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Hannibal found her.
He had gone into the capital city, though Will had begged him not to.
"Someone could recognize you," he insisted.
"Then I will dispose of them," Hannibal replied.
"You will only if you know they have recognized you," Will answered. "What if you don't?"
"I won't be gone for long."
"I'll be here all alone."
"We need money, Will," Hannibal sighed. "Chiyoh wired us enough to last us but I need to actually get it."
"Hannibal..."
"Will," Hannibal whispered, taking Will's bicep into his hand and squeezing it, "go to sleep."
And Will suddenly felt a pinch on his arm. He looked down, and just before his vision swam away into darkness, he saw the needle being injected steadily by Hannibal. He opened his mouth to curse the man but was not sure if anything actually came out as his legs went out from underneath him.
Will woke up, gasping, and knew, instinctively, that the house was empty. He sat up woozily and scrubbed a hand over his face. Fuckin' Hannibal.
He sighed and looked around him. He was in the living room and his back ached from sleeping on the old couch. He groaned as he twisted to get a look out the windows and he frowned when he saw the beginning hints of sunlight rising over the horizon. Cold fear gripped at his heart and he stumbled into the kitchen to run cool water over his face. Still dripping, he found a glass and sloppily poured some whiskey, uncertain and uncaring if he should drink alcohol so soon after being tranquilized.
He collapsed in the rickety chair at the table and drank it down, silently begging whoever could still be listening to him that Hannibal would return safely. A part of him found it amusing to ask God to keep a serial killer safe but then again, stranger things have happened.
He wasn't sure how long he sat in that kitchen chair. He just knew that the sky slowly turned inky purple then misty blue before he heard a car inch up the gravel path to the front door. For a split second, he wondered if it was police but he knew the sound of police footsteps by heart and these were different. Hannibal's.
He got up and managed to stagger to the front door, yanking it open when he stopped short at the sight in front of him:
Hannibal, exhausted, pale, in his shirtsleeves, cradling his jacket to his chest. It wasn't until Will saw a tiny, bare, dirty foot did he realize there was something in the jacket. For a wild moment, Will thought Hannibal had brought home pieces of someone and he felt a scream building at the base of his throat until Hannibal gasped, "Can you run a bath for her?"
"What?"
"Perhaps the sink would do better," Hannibal said, more to himself than anyone else, "she is quite underweight."
"Hannibal, what the fuck."
Hannibal didn't turn as he walked slowly into the kitchen and managed, even with his arms full, to fill the sink with warm water. Will watched, transfixed, as he gently placed the bundle on the counter and unwrapped it to reveal a toddler, tiny and filthy and far too thin. She whimpered at being unwrapped and Hannibal smiled at her, hushing her gently.
He washed her reverently and with an ease that made Will wonder how often Hannibal had encountered babies. As he gently worked the matted knots out of her hair, Will approached again, feeling oddly like an intruder.
"Who is she?" he asked. "What happened?"
"I believe her name is Elena," Hannibal replied and she looked up at him with big brown eyes in response. "At least, that is what I heard from the man who was attempting to beat her."
Will blinked as his heart constricted.
"You saw this?"
"Yes," Hannibal answered, his eyes never leaving the small girl in the sink. "He managed to dislocate her shoulder before I was able to stop him. I popped it back in but she should probably have a sling. Perhaps I can make one."
"Hannibal, you can't just—"
"Take a child? One that was being abused?"
"But—"
"In a country with a horrendous system for orphans? And no real protection for them?"
"You don't know she's an orphan!"
"She is now."
Will paled and stared at the man he had chosen.
"You—"
"Yes, Will," he sighed as he carefully rinsed the suds out of her hair. She yawned and rubbed her eyes sleepily. "What would you have had me do?"
Will shook his head and closed his eyes, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of her quiet sighs and yawns.
"We can't keep her."
"Why not? You love to collect strays."
"This isn't a fucking dog!" Will shouted. The little girl—Elena—shuddered with a start and immediately began to cry. Will knew, in that moment, he was lost.
"No, no," he whispered, "I'm sorry. Lo siento. Lo siento."
He was acting on impulse, he realized later, as he reached out and took the little girl into his arms, uncaring about the suds and the water. He rocked her gently as Hannibal wrapped a towel around her back and dried her. Her cries slowly eased into hiccups and then the occasional whimper.
Will cradled her head to his chest and closed his eyes tightly. This wasn't right. He knew that, rationally. He knew it was madness. Dangerous. And most likely a manipulation on Hannibal's part to secure him to his side forever.
But as he leaned in and brushed his lips against her downy head, he also knew he didn't care.
They moved several more times before settling with Elena in the mountains, overlooking the ocean. Hannibal nursed her up to a proper weight and she flourished. Yes, she suffered from nightmares and yes, she slept between the two of them nearly every night but she smiled so brightly in the morning, giggled so joyfully as Thanatos nosed at her curiously, that neither man worried.
It was almost as if normalcy was in their grasp. Will had never dreamed it could be like this.
Hannibal still disappeared occasionally, sometimes just for an hour, other times for days. It was during one of these mysterious trips that Will laid with Elena in their bed, watching her fight sleep valiantly. He smiled as she struggled to keep her eyes open and kissed her on the forehead when she finally closed them.
"You're safe," he whispered. "I swear to you, with everything that I am—which isn't much, I know—that I will always keep you safe." He hesitated before continuing in an even lower voice, "Even if that means I have to take you away from him, if we have to run away, you and I, I will do it, if it meant you were safe and happy. I've lost too many people, Elena. I'm not going to lose you, too. I swear it."
Elena yawned and rolled closer to Will, her tiny arm smacking him in the face. Will kissed her hand and realized he was crying.
"Te amo, Elena," he whispered. "Always."
She fell asleep.
For a long time, Will suspected Hannibal only cared about Elena as a tool; a bargaining chip to keep Will trapped, like Abigail. Hannibal seemed to like the girl, and he was very good to her: he taught her to read and write before she started school, made sure she was fluent in both English and Spanish, held her at night when she got scared, and didn't yell when she made a mess in the kitchen. But Will worried that there was no love there and he knew, from experience, that sooner or later, a child recognizes when they are tolerated, not loved.
Then one day, during a family trip into the city, Will got his answer.
They were waiting to cross the street and the two men had been deep in conversation when Hannibal suddenly jerked his head and screamed, "Elena!"
Will blinked and his world went momentarily black when he saw Hannibal lurch forward, yank Elena by the arm and press her hard against him as a speeding car blasted its horn and whizzed by, so close, Will could've reached out and touched it.
When he could see clearly again, Hannibal was on his knees in front of a pale and stunned Elena, five-years-old and never been yelled at by either of her parents. Hannibal was grasping her tightly by the arms and pleading with her, "Never do that again! You always look! You never just go into the street, do you understand me?"
Elena nodded mutely and Will stared as Hannibal shook her, his voice cracking, "I could've lost you! What then? What would your Papi and I do without you?"
Elena burst into tears and Hannibal gathered her up into his shaking arms, kissing her hair repeatedly. Will fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around the two of them, uncaring of how odd they must've looked, stricken and shaking on the sidewalk of the plaza.
Elena slept in their bed last night, curled up between them. Hannibal switched off the light after reading and settled under the covers, seemingly content that Will kept Elena in his arms. Will hesitated before reaching out and lightly touching Hannibal's bare arm.
"Hmm?" Hannibal raised one eyebrow, his eyes closed.
"You're not lying, are you?" Will whispered.
"About what?" Hannibal asked softly, opening his eyes and turning towards Will.
"You love her, don't you?"
The look on Hannibal's face reminded Will of the bad times; the times before, when they were chasing each other and manipulating one another constantly. Will shivered.
"Have you truly spent these last three years assuming I did not?" Hannibal whispered.
Will swallowed and touched his arm again.
"She is our daughter, Will," Hannibal said. "I am capable of love. And I love her as I love you."
Will nodded and rested the tips of his fingers on Hannibal's lips. He kissed them and smiled.
"Now go to sleep."
Will nodded, a gentle wave of peace washing over him.
Will wakes up in a panic. He is alone in bed and he props himself up quickly on his elbows. He blinks and turns to his right and instantly relaxes. He exhales shakily and swallows.
Elena is sleeping in the tiny cot and Hannibal is sitting beside her, his fingers gently combing through her hair. He looks up at Will.
"Nightmare?" he whispers.
"No," Will answers softly. He sits up and swings his feet out of the bed. "Where are we?"
"Anchored off the coast of Cayenne. It's only two. You should sleep."
"Did you sleep at all?"
"A bit but she began crying."
Will sighs and stands up, walking towards his husband and their sleeping daughter. He can see dried tracks of tears on her face and his heart constricts. He leans down and kisses her hair. She sighs in her sleep and rolls over, facing the wall.
"I never wanted to hurt her," he whispers.
"I know," Hannibal replies.
"I wish we didn't have to run. I wanted to protect her from our world."
"All parents want that."
Will looks at Hannibal.
"I chose you," he whispers. "She didn't choose this."
"No," Hannibal agrees, "but we are all born without choice. We are all victims of our parents' circumstances."
Will shakes his head.
"After all this time, you still manage to make everything sound so easy; as if everything you have ever done was out of your hands."
Hannibal gazes at him, his eyes clear and unworried. Will, not for the first time, envies him.
"Come back to bed," he sighs. "She's sleeping now."
He turns and crawls back into the cramped bed and sighs as he feel Hannibal climb in after him. Hannibal's arm reaches over and holds him loosely.
"You're a good father, Will," Hannibal whispers.
Will closes his eyes and wills away the tears.
"Go to sleep, Hannibal," he answers and the two men fall silent.