Archive of Our Own

“What do you want, Jack?”

Will was annoyed, but he couldn’t deny to himself that there was a sense of thrill at Jack’s visit. He knew there was only one reason Jack would seek him out after all this time. Only one thing that could make Jack take that risk, knowing Will wouldn’t want to see him.

“Hannibal escaped.”

Will scoffed. He took a drink of his coffee to hide the way he felt about hearing those words.

Two years since Will had rejected him. Two years since Hannibal had surrendered, so that Will would be able to find him when he changed his mind.

Something had made him think Will wouldn’t come back to him.

“Don’t say anything to Molly. I don’t want her to worry.”

Jack shifted on his feet. He wasn’t happy. Will hadn’t expected him to be.

“Should she worry?”

Will sighed heavily. Jack knew there had been something going on between Will and Hannibal. Something more than just friends, something more than doctor and patient. Something visceral and intense. He wasn’t anywhere close to understanding what it was that had been going on, but he knew there was something.

“Why should she?” Will asked, instead of answering, “Hannibal isn’t stupid. He’ll be out of the country by now, most likely. Probably France or Italy again. Not Florence, though. That would be stupid, too.”

Jack looked at Will, hard. He was frustrated, probably because he couldn’t see through all of Will’s defenses. There had been a time when Will would have told him what was wrong, what he was thinking, and what they should do. That time had long since passed, because Hannibal had got his fingers into the meat of Will’s brain and molded it like clay. He had brought out the darkest corners, and revealed the things others thought were ugly about Will.

Molly didn’t know about any of it.

“I’ll tell her,” Will said, knowing it was a compromise Jack would have no choice but to accept. Will wasn’t his employee anymore, and Jack couldn’t force him to do anything.

“If he tries to contact you, call me.”

Jack probably wondered if he could trust Will to do that. Will didn’t blame him for it. They would never trust each other they way they once had, when neither of them had known what Hannibal was.

“I’m not stupid either, Jack,” he said. Not a promise.

Jack clearly knew Will wasn’t promising to do as he was told. He had learned not to trust Will entirely. Hannibal had almost killed him, and Will had let him do it. Will had wanted to run away with him. He wasn’t someone to be trusted. Not by anyone.

“I’ll keep you updated on the hunt.”

The hunt.

Because Hannibal wasn’t any old serial killer. Not anymore. Now, he was a beast. Something to be hunted rather than searched for. Rather than a regular police procedure, this would be wild and dangerous. Jack knew better than that. He knew he didn’t plan on letting Hannibal survive another capture. Either he would die because he resisted, or one of the officers in charge of transporting him would kill him. Jack would do nothing to stop it from happening.

Which was why Hannibal would not be caught a second time. Will knew he wouldn’t.

That was why Will wasn’t worried. Hannibal wasn’t stupid, and coming after Will or trying to contact him would almost ensure he was caught again.

Will was rejecting him again. That was how Hannibal had interpreted the marriage. That was why he had given up on prison. Why he had escaped. He finally realized Will wasn’t going to come back to him, and so it had been in vain.

Will had finally set him free.

Will watched as Jack walked back to his car, trudging through the snow with his shoulders hunched up by his ears. Jack wouldn’t go far. He was sure Hannibal would come for Will, so he would stay nearby to catch him. He was wrong.

Will finished his coffee and headed inside to enjoy this time alone before Molly came back. They had move into this house together only two months ago, reasoning that it didn’t matter if they waited until after the wedding. They were trying to make the transition easier for Walter. Will knew Walter was having a hard time with it, but the kid didn’t open up to him so he didn’t know what to do about it. Not that he really wanted to. He found it harder to try to form a relationship with Walter than it had been with Molly. Molly had done most of the work between them. She was casual and affectionate, and confident with her desires. Will and Walter were both hurt and wary, and Will couldn’t help but fear getting too close to him.

It reminded him too much of last time.

Last time he had tried to create a family from already existing pieces. Hannibal and Abigail. They had seemed to fit, and he had worked to get close to Abigail. They had got along, even though Abigail had been standoffish and never really trusted him as much as she had trusted Hannibal.

Will had been sick, then. He hadn’t been able to be steady and reliable.

Hannibal had taken her away from him. Twice.

He was afraid of getting close to Walter. Even though Hannibal was gone. He was afraid Walter wouldn’t like him. He was more afraid that he would.

Will went into the kitchen and looked through the fridge, planning what he would make for dinner. He did most of the cooking between them these days. Not because Molly couldn’t cook or didn’t, but because Will needed it. He needed to cook, because it reminded him of Hannibal, and gave him a sense of control. He was controlling what food he put into his body, and what Molly and Walter ate as well.

Hannibal had always cooked for him. Even when Will appeared uninvited and unannounced, Hannibal had fed him. Jack and Alana would try to tell him it was only because he reveled in feeding his victims to law enforcement, but Will thought differently. Will knew Hannibal had actually cared about him. He had wanted Will to be well fed, if not entirely healthy since he had allowed the encephalitis to develop for so long.

The door opened and Will heard Molly and Walter enter, talking and laughing as the dogs took the opportunity to follow them in out of the snow. Molly quickly told Walter to get the towels so the dogs wouldn’t track the snow in and let it melt on the floors, something Will knew she only did because he cared.

Not that he particularly cared about the floors. He had just had dogs for so long that these things were second nature to him, and it rarely crossed his mind to change his habits concerning them.

“I got the mail, honey,” Molly said when the dogs had been dried and she walked into the kitchen. Walter had taken whatever she had bought for him and headed to his room. He didn’t bother greeting Will first, and Will didn’t require him to. “A couple things for you.”

Will hummed, taking some fish out and beginning to work on dinner.

“I’ll read it after dinner,” he said, “did you have a good time?”

Molly grinned, setting down the stack of envelopes on the counter and starting in on a story about their trip into town. Will was only half listening, though, because he saw a familiar envelope in among the regular mail.

Maybe Jack had been right.

—-

Molly slept soundly on her side of the bed, and Will stared at the ceiling in the dark. The stack of mail had been moved in here, to the bedroom, and was sitting on his desk in the corner. That was where he usually kept mail he needed to read or respond to, so it hadn’t caught Molly’s attention as anything odd.

Not that him doing something odd would have really made her suspect anything. He always did odd things. She was used to it. She claimed she found it cute.

Will got up, already prepared to tell Molly he needed to tend to the fire if his movements woke her. He always had an excuse ready these days, no matter how innocuous his actions were. He always felt like he had to conceal and justify himself.

He didn’t go over to his desk right away. He instead went to his dresser and dug to the bottom of one of his drawers, searching for something he had been too afraid to accept, but too attached to get rid of. It had been suspended in this Schrodinger’s dilemma of simultaneous existence and non-existence for over a year, now. Because he had been afraid.

But he knew he had to read what Hannibal’s first letter said before he opened the new one. He needed to understand what he was seeing.

Will sat by the fireplace so he wouldn’t have to turn on a light to read the letter, almost not believing what he was about to do.

For the past two years, he had tried desperately to follow through on the things he had told Hannibal the last time he had seen him. He had tried not to think about him, or miss him, or want him. Tried not to look for him in every moment of his day, or wonder what he was doing or thinking about. Will had been trying to move on, and build this life without Hannibal being a part of it.

This letter had made that impossible, always lurking in the corners of his mind, in the peripheries of his existence. Will didn’t know who he would be after he read it. He just knew he had to, so he could understand what Hannibal was telling him by sending another.

Dear Will,

We have all found a new life, but our old lives hover in the shadows, like incipient madness.

Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking. I would encourage you, as a friend, not to step back through the door he holds open.

It’s dark on the other side, and madness is waiting.

Sincerely,

Hannibal Lecter

Will let out a breath, unaware he had been holding it in until this moment. Something unraveled within him, as if all this time he had been holding tension in his muscles and was now letting it ease.

It was almost funny, that Hannibal had been warning him against stepping back into the field. Warning him not to go back to the work that he had been so good at, that had been destroying him, that had brought them together in the first place.

Maybe it was genuine, that Hannibal really didn’t want to see Will destroyed by the harmful atmosphere of the work and the corrosiveness of his mind. Maybe it was out of jealousy, that he didn’t want other killers to interest Will and capture his imagination. Maybe there was something else.

Whatever it meant, it was clear Hannibal had been hoping Will would choose to return to him on his own. Hannibal wouldn’t write to him and beg to be taken back. This was not that. Even in this, Hannibal maintained his dignity.

Will folded the letter again and tossed it into the fire along with the envelope, destroying the evidence of their relationship. He stood and got the new letter from his desk before sitting again in the same place, tuning out the sound of his fiance’s steady breathing.

Dear Will,

You and I have gone our separate ways, and it is only right that we do. The world does not need more bonds forged through lies and violence.

The life you make for yourself now defines who you are. You choose what you want, and what you cannot have. The space you make for yourself must be safe for your mind, built well enough to withstand the dark things you conjure.

Does your future bride know your most intimate parts? Does her touch elicit the same sounds that once graced my ears? Are you honest with her?

I wish you the best,

Hannibal Lecter

Will felt his face heat, and he couldn’t blame it on the fire. He wasn’t sitting close enough to the flame for it to warm him like that.

Hannibal wanted him to doubt his relationship with Molly. Maybe he knew Will well enough to know he already doubted it. He probably knew Will would never let himself be vulnerable with someone the way he had once been with him.

His relationship with Hannibal had never been physical. Not really. It had been emotional and mental, their minds engaged in the wrestle of passion while their bodies had been strictly separate. Though Will had allowed Hannibal’s touch more than anyone else’s, nothing had ever progressed as it normally would between people.

Their physicality had been bloody, when it had been there.

Will’s hand drifted down and settled over his stomach, feeling the raised ridge of the scar there.

Molly already knew he didn’t want her to touch his scars. She had tried, once, to put her hand on his abdomen to show her sympathy. Will’s reaction had made it clear to her that he wanted neither her sympathy nor her touch regarding it. She hadn’t tried again.

She knew he was hiding things about his past. She naively believed it was because he didn’t want to feel the pain of those times, and so didn’t want to think about it at all. She didn’t know that he just didn’t want her to know or have any part of it. He didn’t want to share it with her. It was his alone.

These were his most intimate parts, the ones Hannibal referenced in the letter. He likely knew that Will would not share himself with Molly in that way. It would taint her, make her unsafe.

He was gloating. Because he had ruined Will for anyone else, and he knew it.

But he hadn’t ruined Will entirely. Will had built himself a life, was still building it, and it was good. It was soft and normal. It was just a facade, but it was one he could keep up for the rest of his life if he had to. Just like how Hannibal would have been able to keep pretending to be a Baltimore socialite for the rest of his life.

Will had changed him. They had changed each other.

Will had never been very good at pretending, before he met Hannibal. His true nature had shone out through the cracks of his mask, straining the seams. It was why he had struggled to make connections with people and be liked. It was why Zeller and Price had always felt uneasy, and psychiatrists had always found him fascinating. After Hannibal, he had found it easier to slip into a role and pretend.

This was a play, and Will was merely an actor within the narrative. But it was his life, and he could keep it up for as long as he needed.

Hannibal should be proud.

Will hesitated for a long moment before he tossed the second letter, along with the envelope, into the fire. Getting rid of the evidence. He was acting like a criminal. Or a man who was cheating on his partner.

He wasn’t, though. He was tearing himself free from the things of his past, the way that boy had once torn himself free from a tapestry created from flesh. He could feel the raw places where the flesh parted and exposed his tender insides, places he would never be the same. But he was done with it, and he would survive it.

Will silently stood and left the room, not wanting to stay much longer in Molly’s presence while his mind was filled with Hannibal.

He would never be entirely free of Hannibal. Not when his mind still clung so desperately to the moments they had shared, each time he had felt understood and wanted for himself. He knew he would always be haunted by him. Molly probably also knew it. He had told her early on that he had been through things, had done things, that he didn’t want to talk about. Things he wasn’t proud of, and that would always be there.

Molly was gracious in her acceptance. She never pushed, never prodded.

Not like Hannibal.

Will poured himself a glass of whiskey.

—-

“Nightmares?”

Molly entered the kitchen in her pajamas and robe, a light blue fluffy article that was soft and warm in these winter months. She had misplaced her slippers again, so her feet were clad in nothing but socks. Will knew they were just in the study, laying on the rug in front of the fire. But he hadn’t said anything when she had been looking for them.

“I need to tell you something,” Will said, instead of answering her question. She was asking why he was up so early, leaving her to wake up by herself. He wasn’t going to tell her that he hadn’t slept at all.

Molly raised her eyebrows, a bit of anxiety spiking through her expression even though she was trying to hide it.

“Usually it’s the gal that gets cold feet, Will,” she teased, but Will could hear the real worry behind the words. She thought he was breaking it off.

“It’s not about the wedding,” he lied, because she wouldn’t really understand how they were connected.

Molly’s shoulders dropped a bit in her relief, and she accepted the mug of coffee he offered her.

“Well, that’s good,” she said, taking a sip, “so what is it?”

Will took a long drink from his own mug, postponing the moment he would have to tell her, even by just a few seconds. He knew exactly how she would respond, and he didn’t want to have to face it.

“Jack Crawford stopped by yesterday,” he told her, and watched as she processed her own anger and fear for what that might mean. “Hannibal Lecter escaped prison.”

Molly was silent for a long moment, processing that. Her eyed flicked up to Will’s forehead, where his scar was just barely hidden by his hair this morning. He had never told her who had given the scars to her, but she had guessed based on what he had told her, and he knew she was filling in the blanks with a fictionalized version of the truth. One that was far too kind to him.

“Will he come after you?” she asked.

Will shook his head.

“Jack thinks so, but I don’t. He doesn’t want to be caught again. Coming after me would mean he would definitely be caught. Because it’s what Jack thinks. I only needed to tell you in case Jack tried to contact you. I didn’t want you to be caught unaware.”

Molly considered that silently, leaning back against the counter as she nursed her coffee.

Will felt so disjointed in moments like this. She was so perfectly domestic and gentle, but he didn’t fit there. Anyone looking in from the outside would think he did, but he felt like an intruder. Like he had killed the person who belonged here and taken their place. He was an imposter.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said eventually, “I won’t worry, because you don’t think there’s anything to be worried about. I’m glad I know. Is there anything else?”

Will almost did it then. He almost set her free of this all, told her she shouldn’t marry him. He felt the words on the back of his tongue, telling her he could never love her the way she deserved, and would only bring her pain. He almost did it. He was almost a good man.

But he wasn’t a good man.

“Nope,” he said, “Thanks for not being upset.”

Molly smiled sweetly and leaned in to give him a quick kiss.

“You’re a sweet man, Will,” she said.

Will smiled, but his entire chest lurched with the wrongness of that statement. He wasn’t sweet. Maybe at one point, he could have been. That version of himself had died long before he had lain on Hannibal’s kitchen floor beside his surrogate daughter as they both bled out. That potential future had been stolen by Hannibal alongside all the others.

—-

The wedding was going to be a small affair, unpretentious and intimate. Molly had already been through this before, and didn’t care for all the fanfare. Will didn’t have anyone he cared to invite. He had been distanced from everyone he used to call a friend, and he hadn’t put in the work to form new attachments other than Molly and Walter.

Will dressed in his suit, feeling detached from everything. He didn’t even want to look at himself in the mirror, because he didn’t want to have to look himself in the face as he was about to do this. About to bind a good woman to him legally and emotionally. Wearing a suit for the first time in a long time. A costume he hadn’t worn in years.

But he didn’t want to embarrass Molly by looking homeless, either. So he turned to face the mirror.

Just as he lifted his eyes to the reflection of his face, the power went out.

Will jumped back, frightened by the sight of his face in the dark, his eyes shining like a predator in the night.

A door opened, and Will felt that he was no longer alone.

The presence was familiar, and unfortunately comforting. It was something he hadn’t felt in two years.

No. He had to be tricking himself. Lying to himself and wanting something he couldn’t have. Hannibal wouldn’t come for him. Not now. Not after Will had made it so abundantly clear that he didn’t want him.

That lie he had said with his entire chest, showing the whole world as if that would make it true.

The whisper of feet against the floor, nearly silent. No one called out to him, to explain their presence or identity.

Molly and Walter weren’t even in the house. Will was supposed to meet them at the church. He was supposed to be alone in the house as he prepared.

Prepared to spend the rest of his life playing pretend. Playing house with two people who would never really know him. Not as well as one person had. One person who had hurt him in every conceivable way, and he still couldn’t stop wanting.

“I’m hallucinating again,” he told himself in a whisper, because what other explanation could there possibly be? He was making himself experience what he wanted to be the truth.

That Hannibal actually had come for him, consequences be damned.

The nearly silent shifting of air stopped, and Will turned toward where the door should be, stepping in that direction for what should be his escaping of the dark and himself. Stepping out into the light and never turning back. That was what he was meant to be doing.

Will caught his shin on a short table he had forgotten was there, and he let out a sharp curse as he reached out for something to steady himself.

A hand caught his and pulled him close, and at once he was pressed to a solid chest. One he recognized, much to his chagrin.

“Hannibal,” he breathed, unable to help himself.

An arm curled around behind his back, pressing him closer into the solid warmth of another body.

“I didn’t receive an invitation.”

It was Hannibal’s voice. Will almost sobbed at the sound. He had missed that voice so desperately over the years. It had haunted his dreams, and he had woken up aching every time.

“You weren’t invited,” he said, and the words came out sounding so small and pitiful in comparison to how they should have sounded. Either afraid or angry.

A huff of breath against his ear. Hannibal was amused. Will knew he would be. If this was real, Hannibal would find it all so desperately amusing.

“No, I imagine you would want to keep your two lives separate.”

Will curled his hands into the fabric of the sweater Hannibal was wearing. He wasn’t wearing a suit, which only made this all the more strange and confusing for him.

“You shouldn’t be here. You should be long gone. You must be. I’m making all of this up. You’re not really here.”

The hand on his back began to move, slowly, up and down along his spine. It was tender and possessive, and everything Will had never gotten to have.

“I would return power so that your eyes could show you the truth, but I am loathe to leave you for even a second.”

Will dropped his head onto Hannibal’s shoulder. This hallucination was Hannibal, even if it was only the imago of him. The ideal that existed only in Will’s mind. The real Hannibal was not this soft or gentle. Even in the moments he had been the most caring, there had been a sharpness to him. Like a scalpel, he had wielded his kindness with precision that cut only how he wanted it to.

That was how Will knew this wasn’t real.

Will pushed away, feeling the action like a tearing in his chest. As if he was cutting away a part of himself.

“You’re not really here,” he said, telling himself more than the hallucination, “I just wish you were.”

The arms dropped from him and Will made his way to the door, sidestepping the invisible table this time. He opened the door and stepped into the darkened hall.

The hallucination of Hannibal didn’t follow him. He hadn’t expected it to. It wasn’t real, and he had forced his mind to realize that. He held the power over it, now.

Will grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen before heading down into the basement for the breaker box.

The flip had been switched by hand. Someone had done it on purpose. The circuit hadn’t been overloaded and switched by itself. Will frowned as he switched it back and the lights came on.

Had he done this? In some delusion, had he somehow switched the breaker in order to trick himself into thinking Hannibal had come for him? That was the only explanation if there wasn’t someone else in the house.

Will walked back up to return the flashlight to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway and frowning.

One of the frying pans was on the stove, the flame heating it as a cut of meat sat on the counter nearby.

His mind was still trying to convince him that Hannibal was here.

Will put the flashlight away, staring at the stove and the meat. Hannibal wasn’t here. Couldn’t be here. Wouldn’t come here.

What was wrong with him? Why was his mind playing these tricks on him again, after all this time?

Will turned off the stove, shaking his head at himself.

It was guilt. Guilt for not being entirely honest with Molly, and wanting something other than what she could give him. For building this life on lies.

Had Hannibal even really escaped? Had Jack actually been here?

Will went to the bedroom for his laptop, opening it and navigating to the one site he knew would have heard of Hannibal’s escape before anyone else. Freddie Lounds still had her ways of learning that which the FBI would rather she didn’t.

Will regretted not killing her. His life would look so much different if he had done what he had told Hannibal he had.

Will pushed those thoughts away as the site loaded, and he came face to face with a picture of himself, standing next to Hannibal at a crime scene. Back before everything happened.

It was true. Hannibal had escaped. Freddie was trying to make people believe Will had something to do with it, or would be in danger because of Hannibal’s escape. She called him careless for still planning to get married while Hannibal was on the loose. She said he was putting his new family at risk.

Was he? Would Hannibal hurt them?

Will stood, feeling suddenly dizzy.

He had accused Hannibal, once, of not wanting Will to have anything in his life that wasn’t him. It had been true. Hannibal had taken everything else away from him.

Would Hannibal hurt Molly and Walter? Just because he didn’t want Will to be able to be happy without him?

Will felt nausea rise up, and he went back out to the kitchen.

The stove was on again, but this time it was not unattended.

“You’ll forgive me for taking liberty with your kitchen,” Hannibal said, “It’s been some time since I had the opportunity to cook for myself.”

Will didn’t bother arguing with himself about what he was seeing. The smells of the food were making his mouth water, and he was done caring.

“Did you hurt them?” he asked.

The hallucination wouldn’t need him to elaborate. It came from his mind, where all the answers were kept.

“Your makeshift family?” Hannibal asked, not even turning to face him, “no. I dislike harming children. Your soon-to-be stepson is safe in that regard. I also hesitate to harm his mother, only because I do not wish to create an orphan.”

Will caught the underlying meaning. The things Hannibal didn’t say aloud. Will and he had always been able to communicate this way, saying only part of what they meant and trusting the other to know the rest. It had worked for them.

“But you might kill her?” he asked, “you don’t want to, but you might?”

Hannibal plated the food, finally turning toward Will with the two plates. The sweater was a deep blue, and Will remembered the soft feeling of the fabric against his face and hands. He looked too approachable.

“That entirely depends on you, Will,” he said, setting down a plate in front of Will and sitting down with the other.

He looked different than he had last time Will had seen him. His hair was cut short and he was paler. His face was thinner, and he looked tired. Even the Chesapeake Ripper had been changed by prison.

Will wondered if this was what he really looked like, or if his mind was just trying to make him feel sympathy for the killer.

“What do I have to do to keep them both safe?” Will asked.

Hannibal’s lips twisted with displeasure, but he smoothed it over quickly and smiled mildly.

“You know me, Will,” he said, “better than anyone has ever known me. You know the answer to your own question.”

Will scoffed, but cut himself a bite of food. Had he prepared it for himself? Made himself dinner when he was supposed to be on his way to the church to marry Molly? Just so his mind would continue to believe that Hannibal was really there?

“I’m supposed to run away with you,” he said, “a second chance after everything? Bringing the teacup back together so we can gallivant around Europe like you wanted us to before it all?”

Will shook his head.

“My mind is just trying to convince me not to go through with it. My conscience is rebelling at the idea that I’ll keep lying to her for the rest of our lives. This is me making an excuse not to do it. To run away again. Shirking responsibility for my actions once again.”

Hannibal tipped his head, his maroon eyes shining like they always had.

“You still don’t believe I’m here,” he mused.

Will jumped.

Since when were his hallucinations so stubborn and vindictive?

“You can’t be here,” he said, “you’re not that foolish. Jack would catch you if you came after me. You wouldn’t.”

Hannibal smiled, but it was a sad thing. The way he had smiled at Will before plunging the knife into his stomach. The way he had smiled while feeding him that godawful soup meant to season his brain.

Hannibal didn’t feel regret. Ever.

So why was that what Will saw in that smile?

“There is one force on earth that makes fool of all those who fall victim to it,” Hannibal said, “I thought myself long since invulnerable to it, but you are the exception to all things.”

Will shook his head.

“You’re not in love with me, Hannibal,” he said, “I can’t believe that.”

Hannibal stood and rounded the table. He stood over Will, looming as he always did. Still, Will felt no fear of him. Why would he? He was a figment of Will’s imagination.

“You are not in love with that woman, either. Yet you would bind yourself to her and her child. A ready made family. That is what you have always sought. Even when it was with me. Now, you have chosen someone who is so strictly different from me, as if to deny that we ever knew each other. For anyone who knows you, your actions are transparent.”

Will huffed a laugh. Bitter.

“No one does know me,” he said, then looked up at Hannibal, “only you. And you’re gone now. Off to build your own life somewhere else. So why won’t you let me do the same?”

Hannibal knelt at Will’s side, his brow furrowed and his frown deep.

“Could you truly be happy with her, Will?” he asked, “living your life stagnant and rotting? If you will be happy, tell me now and I will leave you be.”

Will shook his head.

“You haunt me, Hannibal,” he said, “I’ll never be rid of you.”

Hannibal took Will’s face in his hands, and he felt so real. So solid. So warm.

“Will. Tell me the truth. Can you be happy with that woman?”

Will believed, then, that Hannibal was really there. For the first time, his mind accepted reality for what it was. Hannibal was here, and asking for Will to give him a reason not to leave alone.

“No.”

The word was barely more than a whisper. A secret that was meant for only the two of them. It was the truth, and Will knew it. He had been lying to himself until this moment, when he was faced with lying to Hannibal.

Again.

He had lied to Hannibal enough.

Hannibal’s smile returned, his eyes shining and warm. He leaned forward and kissed Will, and Will couldn’t do anything other than melt into it.

He had been wanting it for years. Since long before Hannibal had been locked up. Since before he had been close to having it and let it go.

“What kind of cake would you have?” Hannibal asked when he pulled away.

Will huffed a laugh.

“Red velvet. It’s Molly’s favorite.”

Hannibal’s nose wrinkled in distaste, and Will laughed again.

“I wish there was a way to undo the hurt this is going to cause her,” he said.

Hannibal shook his head.

“You were always going to hurt her, Will,” he said, almost chidingly, “if not today, then years down the road when she realized she would never be able to have you entirely. When she found out who really lived in the cavity of your chest, between your lungs.”

Will sighed.

It was the truth, and he knew it. He had known it all along. He knew he would end up hurting her in a terrible way. He would do something unforgivable to her. He would never abuse her, but he would do something that would cause her irreparable damage.

Doing this was almost kind in comparison.

“I want to be far away by the time she comes back to find out I’ve gone,” Will said, “I don’t want to be able to feel her pain.”

Hannibal nodded and kissed Will again, sliding a hand into his hair and clutching him close. Will remembered that, as well. Hannibal’s hand in his hair. The sound of an electric saw buzzing before cutting into his skull. Before that, Hannibal holding onto Will’s hair to keep his head up while he pressed a glass of water to his lips.

Will wanted to spend forever in that moment. Let the world pass them both by so he never had to leave this.

“Jack is watching the church. He expects me to interrupt the proceedings.”

Will laughed. He couldn’t help it. He felt lighter, more happy than he had in years.

“He should know better. That would be rude.”