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The cobblestone streets of Florence lay the stage for many sights and sounds.
A green taxi pulled up the street picking up a small asian woman, who slid into the front seat, pressing a kiss to the driver’s cheek.
A ruddy-faced man emptied his wallet, yelling and throwing the cash at a crying red-head, who merely shielded her complexion with her mittens.
An overweight, balding man was shoved from a bus, his large body scraping against the concrete with a sickening tear.
Will Graham walked past, just as the obscenities began. He brushed through the throngs of people, avoiding piles of slush and holding his green scarf to his chest.
The air was chilled, a solitary flake of snow drifting through the air every few minutes. The sun hung high in the sky, covered by a blanket of grey clouds.
A large door made of dark cherry wood sank into one of the many buildings lining the sidewalk: The [coffee shop name].
Will straightened his black coat, aligning his scarf to the center. He brushed back his curled hair, using the darkened glass of the door as a mirror.
He ran his fingers down his chin, feeling the stubble of his facial hair. With a grunt, he was abruptly pushed forward, his nail stabbing into his cheek. He glared at the passing couple, who entered the coffee shop. Brushing off his coat with a scowl, he curled a gloved hand around the door and followed them in.
He was met with a cloud of heat, warming his fingers and cheeks. Will’s eyes strained as they fought to see everything. The ceilings were impressively tall. He’d assumed the building housed a second floor, like most on the street did, but he was mistaken. The patterned ceiling was littered with golden chandeliers, igniting the place with a dim light. The floor was checkered, waiters in tuxedos and bow ties, moving about it with gold platters.
With a sigh through his nose, Will glanced down at himself. He was grateful now for having gone through the identity crisis after Hannibal had left. He’d traded his cargo pants and flannels for a three-piece grey suit. He doubted this place would have let him in, dressed in anything less.
His heeled, dress shoes clinked importantly across the marble floor. He scanned the crowd for his target.
A dark-haired woman in a low, red dress, smiled up at him as she passed. He glanced behind him to keep her in view.
The air steamed with coffee brewers, the aroma flooding the expanse. The counter was a dark brown wood, tall and thick. Waiters hurried back and forth behind it, procuring more trays and drinks, some with pastries or small sandwiches. He glanced at a passing tray, the smell of ham sandwich exciting him more than any of the coffee.
He started when his gaze caught a dark figure at a back table, rising to their full height. Eyes darkening, Will continued toward the table.
Hannibal waited until Will had taken the opposing seat before sitting back down. His grey eyes pierced through Will’s skin, shining like jagged glass.
Will tugged at his collar, thankful he forwent the tie. He unwrapped his scarf and slid off his gloves tucking them in his coat pocket. He returned Hannibal’s incessant stare, trying to prove how at ease he was in the situation. Prove that this wasn’t that big of a deal to him. That he often met infamous criminals in random coffee shops in Florence. He shed his coat, draping it over the back of his chair.
Hannibal’s familiar cologne wafted across his nose. A pit settled in his stomach.
There were those veiny hands around the glass of water that he recognized so clearly, the combed back grey hair, those sunken eyes and coarse skin. Every aspect of the man was so achingly familiar.
Hannibal’s thin lips lifted in the smallest definition of a smile.
“It’s good to see you, Will.”
Will shivered at the deep tone. It’d been years since he’d heard that voice. Years since he beheld the man who had so drastically altered his life.
Wrinkles formed behind his eyes when he smiled at Will. The wispy brows lifted, the skin tightening over his narrowed cheekbones. He looked the same he did all those years ago before everything fell apart. Before they fell apart.
He hated that he’d taken the invitation to see him so quickly. He hated that the man before him was all he seemed to think about since that night.
Hannibal flicked his fingers, and a young waiter appeared moments later. He bowed his head low, his shaggy hair covering his eyes as he attempted to refill Hannibal’s water.
“Ready to order, gentlemen?”
Hannibal lifted his chin expectantly at Will.
Will tossed his menu over Hannibal’s, not bothering to look at it.
“Black coffee.”
“Black tea,” Hannibal added, handing the waiter their menus. “And a ham croissant.”
The waiter nodded enthusiastically and disappeared with their orders.
“They get younger and younger.” Hannibal mused. “They’ll have children working here next.”
Will watched the waiter trip on the stairs attempting to return behind the tall counter. There was a loud shatter of glass and a grunt of pain from the young man. A co-worker rushed to help him up, exposing his soaked suit and bloody collar. Will turned his attention back to Hannibal.
“You wanted to see me.”
Hannibal smiled. “How’s the wife?”
Will narrowed his eyes. “She’s fine.”
“The boy?”
Will shook his head. “I don’t want you asking about my family.”
Hannibal leaned back in his chair. “How are your dogs then?”
“Why did you want to see me?”
Hannibal cocked his head. “Don’t act like you didn’t come to see me.”
“We’re done.” Will stated adamantly. “I came because of your letter.”
“Did you bring our dear friend, Jack Crawford?” His eyes darkened when he smiled. “That would have been the smart thing to do. That is…” he leaned back forward. “If you’re serious about being done with me.”
Will’s shoulders began to shake, just as a waiter appeared. It was a different one this time; an older man. He placed Will’s coffee in front of him and the tea and croissant before Hannibal.
“Godere.”
Hannibal nodded his thanks and began stirring his tea with his spoon. With his other hand, he slid the ham croissant towards Will.
Will avoided his gaze but took the sandwich. He’d been too nervous to eat that morning and was famished.
He ate in silence, glancing all around the restaurant, noting the various types of people. He waited for Hannibal to say something to fill the silence, but it only lengthened. He’d finished his sandwich and half his coffee by the time he’d had enough and crossed his arms with a huff. Hannibal merely sipped at his tea, a sharp glint in his eye.
“Did you come here to talk? Talk. What do you want from me?”
“From you? Dear Will, you misunderstand me. You should be asking what I want with you.”
“Would you like more water, sir?” the waiter interrupted with a toothy smile.
Hannibal bared his back, looking agitated. “No, thank you.”
Will watched him leave. “What do you want with me then?”
“Come with me.”
Will blinked. “What?”
“Come with me.” Hannibal urged. “Leave the FBI, leave Jack, leave everything behind and come with me.”
Will’s jaw dropped open. He glanced around the coffee shop, as if expecting someone to jump out and clarify it all as a joke. “You can’t be serious?”
“This is the last chance I’m offering.” he laid his hand over the table, the palm upwards at Will.
Will stared at the hand. He’d held it before– remembered the very feel of his skin against his. He wanted to reach for it now. The familiar clasp of the old man–his bony fingers, offering naught but cold. He wanted to hold it tight in his own… but at the same time he wanted to squeeze it so hard, he’d feel the bones break beneath his grasp.
Amidst the red behind his eyes, Will’s elbow jostled his glass, the dark coffee splashing onto the white tablecloth. He shook his head, eyes blurring with spots. The waiter was over in seconds, a wet washcloth in hand.
“Allow me.” He offered, shoving himself in front of Will.
Quick as a cat, Hannibal grasped the waiter’s hand, his eyes growing dark.
“That won’t be necessary.” He said cordially, the look in his eyes anything but.
The waiter pulled back, staring oddly at Hannibal. He nodded politely and walked away.
Will lamented the man’s absence when Hannibal’s attention returned to him. The dark eyes bore into his.
“What’ll it be, Will? If you refuse my offer tonight, you will never see me again.”
Will pulled a tuft of dog fur from the sleeve of his jacket and tossed it to the floor. Hannibal watched his every movement like a predator, his prey.
Will smiled. Then he chuckled, bringing his hand to his chin as he leaned back. Then he began to laugh– an impolite, loud laugh that had eyes from all over the shop staring in their direction, but he kept laughing.
“That’s what you wanted to discuss?” Will asked incredulously. “You could have wrote this in your letter.”
Hannibal stiffened, his lip twitching.
Will laughed some more, basking in the pleasure of Hannibal’s discomfort. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the waiter reapproach. The man stopped just beside the table, staring concerned at Will’s ill-fitting behavior. Will managed a swift glance at Hannibal, knowing where things were about to go, but teasing him anyway.
Hannibal barely accepted the look before he was on his feet, his hand wrapped around the waiter’s throat, while the other slid a knife through his trachea.
Guests began to scream, chairs screeched across the wood, glasses shattering beneath feet.
Blood seeped between Hannibal’s fingers as he released the waiter, who crumpled to the floor, staining the white tablecloth on his way down.
Will remained seated in silence, his eyes following only Hannibal and his movements.
The man wiped his upper lip, leaving a smear of blood. Then his face lifted in a genuine smile–a smile only Will survived to see. He held out his hand, the creases filled with fresh blood.
“Come back to me, Will. You can’t tell me you don’t miss this.”
Will studied the scarlet hand, a smirk pricking at his lips. His eyes rose tauntingly to Hannibal’s.
Hannibal’s breath came in short gasps, his arm remaining outstretched, desperate for Will’s response.
Will let him stew a moment longer before lifting his hand from his lap.
Their fingers intertwined, warm blood sticking them together.
Will let the smile show fully on his face, his eyes locked with Hannibal’s.
Then he began to squeeze.