should be shared with him, because criminals had no right to privacy. Hannibal disagreed with that on principle, but delighted in keeping secrets from the Inspector.

Hannibal wanted to learn more about this boy.

“What is it you study, yourself, Will?” Hannibal asked, “Is it merely law enforcement, or do you plan to specialize?”

Theoretically, he knew it was possible Will had not yet decided beyond where he was now. Many at this age did not know for any surety what they intended to do with their lives beyond gaining an education. But Hannibal had a notion that Will had found his path and was following it directly. He knew what he was to become. The simple fact that he was here on such a peculiar experimental program showed he had made some decision.

Will put his hands into his pockets and peered at the specimen jars on a shelf. Preserved organs for study. Many of them were Hannibal’s work, as it happened.

“I’m going to focus mostly on forensics,” Will said, “Maybe pathology, maybe entomology. I’d really like it if there was a way to put psychology to more use, because that’s what I’m naturally good at. I understand people. I’ve got this book, by Hugo Münsterberg. It’s called On the Witness Stand, and he makes some great points. It’s just hard to implement. But I think it’s coming. Some day, there will be a place for people like me to really do well in the FBI the way we should.”

Hannibal smiled. He was charmed. While Will was trying to sound very casual with his words, Hannibal could hear the passion behind them. Will truly felt in his soul that he could use his skills to better the world, and he was frustrated that the world had not caught up to his vision yet. Hannibal agreed with him wholeheartedly on every count. The world was making rapid progress when it came to law enforcement and understanding how to catch criminals, and the study of psychology might be very useful in the field, just as Will asserted.

“What about you?” Will said, almost as if he had been on the verge of forgetting to return the courtesy. Hannibal thought he likely had been, and that too was charming. Will had been so distracted with his own dreams he had gotten lost. But he had been taught manners well enough that he clearly put in the effort to be polite. “what do you want to do?”

Hannibal went back to his work station, adding the last few details to his drawing before he began to clean up. It was already late, and he should be heading back home soon. There was still much to be done to prepare to return to his homeland. He would regret seeing Will for only such a short time tonight, but it was good to talk to him again.

“I plan to become a surgeon,” he said, “I am already getting much of the experience I will need, because of my work scholarship.”

Will nodded, not asking for elaboration. He was likely clever enough to understand what Hannibal meant by it. Or, he had asked about Hannibal. Perhaps Popil had been willing to tell him what he wanted to know. If Will had asked Popil about Hannibal, he would likely have been told of the suspicions the inspector held, and his endeavor to prove them. But Will was here, and he showed not hesitation to be there alone with Hannibal. That was telling.

“No practice on living people, though,” Will said, glancing pointedly at the specimen jars again, “just the dead ones.”

Hannibal nodded.

“Yes, but I still have an advantage over my peers,” he said, “I work with real flesh much more frequently than they do, and I have time to study organs and muscles at my leisure, in order to provide the anatomical drawings the school asks from me.”

Will hummed in curious agreement, watching as Hannibal cleaned up and packed his bag.

“I guess you’re going home right about now,” Will said, “I hope I’m not keeping you, or interrupting. I was working late, too, and I’d heard that you make a habit of being the last one to leave. I really hope I’m not bothering you.”

Hannibal smiled. Will was afraid of being seen as rude. That was something most wouldn’t expect from an American, and Hannibal wondered if that contributed to his fear. He recognized the expectations people had of him, and didn’t want to fulfill the worst of them.

“No, of course not,” Hannibal said, “If you were a bother, I would tell you. As it is, I am afraid we will have to say goodbye fairly soon, as we should both be getting our rest tonight. You never know what tomorrow will bring.”

Will nodded.

“Never with any certainty, though I can guess my day will probably revolve around death. Has done for years. I suppose, in a way, so does yours.”

Hannibal was curious about Will. At eighteen, having not seen any war personally or up close, though he had lived through the aftershocks, he had a strange and dark worldview that didn’t seem quite congruent with his behavior. It reminded Hannibal of himself, in a way. A facade put on for the world to hide the darkness that lurked beneath. There was a darkness in Will, and Hannibal was curious to see it exposed. If only for himself.

Hannibal traded his lab coat for the leather one he wore on his bike and turned back to face Will again. He caught the flicker of Will’s eyes as they lifted from the line where the jacket met Hannibal’s waist, and how Will’s face had dusted pink by a shade.

That was interesting, and gave Hannibal an idea.

“Would you like a ride, Will?” Hannibal asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “or do you have a mode of transportation in mind already?”

Will’s flush darkened, and Hannibal couldn’t help but smile. He found himself hoping Will didn’t already have a ride. The idea of him sitting behind Hannibal on the bike, forced to press close despite his usual aversion to touch and close proximity. It was uniquely delicious and tempting to Hannibal.

“I-uh, no, I was just planning to get a taxi. I- well, I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.”

Will was nervous, and Hannibal thought he looked cute that way. Each time they had spoken before, Will had seemed slightly out of place and uncomfortable, but entirely confident with himself. Because he had known what to expect from interactions like that. This seemed to be unexplored territory.

Hannibal was anxious to explore it with him.

“I can save you the fare,” Hannibal offered, “while I do not have a spare helmet for you, I promise I am a safe and cautious driver.”

Will walked beside Hannibal out to where his motorcycle stood, shining in the light of a nearby streetlamp. Hannibal could see the internal debate in the boy’s eyes as they looked between the bike and Hannibal. Even if Will were to refuse at that point, Hannibal would be satisfied that it had been a difficult decision for him. And, he felt he had learned something new about Will, which was a delightful treat.

“You’re sure it’s not a problem?” Will asked, “It’s not really on the way to where you’re staying.”

Hannibal shrugged, swinging his leg over the bike and picking up his helmet.

“I was thinking of taking a ride around while the streets are quiet,” he lied smoothly, “and I would like to offer it as a service to you.”

Will sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit. Hannibal guessed he did not have much spending cash, or else he would have been too proud to accept such an offer. Hannibal wanted to know more about Will, and he hoped they would see more of each other. At the very least, Will might be able to influence Inspector Popil when it came to Hannibal’s character. If Will liked him enough to take his side.

“Alright,” Will said, “I guess it won’t hurt. Just once.”

Hannibal smiled and beckoned for Will to join him. He gave a few quick instructions so Will wouldn’t fall or be injured, feeling the warmth of Will’s body slide up behind him on the seat.

“Now, where are we going?” Hannibal asked, pulling the helmet on.

Will’s hands gripped his shoulders, making Hannibal smirk as Will gave him the address.

Hannibal started the bike and immediately grabbed Will’s hands to pull them around his waist. He felt Will jolt in surprise at the action, Will’s chest now pressed to his back with his face near the back of his neck, and his own body reacted at the thought of Will’s bashfulness, imagining his expression in that moment. The beauty of an angel, and the seeming innocence of one as well.

Before Will could try to pull away or ask a question, Hannibal started off. He felt Will’s grip tighten at once, then loosen self-consciously. He thought he would feel Will’s breath on his neck if not for the rush of night air due to their movement. Their nearness made Hannibal feel warm despite the cool night air, and he was helpless but to memorize the feel of Will’s hands on him, and the warmth of his body along Hannibal’s spine. The way Will seemed to fit perfectly there, and leaned naturally on each turn without fail.

Hannibal wound through the quiet Parisian streets, relishing the closeness and warmth of the body behind him. He had not expected to have this kind of reaction, himself. He already liked Will to a dangerous degree despite the walls he had built in his mind against attachments. He would have to be careful what he allowed to happen between them, and how close he allowed Will to get. He would have to build more walls, stack them higher, lock the gates.

Hannibal pulled to a stop at the building where Will was staying, and Will almost let go too soon, stumbling off the bike before turning back and facing Hannibal. His hair was more wild than usual, having been swept through with the wind. His eyes were bright with excitement, and his face was flushed. Hannibal was surprised by his own impulse to take Will and kiss him. He wanted to wind his fingers into those wild curls and never let go.

“Thank you,” Will said, the words coming out slightly breathy, “that was... exhilarating.”

Hannibal grinned.

“Anytime, Will,” he said, then pulled a card from his pocket and held it out, “here, for if you ever wish to find me when I am not at the school.”

The card had the number for the phone in the school’s dormitories, as well as his room number. Will blinked, but accepted the card with a confused smile.

“I guess that’s only fair, now that you know where I’m staying,” he said, putting the card into his pocket, “Quid pro quo?”

Hannibal shrugged.

“You tracked me down tonight, and I have complete faith that you could get this information on your own quite quickly. I thought to save you the trouble.”

Will laughed and ran a hand through his wild hair. He was absolutely beautiful, and Hannibal thought he would like to draw Will.

That was new, as his sketchbook had been entirely filled with sketches of the bad men, or else the face of Mischa as he remembered her, to this point. Small and bright and happy, she was in the book where Hannibal drew her. No other subject had garnered his attention before now, and compelled him to draw them.

Will was unique.

“Fair enough. Well, get back safe and have a good night,” Will said, waving as he stepped toward the darkened building, “see you around.”

Hannibal waved to him and watched as Will entered the building and was gone from sight.

Hannibal frowned to himself as he drove back to the school. He couldn’t allow Will to distract him from Mischa. Hannibal had work to do, and Will would be obligated to try and stop him if he ever learned of it.

Hannibal had to keep Will at arm’s length, but not let him escape either. Friends close and enemies closer. Hannibal thought Will could be either, or both. Only time would tell. Either way, Hannibal had an idea he would not be rid of Will. They would see more of each other, whether he liked it or not.

Chapter Text

Hannibal saw the way the man at the desk eyed his passport. He thought it was possible the man recognized his name, or perhaps was just suspicious of the reasons he would be returning to Lithuania after all these years. People milled about, being sorted as they traveled. There was a sense of anxiety in the room, as people dreaded complications with their papers drawing out the process of crossing the border.

Hannibal was still allowed through, and no one stood in his way as he began the journey to the Lecter estate. For what he hoped to be the last time.

The ruin of the lodge would require more power than he had himself, if it had not already been picked through by looters. Anything left behind would be what they could not reach. With that in mind, Hannibal turned to the place he had spent more of his childhood, where he had learned to write and played with Mischa.

The castle had long since been used as an orphanage, and he had no desire to linger there, where he had once been a boy, and then a prisoner. The halls had once been filled with laughter, but those ghosts were not kind to him these days. Not a soul who he had known in that place was living to reminisce with him. Only the grinning shadows of those who had tormented him while he had been mute, painting over the frescoes in his mothers room with proper Stalinist white. They were less real to him than the hungry men, who he only saw in shards of nightmares.

Hannibal waited until nightfall, watching the lights of the castle go out one by one. When the window to the room of the headmaster went dark, Hannibal crossed the field to the stable, already able to hear the horse he wanted, breathing and moving in the dark.

Hannibal was pleased to find Cesar remembered him. He was smaller than he should have been, considering his age, but plenty large and strong enough to help Hannibal with his goal. This was one familiar face from his past he did not mind meeting. Hannibal fed the horse bits of fruits and vegetables as he led the beast away from the castle he had once called home. He didn’t have much to offer the animal, but Cesar did not need much bribing to be led quietly out of the stable and to the road.

Cesar knew the way to the lodge as well, easily taking Hannibal through the cold forest, familiar as a dream and haunted as a memory. There was an odd quality to the air, as if the trees were holding their breath in anticipation of something. Hannibal had to lead Cesar through the woods when there were road blockages, and he was patient as the horse was cautious of his footing in the dark. He didn’t dare to light a lantern until he was certain no one from the castle would be able to see the light from it.

Hannibal tried to keep his thoughts solely on his sister, the reason for this trek in the night. He spoke softly to Cesar about her, about the times the horse had brought them back and forth between the castle and the lodge. Even despite all his care, he could not stop his thoughts from turning to Will repeatedly. He wondered what Popil was asking of Will now, and if either of them was uneasy because of his absence. He was sure Popil was irritated at least, but a part of him hoped Will was wondering after him.

The lodge came into view, and it filled the clearing with its presence, looming over Hannibal more than the castle had. The mere sight of it filled his mind with screams once more, and he found himself almost wishing t had been leveled entirely by explosives during the war. It would have been kinder.

But God did not care about kindness.

When Hannibal hauled open the door of the lodge, enough walls still standing for it to be recognizable as a structure, immediately a wild pig rushed out and into the trees, each of them startled by each other. Hannibal took a moment to huff a laugh at himself before he entered the abandoned wreckage that had once been his family’s hunting lodge.

As he worked, he knew he was being watched. Despite all his care, he had been followed to this place. Whoever was there was alone, and was keeping their distance for now. They must have wanted to see what he was after, or what he would find. It must have been one of the very men he was after, or else they would have approached him already. This person was taking every precaution not to be noticed, taking care not to be seen. For now, Hannibal would allow them that, as they were not in his way. He would let them come to him, and then they would see who had learned from the past and who had not benefited from hindsight.

The very air seemed to be painted in screams, there, and Hannibal shut all but one door in his mind to defend against the cries of fear and anguish. The only door he allowed, the one he needed in that moment, was the memory he had uncovered under the influence of the sodium pentothal. Potwatcher and dogtags. To see where he was meant to look.

Hannibal carefully picked through the rubble, using Cesar to help him remove the beam that had fallen on the frightened war criminal. The horse was well trained, and Hannibal remembered each signal to direct him. Finding the bones of the long dead man, Hannibal felt nothing but resentment, almost sorry he was dead because Hannibal would have liked to kill him personally. He had only been afraid for one moment, and had not been given time to regret his sins. He had not been thinking of Mischa in his last moments.

Hannibal remembered where his mother had hidden her pearls, the one bit of wealth the men had not taken with them, and he put them in his pocket before going to the bag. They were his inheritance, he supposed, and his circumstances were not stable at the time. If he should ever need it, he would have this small token of the estate of which he was technically a count, though there would be no one to honor that title here now. Perhaps someday in the future. Hannibal doubted he would ever return, even should that be the case.

He dumped a handful of trinkets, a little black notebook, and a tangle of dogtags onto the ground. The tags resembled a lash, in a way, and Hannibal thought that was poetic in a fashion, all things considered. He heard Cesar shuffle nervously as someone else approached, the one who had been following him. They likely thought him distracted, or else they had seen what they had set out to, and found out what they wanted.

That was alright, because these men would like to deal with it in person, and in secret. They couldn’t risk anyone finding out who they were and what they had done. Hannibal wondered which one this was.

When the shadow fell across Hannibal, he picked up the spear off the floor.

It felt smaller in his hand this time. He had grown. But it felt more dangerous as well. Because he knew how to wield it, and there was power behind his swing. He took the man down quickly with a blow to his knee and then his chest. The man collapsed, and Hannibal grimaced at the sight of him. He was indeed one of the hungry men, and Hannibal remembered his face. He was wearing a government uniform, and Hannibal recognized the man who had checked his passport had made a call, which had led to this. This man didn't want anyone to know what he had done during the war, so he had come to silence Hannibal.

He had their names, and if he was smart, this man could give them locations. He doubted they had lost touch entirely over the years. He had to be smart and careful. He couldn’t let his anger get the best of him.

This man would know hurt, and fear. He would suffer, though never as much as those he had hurt. Hannibal would hurt him, and make him pay for what had happened to Mischa, and he would be the first of them to die by Hannibal’s hand.

But first, it was about time Mischa had a proper funeral. Or at least as close to one as he could give her.

—-

Hannibal gathered what he could find. Small bones and teeth that he knew were hers. He found her old stuffed bear, now worn and full of mold spores with a missing eye and ear. It had been chewed on by some animals, though none as despicable as the creature now tied to a tree. He placed every item he could gather into the metal tub where Mischa had once bathed and happily squeezed bubbles in her small fists.

It was a pitiful sight, and not the ceremony she deserved, but it was all Hannibal could offer her, and he would see it through.

Hannibal placed one of his mother’s brooches in the tub, offering Mischa a part of their small fortune, and bowed his head, but offered no prayer to the God who had turned away from them during that long winter. He had no words for the being who allowed Mischa to be taken from the world in such a way.

Dirt fell into the tub like rain, pattering over the items there and filling the space. One last bed, and a blanket of earth to comfort his sister where she lay. Again, he promised her that he would make each man pay, and suffer what she had known.

After another long moment of silence, as Hannibal remembered his sister as she had been, he turned back to where he had tied the man. He was far enough away that he would not desecrate Mischa’s final resting place, but Hannibal was not foolish enough to wander too far from his captive. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a cool glow over the earth and illuminating the clearing of the lodge. Dew glistened on the grass like starlight, and Hannibal let out a long breath that clouded in the air.

It was time to deal with the man.

Chapter Text

“Herr Dortlich,” Hannibal said when the man began to stir, his tone mocking and cruel. He wanted this man to be afraid and humiliated before he died. He wanted him to know why this was happening. And he wanted him to help find the others. “On behalf of myself and my late family, I thank you for coming.”

The man looked up at Hannibal with wide, watery eyes, shudders wracking his body from fear. Hannibal had looked through his pockets while he was unconscious, and found his identification. He was a powerful man these days. Herr Dortlich was someone with connections. He made no sound around the dirty rag in his mouth, not that there was anyone to hear him anyhow. Not out here. Hannibal pulled the rag from the man’s mouth, wanting to hear him beg for his life.

“Do you remember the bathtub, bubbling on the stove?”

“She was dead anyway. I swear she was.”

Hannibal remembered that whining, pleading, grating voice, the way he had only sounded when the leader, Grutas, had been threatening him. It felt good, to finally hold power over him in this way. To make him afraid.

But Hannibal wasn’t satisfied with that. He needed information, but even more, he wanted to hear the man truly squeal.

Hannibal looked through the man’s bag until he found a wrapped sandwich. He had been able to smell it already, and he knew what he would find when he unwrapped it. Peeling away the paper, he grimaced at the globs of mayonnaise.

“eugh, so much mayonnaise, Herr Dortlich,” Hannibal said, taking the top piece of bread, slathered in the white fat. He tossed aside the rest of the sandwich and began slathering the slimy substance onto the thick rope that would soon rest against the tree. It would serve very little purpose as a lubricant, but he could see the fear in the man’s eyes as he settled the rope firmly under his chin, and he felt good.

Dortlich began whimpering and muttering pleas for his life as Hannibal fastened the end of the rope to the pommel of Cesar’s saddle. He understood the position he was in, and Hannibal reveled in this moment.

“Where are the others?”

Dortlich looked up at Hannibal, and a pathetic spark of defiance lit in his eyes. A loyal dog, for now.

Hannibal pulled on the rope, so it pressed against his windpipe and made the man choke for a moment. Then, he let it loose again to watch as Dortlich considered his options. On a whim, Hannibal whistled the tune of Ein Mannlein Steht Im Walde. That song that Mischa had once loved, and the men had sung to her just before dragging her away into the snow.

It must have sparked something else within Dorlich, because he was suddenly more cooperative.

“Yes. I know where one of them is. Grentz. I know Grentz.”

Hannibal smiled coldly at the man. He was truly pathetic, and Hannibal hated that he had ever feared such a low being. He was less than the worms in the soil. At least worms had some purpose.

“In Canada. He got out on the refugee boat from Bremen.”

Hannibal could not put a face to the name, but that wasn’t a problem. He had a man who had known Grentz personally, after all.

“What did he look like?”

Dortlich huffed, almost smiling despite everything. Hannibal wasn’t pleased, but he did nothing about it.

“Swordy,” Dortlich said, “and they wouldn’t have let him in the SS.”

Ah, now Hannibal remembered. He remembered that face, smiling and singing as he banged a spoon against his metal bowl. A crass and disgusting man.

“Oh yes, he’s the one that always provided the bowl.”

Dortlich’s smile fell a bit at Hannibal’s reminder of why they had ended up here. The evil that bowl had contained once upon a time.

“What about Milko?” Hannibal asked, this one a name that already had a face to it.

Dortlich shook his head.

“Dead, all dead in the war,” he said, once more in that grating, pleading whine that he seemed so prone towards just now.

Hannibal didn’t believe him. A man like Dortlich would fear his leader more than Hannibal for a long while. Until it became clear his fear was not protecting him from anything. Because he would die by Hannibal’s hands long before Grutas ever got wind that he had betrayed them.

“Your leader. Grutas,” Hannibal demanded.

That was when the fear truly hit Herr Dortlich. His eyes shone with tears, and his lips trembled as he shook his head. He began muttering, repeating his denial like a mantra. As if claiming he didn’t know would protect him. Then, he dared to beg for his life.

“Please, let me go. Let me go, and I will testify against Grentz.”

Hannibal tutted, shaking his head. A part of him was pleased that Dortlich wasn’t making it too easy. It meant he had more excuse to cause the man to suffer. This pain would serve a purpose.

“Do you remember “Das Mannlein im Walde”, Herr Dortlich?” he asked, taking Cesar’s lead in hand, “Mischa loved that song.”

Dortlich shook his head, desperately trying to inspire mercy from Hannibal. It wouldn’t work. Hannibal had no mercy to give. Not any more.

“Let’s sing for Mischa,” Hannibal said, mocking him as he turned and began to lead Cesar away from the tree. He began to sing as the rope slowly uncoiled from the ground, threatening his prisoner with imminent death.

When the rope had just begun to tease at strangling the man, Hannibal stopped Cesar and turned back.

“You’re not singing,” he chided, watching the man’s face fill with panic and desperation, “Sing for slack, Herr Dortlich!”

Hannibal resumed singing as he slowly walked Cesar away from the tree, and this time his prisoner choked out the words to the song, nearly screaming them in his desperation to save his life. Hannibal smiled.

“It’s Kolnas!” Dortlich finally screeched, bringing Hannibal to a halt once more, “Kolnas deals with Grutas!”

A face sprang to Hannibal’s mind, a memory of yet another man singing to Mischa. He had been the one to take Mischa’s bracelet when they had first arrived. One small trinket from a sick and frightened child. He had taken it, because they were all driven by greed. None of them had shown mercy.

Hannibal left the tension in the rope as he approached the man once more, gratified by the way it was making his eyes bulge from his face, and his voice was harsh and broken. Hannibal wanted this man to be broken before he finally died.

Hannibal knelt before the man, rage and disgust filling him as he looked at the pathetic mess of a man. Herr Dortlich was like an eel, slimy and writhing. Hannibal would be glad to kill him.

“And where is Kolnas?” he asked softly, though his anger colored the words.

Dortlich hesitated only a moment before he forced the name from his lips.

“Fontainbleu.”

Hannibal stood and whistled, signaling Cesar to continue. Dortlich shrieked as the rope pressed tighter and tighter, eventually being cut off just before his throat collapsed under the pressure and blood spattered over Hannibal. He blinked as it hit his face, but didn’t stop smiling.

He had gotten what he wanted, and made the man suffer on the way. It had gone better than the could have hoped, and he was pleased.

Kolnas. Kolnas dealt with Grutas. That was how Hannibal could get to Grutas.Through Kolnas, who lived in Fontainbleu. Herr Dortlich had spilled his guts before his blood had run.

Cesar snorted when the rope gave no more length, and Hannibal called him back. Cesar had done his job, and it was more than Hannibal could have asked for. He would never see the horse again once he left here today, but he was glad they’d had such a reunion.

Hannibal built a fire, collecting some wild mushrooms.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It was only right that this man pay for his crimes with a pound of flesh.

At that thought, Hannibal found his mind wandering to Will Graham against his will. He wondered what Will would think of that, if he would smartly reply that this philosophy would leave the whole world blind and toothless, or if he would agree that the punishment should fit the crime in such a way.

He was working with law enforcement, so perhaps he was ruthless in such a way. Popil certainly didn’t feel the guillotine was too cruel when it came to war criminals. Hannibal didn’t feel he was doing anything worse than that. In fact, he felt there was more justice in this, letting the man see the face of one he had wronged before he died.

Would Will feel the same, though?

Hannibal chewed his meal, staring up at the overcast sky, and thought of Will Graham. He took out his sketchbook and did his best to recreate Will’s appearance. Will was physically beautiful in a way Hannibal had never witnessed in a living human. Only artists of the past had ever depicted such a person, and often in the place of a God or spirit rather than an actual human.

Hannibal mused that Will looked somewhat like Michelangelo’s David, with his thick curls and clear, wide eyes. Though Hannibal thought his jaw was much stronger, and his brow more intense. He was even more classically handsome, then.

And there was a strange familiarity to Will, even then. Some kindred nature within him that recognized the darkness in Hannibal and did not shy away. Will had helped Hannibal to subvert the course of justice, even in such a small way that he was not entirely aware of what he had done.

Hannibal could not help but wonder if Will would be horrified by what he was, or if he would still look at him the way he had the night of the motorcycle ride.

Chapter Text

Hannibal opened the door to his room and froze in his tracks when he saw Will, sitting on the floor with his back against Hannibal’s bed, his hands folded on top of his knees. He was staring at Hannibal’s drawings, the faces of those men who had just been given names in his memory.

“Will,” Hannibal said, drawing those luminous and intelligent eyes to himself, “I am surprised to see you here.”

Will nodded, but made no move to stand. He smiled sadly. He knew something, or at least suspected. Hannibal supposed it was a good sign that Popil wasn’t here, at least. Will might give him a chance to explain himself.

“You told me I could call or visit. I called, and you weren’t here. When I came by to see if you were back, I ran into your Aunt Murasaki, who was also looking for you. She told me I was welcome to wait for you here, and gave me the key you had given her. She seemed glad when I called you my friend.”

Hannibal was glad his aunt was not the one who had greeted him on his return. She would have known at once what he had done, and tried to stop him from going forward. She didn’t understand his need to hurt these men himself, to make them pay for what they had done. She didn’t understand the promise he had made to Mischa.

Still, Will was intelligent enough he may put it together as well, and he was obligated to report Hannibal to Inspector Popil. It was possible Hannibal had not escaped such scrutiny as his aunt would have given him.

This would no doubt be delicate.

“I apologize for not having been here to welcome you to my humble living space. Is there something I can do to help you?”

Will patted the floor next to him, shifting so there was more room. It was an invitation for Hannibal to join him. A meek request. After a moment of consideration, Hannibal did.

“I’d like to know where you were,” Will said softly, “Your aunt seemed awful concerned.”

Hannibal could have lied, and said she had no reason to be. It would have been simple to tell Will he had only gone to the countryside for some fresh air or some other such nonsense. While that would be simple, it would be no small feat to convince Will it was the truth. He was not easily fooled.

Hannibal would have to take a risk, counting on that darkness and willingness to break the rules he had seen in Will, and hope for the best. The fact that he was staring at the pictures of war criminals in Hannibal’s room, and Inspector Popil was not already there with him gave Hannibal hope.

“I found them,” Hannibal said, and Will’s eyes flicked to the pictures on the wall, telling Hannibal he knew exactly who was being talked about. He had probably learned of these men from Popil, though he had no way of knowing the true extent of their evil. “They killed my sister.”

“And where are they?” Will asked.

“Here, in France,” Hannibal said, “Most of them.”

Will studied him carefully for a long moment before slowly reaching out. Hannibal could see his intent, and did not pull away or stop him. Will hooked a finger under the string around Hannibal's neck that held the broken dogtag and pulled it out to look. He was pale, and his breath wavered a bit as he looked at the evidence of Hannibal’s own evil. He was so close, and Hannibal wished it was for another reason than this.

“Popil believes you killed a butcher. You did kill this one.” It was not a question, so Hannibal merely remained silent. “Will you give them to Popil?”

Hannibal shook his head. He couldn’t do that, and didn’t trust that the inspector could deal justice in this instance. The fear Dortlich showed for Grutas told him he was a man of great power these days, and Hannibal remembered his ruthlessness. Even Popil could not reach him.

“The inspector cannot help me,” Hannibal said.

Will dropped the dogtag and it fell back against Hannibal’s chest with a soft thud that Hannibal felt through his ribcage. Hannibal could see that Will was conflicted, and he was sorry to be the cause. Hannibal wanted to soothe him, though he knew it would be little help if he tried.

“You know that I’m supposed to tell Popil things like this if I learn them,” Will said, and Hannibal nodded.

“I will not let you stop me,” Hannibal said, though he felt in his gut that he would regret killing Will. He regretted very little in his life, but he knew he would regret that.

Will met Hannibal’s gaze and held it for a long moment, as if trying to decide if he was going to make that necessary. Hannibal felt his heart beating hard in his chest. He rarely had physical reactions like this to anything, but Will managed to draw them out of him. Popil would envy him that, frustrated as he had been over the polygraph when he had questioned Hannibal about the Butcher’s death.

“Convince me, then,” Will said, giving Hannibal a spark of hope, “Convince me that you’re right, that Inspector Popil won’t be able to catch them. If you can convince me, then I’ll help you. If not, I’ll have to tell Popil, so you might have to kill me.”

For once, Hannibal could not hold Will’s gaze, dropping his eyes down to where Will must have cut himself shaving, a small bandage on his neck just under his chin. He did not want to kill Will. He hadn’t expected to feel this way about anyone. He was protective of Lady Murasaki, and would not kill her even if she made him make that choice, but she was family and she had been there to help Hannibal in the aftermath of it all. She should have been the exception to the rule. To find that Will also defied Hannibal’s natural reactions was curious, and truly could pose a threat to his life and his plans.

“I would find it a great loss to kill you, Will,” he said softly.

Will smiled, but the expression was still sad. His blue eyes swam with sorrow and unease, beautiful even then.

“Then you’d best convince me,” he said.

Chapter Text

The little restaurant in Fontainbleu was offensively tidy and charming. Hannibal would likely have chosen just such a place to bring Will, regardless of circumstances, but it was an insult that someone like Kolnas could have this in his life. To have carved this small space for himself to hide from what he had done and the truth of what he was.

“Ortolans,” Hannibal said as Will approached the cage of birds, “he nets them on their way to Africa and serves them for lunch. They smell the others cooking, and still they try to sing.”

Indeed, the birds were singing their haunting and discordant song, flitting around in their prison. While the animals were undoubtedly confused, they seemed unafraid and so unaware of their inevitable fates. Will watched them for a moment.

“They’re like us,” Will said before turning his eyes on Hannibal once more, “you’re sure this is the right place?”

Hannibal nodded, and they sat down at a table to wait. Hannibal ordered them each something to eat while they waited, knowing people were likely to remember Will’s accent later if questions were raised. He didn’t want to stand out if they could help it.

“His name is Kolnas, but he is using the name of Claybear. It’s on the license. We’re here today to be sure the face matches the name. So you can see the kind of life he has earned from the crimes of war he has committed.”

Will nodded and took a sip of water, his brow furrowed in thought. He still seemed conflicted over this whole thing, but he had yet to really argue with Hannibal about it. He had agreed to come here, to Fontainbleu with Hannibal today, so that Hannibal could try to convince him. That gave him hope that this would be enough to convince Will of what he had to do, so he would not try to stop him. Hannibal would not require Will to be involved if he didn’t want to, and he would not force Will to kill. Just to have someone else know of it and not try to stop him would be enough.

He hadn’t realized how much he had wanted that until Will had offered it.

They did not have to wait long before the man from Hannibal’s nightmares entered the shop, followed by a beautiful woman and two children. One, a little girl in a buttoned coat and new shoes. She looked to be a few years older than Mischa had ever been given the chance to be.

“Oh, look. Here he is, come by on his way to church to check the till,” Hannibal sneered, bitter about how happy the family seemed, considering what it was built on, “how neat he is, and plump, this war criminal.”

Will swallowed, his eyes fixed on the children as the girl wandered over to the bird cage to watch the ortolans. That did make Hannibal worry he would object to the man’s death, just on account of the children. But if Popil learned of him he would still catch and execute the man, regardless of his family. Popil would not show mercy on their account. He had to convince Will to let Hannibal make him pay.

Hannibal whistled a few notes of Ein Mannlein to get the girl’s attention, holding out the cherry from his dessert in offering. Will shot him a glance, but didn’t say anything as the girl skipped over. He trusted that Hannibal didn’t intend to hurt the girl, at least not here, and must have recognized it as a part of Hannibal’s endeavor to convince him of what must be done.

Hannibal was curious to meet the child born from the man who had made his nightmares. This girl who likely would not exist in a world without Mischa’s sacrifice.

Hannibal took her hand and spoke gently to her as he placed the cherry in her palm, his blood freezing when he saw the silver bracelet she wore. He remembered Kolnas taking that same bracelet off Mischa’s wrist, while Hannibal fought him.

He had given Mischa’s bracelet to his own daughter. She was about to wear it to the church service. This small hand, wearing Mischa’s bracelet, would place a penny in the collection plate. The man had no shame. No conscience.

Hannibal turned away quickly when he heard Kolnas searching for his daughter, but he had already slipped the dogtag into the pocket of her neat little buttoned coat. The man would know. When he found it, he would know what it meant.

—-

“The bracelet she was wearing,” Will said when they were outside the shop once more, now taking a walk to discuss what they would do, “It belonged to your sister, didn’t it?”

Hannibal felt a pain in his heart, and all at once he was vulnerable. He worked so hard to be armored at all times, but the fact that Will had cared to really look, and had the ability to really see, had stripped that away. Even Lady Murasaki had not so effectively stripped him bare in the years he had known her. She had been too afraid to try. Afraid of what she might see.

“Yes,” Hannibal said softly, “he took it off her as I held her in my arms, crying for him to stop.”

Will nodded decidedly. There was a coldness about him just now that gave Hannibal a thrill up his spine. Will was dangerous, even if he had not learned of it yet.

“Then that settles it,” he said, “do what you have to do, and I’ll try to keep Popil off your trail. I won’t promise to kill anyone for you, but I won’t get in your way.”

Hannibal felt all the tension leave his body, and the nearly alien presence of true hope entered his chest, all because of Will. He was willing to become an unlovable monster if he must, but somehow Will was anchoring him to reality by the simple fact of his acceptance. For the first time, he saw the possibility that he could do this and keep his humanity. So long as Will was at his side.

“Will,” Hannibal said, taking one of Will’s hands in his, uncaring how it looked to others, “Thank you.”

Will smiled. His face dusted pink at the touch, and he couldn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal realized Will might return his feelings, that strange fascination Hannibal felt towards the other boy and the intense draw he had. Will might feel the same way.

“You’re the only person in this whole country, probably the whole continent if I’m being honest, who likes me at all. I’m not being entirely selfless in this decision. I don’t want to lose you. So don’t get caught.”

Hannibal acted on impulse, then, and pulled Will into a kiss. At first, Will stiffened at the surprise of the action, but he quickly softened, all but melting into the kiss.

“I- I wasn’t sure if- I didn’t know-“ Will stammered, his face flushing red when they parted.

“Will Graham, you are a wonder. You are beautiful, and I am enchanted by you.”

Will bit his lip, a temptation in itself, and he glanced around as if they might be seen. Hannibal did not care, though he knew they were alone on this street for the moment. Will’s bashfulness was even more beguiling, and Hannibal wished they had more time together. They would have to go back to Paris soon. Will’s absence would be noticed, and would garner more questions than they would want to answer. If Popil learned they had come here together, it could be quite an inconvenience.

“It would probably be a bad idea to let Inspector Popil find out about this particular development of our friendship,” Will said, almost hesitantly, “I won’t be able to protect you as well if he knows just how invested I am in keeping you from being caught and executed.”

Hannibal had no choice but to agree, though he wished circumstances did not necessitate such secrecy.

“Another secret for us,” he said, “Likely with many more to come.”

Will nodded, smiling. He did not have any idea how many more things he might learn and have to keep secret for Hannibal. Hannibal wondered if Will had a limit, if there was a secret that would make him feel all of this was no longer worth it. He didn’t yet know what the men had done to Mischa, or what Hannibal intended to do to them, and he worried that would be it.

Maybe Hannibal could chain Will down. After Will had done more things to help Hannibal, maybe he wouldn’t feel able to betray him. If Will was in too deep. If Hannibal wanted to keep him, that might be necessary. He had to decide if he was willing to do that to Will.

“That man is disrespecting your family by giving that bracelet to his child. It’s tasteless and rude. It’s vulgar.”

Hannibal was more enchanted than ever. He pulled Will close by his waist, wanting closer now that he had crossed that line and knew he was allowed more.

“Rudeness is epidemic,” he said, “You do not know the half of the vulgarity that man has committed.”

Will nodded, and he was suddenly pensive.

“Maybe someday you’ll tell me about it,” he said, then offered a meek smile, “let’s go back now and you can make a game plan. I’ll help with whatever I can.”

Hannibal kissed Will again, unable to help himself. Will put his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders and held him there, a soft sound escaping him that Hannibal swallowed gladly. Every sensation of Will was like electricity across his flesh, feeling more vibrant and real than anything in the last eleven years.

Hannibal could get positively drunk on him.

Will pushed Hannibal away, both of them slightly breathless. Hannibal knew why, but he was still slightly miffed to be interrupted.

“Yes,” he said resignedly, “let’s go back.”

He was excited for the motorcycle ride back to Paris. He hoped Will would not be so shy this time, and instead take advantage of the forced nearness.

Chapter Text

Hannibal and Will had to be discrete with their new relationship. It was not only because there were those that would show hate towards them merely for the fact that they were both male, but also because it would not serve either of them if Popil found out what they were up to.

That being as it was, Hannibal tried to stretch the boundaries as much as he could. He met up with Will often, setting it up so they could pretend they hadn’t arranged it and only met by coincidence. He also offered to show Will around the city, a valid excuse as Will had few acquaintances and didn’t know his way around very well. He was confident in his own ability to explain why they were together, and he would be able to convince nearly anyone. The problem was that Inspector Popil was the only person he thought would more readily question him than take his word.

Today, they had seen an opera together, though Hannibal had been unable to show his affection openly due to the public setting. It was torture, but it was better than being apart. It was like being Tantalus, able to reach but never take.

Hannibal had never felt this way before.

“Hannibal, how is your aunt?”

Hannibal smiled politely to the woman asking. She had been an old acquaintance of his uncle Robertas, so knew Lady Murasaki peripherally. She had been kind to Murasaki, in this place where prejudice was rampant and few people showed such courtesy.

“I have not seen her very recently,” he confessed, though this had been by choice rather than due to circumstances. He didn’t trust that she would entirely support him, and he didn’t want to get in the way of her social life. He thought it best if he put some distance between them, though it did not make him happy. “I have been very busy with school, and have hardly any time for socializing, as you may have noticed.”

The woman laughed lightly, the kind of laugh only people who had never really known fear could have. It made Hannibal hate her just a touch.

“Well, there have certainly been some rumors going around about you, Hannibal,” she said coyly, “is it true that you read through your textbooks once and return them the day after you buy them, getting the full payment back?”

Hannibal smiled, casting an obvious glance to Will beside him.

“Madame,” he chided softly, “what you propose sounds somewhat like a crime. I would ask you to be more tactful with what you say, especially considering who my company is tonight. I have neglected to introduce you to Will Graham. He is working under Inspector Popil of the police.”

The woman blinked, then laughed and shook her head.

“Oh my, I do apologize. I don’t mean to get you in trouble, Hannibal. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Will.”

Will offered her a polite nod, though he was clearly uncomfortable in this social setting. He could handle himself well in nearly any situation, but Hannibal had learned how to tell when he would rather be somewhere else. Will wasn’t fond of crowds, in general, nor did he feel comfortable in formal settings.

“The pleasure’s mine,” Will said politely, and Hannibal saw the way the woman reacted to his accent.

“Oh! An American! What brings you here, young man?”

Will smiled uncomfortably. Because Hannibal had introduced him, she was not being rude about his accent, but it was clear she was having to restrain herself from doing so. Even she had her internal prejudices, though she was wise enough not to act on them when it would not serve.

“I was sent to learn how to improve Law Enforcement institutions in the states,” Will said diplomatically, “I am here to learn from the best.”

Flattery worked wonderfully on people like this, and Hannibal admired the care Will had taken to craft his response. Though he wasn’t comfortable here, he knew how to play the game. The woman immediately seemed more inclined to look on Will kindly.

“I hope you study well, then,” she said, “If you need any advice on how to do so, Hannibal is a perfect example.”

Hannibal laughed politely and shook his head.

“I’m afraid there is much I could learn from Will in that respect,” he told her, “I can hardly tear Will away from his notes and books in order to see the sun. We are lucky he agreed to come out with me this afternoon. He is the most dedicated student I have ever met.”

That further helped the woman look at Will with respect, and she nodded.

“Then you two are a perfect pair,” she said, “It’s good to see that you have friends your own age, Hannibal. You get so absorbed in your own things, and I worried you would forget to have a life of your own.”

If she had said such a thing to Hannibal before he had met Will, he would have found it offensive. He had been wrapped up in his studies and his obsession with finding the hungry men, and had thought he had no need of friends or connections of this kind.

Now, though, he realized he had been foolish to think that way. He was only human after all, and humans were social creatures. He needed connection as much as anyone else. It was just harder for him to find. Will was the first person he had met who was capable of connecting with him, and Hannibal craved his presence and company more than anything.

“I apologize for leaving early,” Hannibal said, knowing it would not be wise for them to linger here much longer. Rumors were already bound to spread and the longer they stayed the more likely it was they would get back to Popil. “Will and I both have much work to do, and cannot waste too much time on pleasure.”

The woman tittered, that somewhat threatening laugh only rich women seemed capable of.

“Of course you do. Don’t work yourself too hard, either of you.”

They both thanked her and left the venue, walking together down the Paris streets. Hannibal would have liked to take the bike, but the intimate nature of giving Will a ride on a motorcycle meant they had to be careful in that way as well. They could not do it often.

Will pulled his coat tighter around himself, though the night was warm.

“I worry about Kolnas’ children,” he confessed, and Hannibal listened carefully, “after you do what you intend to do, will they know why? Will they have to grow up knowing their father was that kind of monster?”

Hannibal considered it.

“I suppose there is no way to know for sure. I don’t believe his wife knows, and perhaps she will not find out. It depends on how I do it, if she will learn.”

Will nodded, chewing on his lip as he thought over the potential future.

“No child should have to grow up without their parents,” he said, and Hannibal realized he was speaking from experience, “I understand there’s no way to change your mind, but if there’s a way to make it easier for them, please try.”

Hannibal’s heart ached at the idea that Will had suffered that kind of thing. Will didn’t speak about his childhood often, and almost never mentioned his parents. He preferred to stick to talking about school or work, or books and music. Safe topics. Hannibal didn’t mind this, because he also preferred not to speak about his past or his family. They might have much more in common than even Hannibal had thought.

“I will do what I can to spare them that pain,” Hannibal said, and it was the first time he had even considered mercy in regards to the men and their families. He had never imagined he would promise this.

Will really was changing him. Hannibal wondered if he had any idea how much. He wondered if Will would try to stop him if he knew. He wondered if Will would be able to.

“I don’t want you to let him live,” Will said sternly, as if Hannibal had asked, “He deserves to die for what he did to you and Mischa, and to suffer. You were children, too.”

Hannibal nodded, and he honestly felt relieved by that. As much as he would like not to hurt the children in any way, he had  no intention of letting Kolnas go. He had worked too hard and lost too much to give up on even one of them now.

But he could try to make it easy for the children. He could try to keep them from knowing who their father was.

If people knew, the family would be hounded. They would have to leave the city at the very least, and even that may not be enough to escape the anger of the public. Because Kolnas was more than some petty looter. He was one of Grutas’ men, and had participated in cannibalism. He had killed a child just to eat her.

It was possible Popil would ruin it for them. After Kolnas was dead, he might recognize it as Hannibal’s work, and reveal the truth. If that happened, nothing Hannibal did to protect them would matter. Popil would ruin it all.

Perhaps Will could help Hannibal in that area. He might be able to keep Popil from revealing the truth to the public. Will wanted to protect those children. He was motivated. All Hannibal would have to do was ask.

He would. But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to enjoy himself with Will and not worry about the children.

Chapter Text

Hannibal had a conflict.

When he had set out on this task, to hunt down the men and punish them for their actions, he had not looked past that. He had had no reason to think of the future past his revenge.

Now, though...

Will bobbed his head slightly along with the music playing from the record player in Hannibal’s room, making notes on a confession transcript. It was the equivalent of homework for him, and he claimed Popil was unnerved by Will’s eagerness to complete these tasks.

Will had a natural inclination towards this kind of thing. He had an innate understanding of the workings of the human mind, and easily picked up on small behavioral cues that betrayed the thoughts and feelings of the subject. He was much like the polygraph machine Popil had used to try catching Hannibal in a lie about Momund the butcher. Will’s sharp gaze could literally cut to the heart of a person. He understood criminals and killers to a degree that sometimes made him uncomfortable, but he pushed through his discomfort to utilize his understanding and punish them.

Will glanced up and caught Hannibal staring, a light blush rising to his cheeks as he grinned his lopsided grin that Hannibal found endlessly charming.

Will set aside his notes and extended a hand, beckoning Hannibal over. Hannibal couldn’t help but smile as he stood from his desk and met Will on the bed.

“You’re not getting any work done over there, Lecter,” Will said coyly as Hannibal leaned down to brush their noses together, “whatever could be on your mind.”

Hannibal hummed softly and kissed Will, allowing himself to slide one hand into Will’s dark curls. He loved Will’s hair, and the soft feeling of those curls between his fingers. He loved the way Will responded to him, opening to allow the kiss to deepen. He had never felt this kind of connection with anyone, and he would be loathe to let it go.

And there lay his conundrum.

Hannibal cared about getting caught or killed now, because he had something he wished to live for. He wanted to continue to see Will’s smile, his sparkling, intelligent eyes, and to feel these sensations again. He wanted to keep hearing Will’s laugh, and the way his voice lowered and turned rough when he talked about the things he and Popil investigated. Hannibal wanted to live so he could continue to experience Will Graham.

“The plight of man,” Hannibal answered, “It seems I am falling prey to it, despite everything I previously believed.”

Will laughed softly.

“You considered yourself beyond influence? Something like a god. Nothing can touch you, because you won’t let it. I wonder what changed your mind about it.”

If Will honestly didn’t know that it was him who had changed Hannibal in this way, who had managed to climb over the walls Hannibal was still building to protect himself, Hannibal thought it could only be the fault of self-doubt. Will had insecurities when it came to how others perceived him. He had a difficult time believing Hannibal actually found him attractive and pleasant to be around, despite all his confidence in other areas of his life. When he was working, he felt no hesitation to speak his mind and no fear of being wrong. He knew he was intelligent and naturally inclined to his work, but he didn’t think he was desirable. That was the only reason he may not see just how essential he was to Hannibal.

This was a dangerous place for Hannibal to be. He recognized that he was obsessed with Will, and it would not be a good idea for them to be parted for any reason. Will could be his weakness, if anyone ever wanted to exploit him.

With what Hannibal knew about Vladis Grutas, that was more likely than not.

Either Hannibal would have to keep Will a secret from his enemies, or he would have to overcome them before it ever became a danger.

“Recent circumstances have made it clear that I am not beyond outside influence, nor am I invulnerable to weakness. I thought I had overcome all my faults.”

Will laughed, and for a moment it looked as if nothing in his world was wrong. For a moment, Will looked as if he had no worries in his life. Hannibal wished he could make that a reality.

He wanted to make the world a better place for Will Graham, and that was yet another sign that he was being changed by knowing the other boy.

“Sometimes weaknesses are good,” Will said, “If you didn’t have any, you wouldn’t be human.”

Those words resonated in Hannibal’s bones, and he kissed Will again. He felt like a monster so often, only truly feeling human when he was with Will. Nothing and no one else could touch him, and he moved through the world as if he were not a part of it.

Will was his lifeline, his tether to humanity. Hannibal’s armor could not defend against Will, his gaze and his touch. Hannibal just hoped this wouldn’t stop him from achieving his goal. He couldn’t let his weakness make him too soft.

“Do you ever behold something beautiful, and feel the urge to see it destroyed?” Hannibal asked, watching Will as he processed the question.

“You’re asking if I want to destroy beautiful things sometimes?” he asked, a clarifying question rather than a misunderstanding.

Hannibal shook his head.

“I’m not asking if you truly want to, but, perhaps, consider you see a stained glass window that catches your eye, or a painting that you find particularly beautiful. Does any part of your mind wonder how it would feel to shatter the glass of the window, or set fire to the painting? Just so you can see the destruction, and know it is by your hand. An irrevocable act, taking that one piece of beauty out of the world.”

Will considered it for a long moment, turning to face the window and staring out at the rainy Paris streets, the streetlights like fireflies in his eyes. Hannibal remembered his cochlear gardens, and the hoards of insects that would gorge themselves on his pets in order to fuel their own radiance. He wondered how Will would respond to the question.

“Yeah,” Will said, shrugging softly as if to make the answer feel less significant, “I do. Actually, when I was really little, I had a habit of doing just that. I met an old lady, who, well, she collected glass figurines. The kinds that you could hold to the light and send beams of colors scattering all over the room. I guess I was left alone when I shouldn’t have. All I remember is wondering what it would be like to drop one.”

Hannibal was enchanted by the story, unable to look away from Will’s face as he spoke. Hannibal felt as if the universe had offered Will as a gift. Some kind of repayment or restitution for all the dark years he had suffered. Will was a shining light from the darkness, and Hannibal was exalted.

“I told them it was an accident,” Will said, smiling wryly at himself, “but really, I had just been too enthralled by the idea of watching the shards of colored glass go scattering across the hardwood floor, like god setting the stars in the sky. I always figured that was what it had been like when he created the universe. Like dropping a glass work, and letting the pieces scatter across the fabric of reality.”

Will blinked and turned back to Hannibal with a soft smile. In the low light, shadows fell across his face dynamically, making him look all the more lovely and beautiful, especially as Hannibal began to understand more fully the way Will had become the way he was.

“I wasn’t left alone around glass things for a long while after that,” he said, “but I still sometimes feel that way. I want to break something just to see what it does. But I also know, now, that once it’s broken it won’t come back. Not usually. Burning a painting takes it away from the world. Not everything can be fixed. I try not to break things if I can help it. Unless it’s something that the world can do without.”

Hannibal was incapable of restraining himself, pulling Will into a kiss once more.

Will had the urge to destroy just as anyone, just as Hannibal did. He had been taught to suppress those urges, and anything that could be likened to them. He had not been able to explore how those actions made him feel. But he was still accepting of Hannibal. He did not condemn Hannibal for his choices, as easy as that would have been for him to do.

Most people were quick to judge the actions of others, even more so when it was something they had always wanted to do. Part of it was jealousy that someone else could act they way they had never felt allowed, and part was disgust with themselves for desiring those things. There was something different about Will, though, and it allowed him to recognize his own desires in others, and not feel any aversion to it.

Hannibal wanted to keep Will for himself, no matter the cost. Once his work was done, he would find a way.

Chapter Text

“Hannibal, give them to Popil.”

Hannibal closed his eyes, the phone still pressed to his ear. He conjured up his aunt’s face, knowing she was distressed. She had stopped calling as frequently after she had met Will and given him the key to Hannibal’s apartment. She seemed to be more nervous and hesitant to get involved with what Hannibal was doing. Perhaps she had been spooked by Will, or she thought Hannibal was not able to speak with her as freely as before. Perhaps she thought he did not need her anymore, if he had someone his own age. Tonight, something had made her worried enough to reach out again.

Popil must have talked to her.

As loathe as Hannibal was to admit it, the Inspector and Lady Murasaki seemed to have an interest in each other. The Inspector had some level of attractiveness that appealed to her. Perhaps he reminded her of the late Robertas Lecter. Hannibal couldn’t be sure what the draw was that she felt, but he recognized that they might grow close, were it not for himself. That was their one point of contention. Were Hannibal not in the mix, they would be free to do what they wished.

Popil was too honorable, and Murasaki was too loyal.

“I can’t. I promised Mischa.”

Lady Murasaki sighed, and Hannibal thought she might be crying. He was sorry for causing her distress and grief. He knew she was mourning him every day, and would continue to do so until he truly was taken from the world. The anticipation of his downfall was causing her pain, and he wished it wasn’t. But he wouldn’t stop for her. He wouldn’t stop for anyone.

“He knows what you’ve done, Hannibal. If you’ve found the others, he will catch you.”

Hannibal felt a spike of resentment. Not only was Popil making himself a nuisance in Hannibal’s life, but now he was terrorizing Lady Murasaki. He wondered if he had threatened her, by way of threatening Hannibal. And people would call Hannibal cruel. Popil was hurting Lady Murasaki by drawing close, only to remind her that he had every intention of seeing Hannibal killed.

“If you cannot stand by me, then forget about me,” he found himself telling his aunt, “live your life as if you had never met me. Do not worry about me.”

Lady Murasaki let out a soft, choking sob. He had never witnessed her cry that way, her elegance one of the only attributes that was entirely cemented in his mind before he had begun to speak again. If he could offer her an end to her grief this way, he would let her go. She was his last connection to family, but he wouldn’t let her make him weak. He wouldn’t let her be an obstacle. He was going to get his revenge, and kill the men for Mischa. She could not stop him, so it would be better if she lived the rest of her life as if he had died.

It would probably be safer for her as well.

“That boy, Will Graham. He knows about you, doesn’t he?”

Hannibal wouldn’t tell her. Not with the risk of Popil finding out that way. He would trust Lady Murasaki with his own life, but he would not put Will in danger through her. He was already risking Will’s safety more than he found acceptable, just by nature of their relationship. He was risking Will’s reputation, if Popil learned of their relationship. He was risking Will’s life, if Grutas found out.

“Will is my friend,” he said simply.

Lady Murasaki sighed.

“You love him,” she said, “and if he is protecting you, he must feel the same. But what is left of you to love?”

The phone clicked as she hung up, and Hannibal was left standing, stunned. Anger bubbled in his stomach from her words. Anger and hurt.

She didn’t know what Will meant to him. She didn’t know that he felt human again after all these years, and it was due to Will’s presence and acceptance. She didn’t know that Will hadn’t yet learned what he had done to Dortlich, and what he planned to do to the others. She didn’t know that Will was the only thing that seemed to matter after Mischa these days, and that kept him grounded in reality where nothing else had ever come close.

Because she didn’t understand any of this, Hannibal could forgive her for her words, sharp and hurtful as they had been. She didn’t understand, and it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t understand unless he talked to her, and he wouldn’t. She wasn’t like Will, who could understand so much just from observing. She wasn’t like Will, and Hannibal had to forgive her for that.

But he would no longer discuss this with her.

Will was all he had, now.

—-

Hannibal expected to see Will tonight, and he wondered why the other boy was taking so long.

It wasn’t as if he had nothing to do, or was bored, but he mourned the lack of intelligent conversation as he worked. Will’s presence improved any moment.

Papers shifted in a breeze, and Hannibal realized there was an open window. One he knew had not been open when he had started working.

Kolnas had spoken to his war buddies, it seemed. They were not keen to greet him civilly.

Hannibal set down his pencil and stood, walking over to one of the cadavers.

It was foolish of them to come after him here, where he was intimately familiar with the terrain and had access to all the tools he could want.

They must think him stupid, or easy prey. For now, that was to his advantage. They would all learn soon enough, but it would be too late for them. Their last thoughts would likely be how mistaken they had been.

While the others in the school weren’t unlikely to notice that a hand had been severed, so long as it was accounted for they were not likely to make much of a fuss about it. Hannibal only needed the appendage for a moment, and he would return it the moment it had served its purpose.

It was a minor illusion, a sleight of hand. Hannibal almost laughed aloud when that phrase came to mind, but he didn’t dare give the trick away to the intruder.

Until he made himself fully visible to Hannibal in the lab, the intruder would only be able to see the hand, sitting beside Hannibal’s notes. The angles of the room and the door were ideal for such a trick, and Hannibal had made himself intimately familiar with such things, for just this kind of occasion. The man would likely assume it was Hannibal’s hand, and that he was unsuspecting. He would have no reason to suspect that Hannibal was wise to his presence, and had mutilated a corpse to fool him. As far as these men knew, Hannibal was a schoolboy. A simpleton.

When the man turned the corner into the lab, Hannibal injected him with a fast acting sedative. He thrashed against Hannibal, struggling like a fish on a line before he went limp in Hannibal’s grasp. He went down quickly enough he hadn’t had the chance to pull the trigger of his gun, which was ideal. Though the weapon was fitted with a silencer, any damage left by a bullet might rouse suspicions and cause more questions than Hannibal cared to answer. He didn’t want to deal with that, on top of everything else.

Looking at the face of the intruder, Hannibal recognized him as one of the hungry men. Milko. How very dead indeed, Herr Dortlich.

It made sense that someone like this would stay close to the leader, serving as an errand boy. It seemed so few of these men could do anything for themselves, all relying on Grutas to tell them what to do.

What poor, pathetic things they were.

One benefit to the location they were in was the large vat where bodies were kept. Hannibal was used to hauling bodies in and out of the water using the winch, and now all the equipment would be put to a much different use. He had no need of the interrogation techniques used by Inspector Popil, and was bound by no ethical constraints as Popil was. No paperwork or witnesses would stand in the way of Hannibal’s work tonight.

Milko was smaller than Dortlich had been. Of all of them, Hannibal thought he was physically the smallest. He was easy to move. 

Hannibal mused over how frightened he had been of this man, the last time they had seen each other. Now, Hannibal was taller than him, and had easily overcome him. Even were they to have gotten into a physical fight, Hannibal thought it likely he would have triumphed. Milko was a small man, and probably relied on firepower to do most of the work for him. Hannibal knew how to fight, thanks to his aunt.

It was funny. Not ten minutes prior, Hannibal had been anxious for Will to arrive, but now he hoped Will would stay away long enough for him to finish this task.

Will had said he would help him in whatever way he could, but he wouldn’t promise to kill, and Hannibal wouldn’t want to put him in an uncomfortable position. He didn’t want to see Will’s face change as it dawned on him that Hannibal was a monster. Not now. He hoped to postpone that moment for as long as he could.

Hannibal wanted Will to accept the monstrous parts of him, but he hesitated to make them known. He couldn’t entirely understand that urge within himself. He thought Will might have the capacity to not only accept him, but join him in his monstrosity. But he feared rejection.

Just as Milko was beginning to stir, and Hannibal was prepared to begin his questions, Will arrived. He stopped in the doorway as he surveyed the scene, deciding how to react. At length, he nodded and continued toward Hannibal.

“He was sent to kill you,” he said, having seen the gun on top of Milko’s folded clothes, “I guess Kolnas got your calling card. This one is Milko, right?”

Hannibal nodded.

Will had seen all the pictures, and he had information even Hannibal couldn’t access, because he worked with Popil. He knew all their faces.

“If appears they are not of the mind to talk,” Hannibal said with a small smile.

Will snorted. Because they both knew Hannibal didn’t want to talk either. The time for negotiation had ended the moment they had killed Mischa. They had been living on borrowed time ever since, and Hannibal was about to make them all pay what they owed.

“Well, whatever you do with him, you have to do it quick,” Will said, “The inspector got a telegram from the USSR this afternoon, and he’s been in a sour mood ever since. He wants to talk to you again, and he’ll come here tonight. Don’t let him catch you with this.”

Hannibal was grateful for the warning, and he worried what Will would learn from what had been told to Popil. He hadn’t expected word to reach him so quickly of Dortlich’s demise, but now he would have to deal with it. He would have to hope Will didn’t decide to stop him when he learned the full truth of the matter.

“Thank you, Will,” he said, “I am very sorry our evening seems to be being spoiled. It was not my intention.”

Will scoffed and waved it off. He was studying Milko with detached curiosity, his eyes flashing the way they often did when he discussed violence.

“Let’s just get on with this,” he said, “you need to find Grutas before the inspector does, or else things are going to get even more complicated. From what I’ve heard, no one has lived to testify against him. The inspector doesn’t stand a chance. I’m betting on you, though.”

Hannibal smiled. He was pleased to hear Will had faith in him. Not only was he willing to help Hannibal achieve his goal, he thought he was more likely to accomplish it than Popil, who was dedicating his life to such endeavors.

Hannibal used the hose to spray Milko, fully snapping him to consciousness. The man coughed and spluttered, his waking having been unpleasant by design. The dead didn’t care if the water they were in was cold, and it preserved them better if it was. His toes had likely already lost sensation, submerged in the vat as they were.

“Grutas sent you to kill me,” Hannibal said by way of introduction.

Milko floundered for some excuse or way out. His frantic movements making him swing on his chain, like bait on a hook. He looked even more pathetic, now, wet and limp as he was.

“Not kill you,” he tried desperately, glancing between Will and Hannibal, “to give you money. Let me give it to you.”

Hannibal sighed.

Will rolled his eyes before picking up the stack of clothes. As he passed Hannibal, he gave him Milko’s gun, and went directly to the incinerator. Hannibal had already prepared it, expecting it would be needed. A silent understanding passed between them, and Hannibal felt a rush of awe for Will, seeing a bit more of his ruthless side being exposed.

Will stared at Milko until their eyes locked, then deliberately threw the clothes into the incinerator, along with the man’s shoes.

Understanding what the gesture meant, Milko began screaming in terror. Hannibal knew in that moment that he was in love with Will. Perhaps it had only been infatuation or obsession before, but now he knew it was more. Watching Will coldly and unwaveringly show a man that he had no hope of surviving, Hannibal could feel no other way.

But that would have to wait.

Hannibal sprayed Milko again to force him to stop screaming. The man choked on the water again and became quiet. 

“Grutas has a house,” Hannibal demanded, “where?”

Milko begged for his life, begged not to be made to tell. As if by telling, his death would be made worse.

If Hannibal had to admire one thing about Vladis Grutas, it would be that he had nearly complete control of his underlings. He wondered if Dortlich had only become a government official because Grutas wanted him to. He wouldn’t doubt it. A man so fearsome that even in the face of death they feared him more.

It didn’t take long for the water to break Milko down, and Hannibal lowered the man into the vat with the other corpses the moment he had the information he needed, shutting the metal hatch on top. He would have liked to watch the man drown, peer through the thick glass so his face was the last thing Milko saw as he struggled for air, but Will’s presence reminded him that they didn’t have time.

If Will was there when Popil accused Hannibal, he would learn just what kind of monster he was. Hannibal didn’t know if Will would be able to accept him then. Even after seeing Will’s calm acceptance of this event, Hannibal feared the more detailed version of his past might disgust him.

“you should not be here when Popil arrives.”

Will folded his arms across his chest.

“What do you plan to do? No matter what you tell him tonight, he’s planning to put you under surveillance. He thinks you’ll lead him to the others.”

Hannibal nodded, beginning to clean up his things. He wanted there to be no trace of Milko’s presence when the Inspector arrived. The body in the vat would have to remain until after the interview, but Hannibal doubted Popil would even think to search there for anything. He had no reason to suspect someone had visited Hannibal tonight.

“I plan to tell him the truth, to a point. I will not give them to him. You know he cannot do anything against Grutas. I will have to do it myself.”

Will frowned.

“You’re not going to tell me your plan,” he accused, “you think I can’t keep my mouth shut?”

Hannibal smiled and pulled Will into a kiss, trying not to believe it would be his last time doing so. He had only had Will for a short time, but already he feared losing him. He didn’t know what to expect from this night. Too many things were coming into play, and Hannibal didn’t want Will to be caught in the crossfire.

“I trust you with my life, Will,” Hannibal said, “But I do not trust them with yours. I do not want you to be any more involved than you have to be.”

Will narrowed his eyes as he looked at Hannibal, suspicious.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Lecter,” he said.

Hannibal huffed. Will always reverted to calling him by his last name when he was irked, or else if he was in Popil’s presence. Hannibal hoped to continue being blessed enough to witness Will’s emotions, unpredictable and volatile as they may be. He was like the ocean itself, wild and untamed and ruthless.

“You must be on your way. You should not be here when Popil arrives,” he repeated, and Will sighed.

“Alright. I’ll see you later. And I expect you to tell me everything once this is all over.”

Hannibal agreed, and Will went off into the night. A part of Hannibal wanted to go with him, offer him another ride on the motorcycle like before. They could run away together, and leave Popil behind. He could leave a note telling the inspector where to find Kolnas, and he and Will could conquer Grutas alone. It was the first time in Hannibal’s life that he felt so conflicted about what he should do.

Ultimately, his indecision became decision as Will disappeared and he was left to await Popil’s arrival.

Hannibal dearly hoped Popil wouldn’t make Will sit in while he gave his statement. If Will could go a little while longer without having to know what he was, and everything that had happened, Hannibal could do this without worrying. He could tell Will everything after the fact, and deal with it without worrying. He could make Will understand, even if it took time. He could soften it. He could make it work, and be with Will forever.

When Popil arrived, there was little fanfare. He just entered and began asking questions as Hannibal worked.

“His face was eaten.”

Hannibal could hear the disgust and derision in Popil’s voice as he spoke those words, and Hannibal couldn’t help but tease him a bit.

“I would suspect the ravens.”

“Ravens who made a shish-kebab?”

Hannibal had to duck his head to hide his smile. Even though he intended to share most of what the men had done with Popil, it would not be wise to show too much pride in his work. He didn’t intend to share what he, himself, had done to the men in return.

“Cannibalism,” Popil said, still trying to get some kind of rise out of Hannibal, “It happened on the western front.”

Hannibal said nothing.

“But you knew that. You were there.”

Hannibal waited, knowing what came next. He supposed it would be something of a relief.

“I’ll need to bring you in for your statement.”

And so he was to be taken to the station. He hoped Will had already been allowed to go home and rest. He didn’t want Will to know everything. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Will’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on Hannibal as he talked, revealing nothing about how he felt toward what Hannibal was saying. Hannibal could not bring himself to meet those eyes, though. He dreaded the moment they would fill with horror and disgust.

Instead, he watched the wheels of the tape recorder as they slowly turned, documenting his every word.

He did not confess to anything, only telling Popil about his parents and Mischa, and the hungry men. That was what Popil wanted. More crimes to use when he imagined he would get his hands on Grutas and his men. Popil would not be satisfied, but he would not demand any more from Hannibal tonight. He expected Hannibal to lead them to the men.

“You are reckless,” Popil said, and Hannibal looked up to meet his eyes, “These men are dangerous. Do you really think you can kill them all yourself?”

Hannibal frowned. So far, he had done much more than Popil himself had along that vein. The inspector had been chasing these men, but still had no idea where they were. Hannibal had found them in a matter of months, after finally being able to face the memories of what they had done. Popil was restricted by the law, which he was bound to enforce. Hannibal had no such inhibitions, and Popil would never be able to catch these criminals if he was not willing to bend the rules. Hannibal was the only one who could.

“I promised Mischa,” he said calmly.

But Popil was not calm. His anger was an insult to Hannibal, because it felt so undeserved. He hadn’t earned to privilege of his own anger. Not for this. It was Hannibal’s.

“Promised what? That you would make them each pay a pound of flesh?”

Hannibal said nothing. It would be unwise to unleash the words dancing across his tongue in that moment. He still had work to do, and Popil would get in the way. If he was too hostile, Popil would have no choice but to lock him up, even execute him.

Would Will help him escape? Even now, after he had heard what Hannibal had been through, and no doubt had put together what he had done, would Will still help him avoid the blade of the guillotine?

“Who do you think would punish them if you had been killed?” Popil demanded, his words heated and passionate, “the answer is me.”

Hannibal didn’t reply, but he wanted to express his derision. He knew Popil could not reach Grutas. If Hannibal were dead, they would be punished by no one. But Popil would never accept such a thing. It was better to keep his mouth shut on that matter.

Popil sighed and stepped over to where Will sat, peering at the notes he had been taking. Will angled the notepad for him, his expression unreadable the way it almost always was when he worked with the inspector. After a moment, Popil nodded and turned back to Hannibal.

“If you swear to share everything you know, I will let you go.”

Hannibal met his eyes steadily, holding back a smile. They both knew there was no chance of Hannibal letting this go, nor would Popil really allow Hannibal to leave freely. Not entirely freely.

“I swear.”

Popil kept his word, even though they both knew Hannibal didn’t intend to keep his. Hannibal knew Popil could see that he was still keeping secrets, but he had to pretend to believe Hannibal in order for his tail to have prey to track. It was likely Popil also knew that Hannibal could see his intention to have him followed, but trusted his men not to lose one college boy.

Hannibal could not bear to look at Will, and the other boy did not get a chance to approach him before he was escorted back to school. He still had work to do, after all. Popil had interrupted him.

Some would think him foolish for working on Milko while policemen waited just outside, but Hannibal found it only appropriate. They would not dare be seen by him, as he wasn’t meant to know they were there. They had to keep their distance. If they only knew what he was doing, they might have been tempted to burst into the school to arrest him right then. Who would punish Grutas, then?

Hannibal removed Milko’s head, using a scalpel to remove the cheeks. His aunt had once employed a chef who had taught Hannibal many things about cooking. One of his first lessons had been that the cheeks were the finest cut of most animals. One was always presented to the host, and the other to the guest of honor.

Hannibal had yet to perfect his methods of cooking long pig, and he was sure they were not as good as they could be, but the deep satisfaction from this act resonated deeply in his chest.

If Will hated him, now, because he had guessed this part of Hannibal’s monster, Hannibal would eat Popil’s cheeks. He would feed one to Will, if he could find a way to do so. Popil should have let Will rest.

Hannibal placed the man’s dogtag between his teeth and placed the head in the incinerator. Many of the bodies were headless, courtesy of the police, so no one would question it. No one would be able to identify Milko, and his body would benefit the students. For the first time in his life, Milko would be truly useful.

Hannibal had taken one thing from Milko’s pockets before Will had burned the clothes, and it was his key to the next step of his plan. Hannibal closed up the lab and carefully avoided his police tail, walking his bike until he was out of earshot. They didn’t think he was that much of a threat, or a challenge. He was young, and everyone underestimated him.

If this went well, the next time he saw Will he could tell him everything.

—-

“I’m delivering a piano.”

There was a pause as the guard no doubt inspected the receipt. Hannibal held his breath, trying to hear over the truck’s engine. He didn’t know if there were secret protocols Milko would follow when running such an errand, but he was taking a gamble that there weren’t. Grutas was likely paranoid, but he was also detrimentally narcissistic. He loved himself enough, and trusted himself enough, that Hannibal doubted he thought Milko would be hi weak spot.

“Where’s Milko?” the guard demanded, and Hannibal knew this was one of those delicate moments where things could go south.

“I don’t know, and I don’t give a damn,” the delivery woman snapped, so very french in her manners, “I was only told to deliver this piano, and that’s it.”

Hannibal smiled to himself, leaning his back against said piano. The French woman was truly a gift in this case, selling it to the best of her ability. If this failed, it would be no fault of hers.

The piano was a Bosendorfer, and he hoped it would not be damaged in the imminent conflict. It deserved better than to be owned by someone like Grutas. He only wanted it for its material value, rather than intrinsic worth.

The guard was unhappy, but he allowed the truck through. He hadn’t seen Hannibal when he had glanced into the truck. The road up to the house was smooth, which pleased Hannibal. He wasn’t to keen on the idea of being battered from being jostled about within the truck when he faced the man.

So far, things were going well, and Hannibal was sure of his plan.

Hannibal could not allow himself to doubt. If he began to doubt himself, he may never see Will again.

He had to see Will again. Even if it was the last time, and it was just to say goodbye. Even if Will was angry and never wanted to think about Hannibal again. Hannibal felt his chest ache at the thought that Will would be that angry. He missed Will, even now, when they had not been parted for an entire day yet. He could not stand the thought o Will hating him.

He could not change things so there was no use in worrying over it. Especially because it would only be a distraction.

He couldn’t help worrying anyway.

It was much easier to get into the house than Hannibal would have expected, considering the fences and guarded gates. It seemed Grutas expected just that to keep out the majority of the trouble and danger.

While Hannibal assumed that was mere foolishness, he had to consider the idea that there was something waiting for him that he didn’t know about yet. Something dangerous that made Grutas feel so secure.

He would have to be careful and clever. Those where his strong suits, so he didn’t expect there to be any problem he could not overcome.

He had to get back to Will.