Archive of Our Own

The reception hall's foyer was spacious and bright, with high ceilings punctuated by dark wood beams and large glass chandeliers that cast a warm light, soft enough to gentle the austerity of the government building.

The walls were decorated with black-and-white photographs chronicling decades of FBI history: classes of new agents, former directors, historic operations. Between each panel, American and agency flags served as a reminder that, despite the champagne and elegant suits, everyone here belonged to the same institution.

A string quartet, arranged on a small dais near the windows, played jazz with classical undertones. The buzz of conversation barely drowned out the music, while white-jacketed waiters moved with almost military precision among the guests, offering flutes of champagne, whiskey, wine, and small appetizers served on silver trays. An elegant buffet had been set up along one wall: freshly sliced ​​roast beef, smoked salmon, aged cheeses, fresh fruit, and perfectly aligned individual desserts.

In the center of the room, groups of agents, profilers, analysts, and executives conversed in small circles. Some laughed with the composure of those who knew they were still working, even if it was after hours; others discussed recently closed cases, unable to truly separate their professional lives from their private lives.

The enormous windows, which occupied almost an entire wall, offered a view of the city lights. They reflected the guests like ghosts superimposed on the nightscape, giving the impression that the party was floating above Washington.

At the back of the room, French windows led to a terrace. There, the noise of the party was muffled; a few officers sought a break from the crowd, a drink in hand, taking advantage of the cool evening air.

It was one of those places built to encourage handshakes, introductions, and casual conversation. Elegant without being ostentatious. Formal without being stiff.

And it was exactly the kind of place Will Graham would gladly avoid.

Jack Crawford, of course, had other plans.

With a firm hand on Will’s shoulder, he led him through the crowd with the ease of someone who'd been around for decades, greeting colleagues and superiors without slowing his pace.

Will, on the other hand, had already counted at least three possible escape routes. One led to the buffet. Another to the terrace. The third, probably, out of the building and directly to the parking lot. But Jack kept dragging him from one group to the next, ignoring the way the profiler seemed to shrink a little more every time someone extended a hand with a friendly smile.

In fact, at that moment, Will was avoiding any psychiatrist or FBI high-ups at all costs, lest Jack try to pull Will's little trick.

Will hated it.

"Hey, you look like you're praying for a body to fall from the sky." Beverly joked, coming over with a plate of appetizers.

"If a body fell from the sky, it would at least make this party interesting." Will muttered. "I walked in and someone took my jacket. I don't even work for the FBI, what am I doing at an FBI party?"

"You're Jack's party trick," Beverly reminded him. "It’s an FBI party; everyone needs a party trick to show off with. And you know he loves these little power plays."

"You know what I love?" 

"Your dogs." 

"Exactly. My dogs." Will nodded. "At my house. Away from people."

Beverly snorted in amusement, before looking around. "They haven't found you yet? Need help escaping?"

Will shook his head, sending another text on his phone.

"Who are you texting?" Beverly asked, leaning over to see Will's phone. Her eyes widened. "Who the hell did you text thirty times in as many seconds?"

"Someone who told me to text whenever I want, whenever I need to, and without a care in the world." Will replied. "Now I just pray they get here before someone else comes to annoy me."

"Someone like Alana?"

Will whirled around, following the direction of Beverly's eyes, a grimace crossing his face as he realized Alana had spotted him.

Compared to other psychiatrists, Alana wasn't that bad.

She had a desire to understand Will's mind, but at least she didn't want to resort to strange, untested methods to figure out how it worked.

However, she had the dubious and extremely painful hobby of trying to persuade Will into a romantic relationship, even though it was clear she had no actual desire to be romantically attached to him.

There was a tension between the need to be accepted and the vain human desire of being seen, as if being chosen by Will gave her status among her peers.

There was a reason Will didn't like psychiatrists. He knew all their tricks.

"Will!" Alana leaned in, pulling Will into a hug. "It almost seems like you're hiding."

"Yeah, because Will would never do that." Beverly shook her head. "No, he loves these parties so much."

"I don't see why he wouldn't appreciate them." Alana wrinkled her nose. "They're very pleasant! But now that you're on Jack's team, I'm sure you'll have even more reasons to be here."

Will grimaced, finally managing to free himself from her grip. "What a joy," he said dryly. "I’m sure that I’ll enjoy the other parties as much as I'm enjoying this one." Which is to say, not at all.

Alana, however, laughed, as if Will had just said he loved this place and the people there.

"Why don't you come with me?" Alana reached out to take Will's arm. Will, grimacing, tried to free himself again to no avail.

"Actually..." Will began, ready to engage Beverly in an excuse.

"If you’ll excuse us, Alana, Will absolutely has to come with me." Doctor Lecter's voice had never been more welcome.

Behind Lecter, Beverly stared at Will in shock, as if she couldn't believe Will had called him.

Beverly seemed to believe Will had many friends.

Will's only friends were Beverly, his dogs, and, although friendship would be putting it mildly,, Hannibal Lecter.

Alana, on the other hand, was turning her cat-like eyes on Hannibal.

Will couldn't tell if she was unsure of who she really wanted, or if she knew who she wanted and was just unsure of who she was comfortable with having.

It was a little humiliating, and embarrassing, and situations such as these were exactly why Will had always preferred to keep to himself, away from other people.

Human dramas started in elementary school and never ended, not for the rest of their lives.

Dogs had no drama, and were much more loyal.

"Hannibal, it's nice to see you!" Alana exclaimed, clearly delighted by the surprise. "I didn't know you were invited!"

"Jack must have disregarded my invitation, actually." Hannibal spoke slowly, politely, and carefully. "But, really, I came here because Will and I have somewhere else to be right now. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Absolutely not!" Beverly intervened, saving Will from hearing Alana's response. "Will was just telling me he was getting antsy waiting up for you, Dr. Lecter!"

"Impatient?" Hannibal cast a smug look at Will before placing a hand on the small of Will's back and starting to lead him toward the exit. "I didn't realize you were waiting so eagerly for me, Will. I would have done my best to be quicker."

"I didn't..." Will glanced at Beverly and glared, blaming her for the added drama that had been brought into his life, before grabbing the cuff of Hannibal's jacket. "Come on, let's go, it's going to be a mess getting my jacket back from the guy who took it.."

"Your jacket wasn't stolen, dear Will," Hannibal told him, after politely saying goodbye to Beverly and Alana. (Will hadn't, but Beverly knew Will's social batteries were low, and Alana already thought Will was out of his mind, so Will could avoid worrying about what she'd think of him at that moment.) "It's customary for the help to keep jackets elsewhere so as not to impede conversation."

"That's a shame, since I wanted to use the jacket to leave." Will muttered in response. "It looks to me like it was used as blackmail."

"Is that your deduction from the case?" Hannibal asked, almost amused.

"Absolutely." Will nodded. "I could profile the criminals here, but I don't want to bore you with the details."

"Nothing you say could ever bore me, Will." Hannibal replied, causing Will to stammer. "Your mind works in ways no one could ever understand or imitate. It's a pleasure to see it at work, and an honor to see you trust me to witness it."

Will swallowed, murmuring a thank you, as Hannibal draped his jacket over his shoulders and helped him put it on.

"Did you have a plan for the evening, or should I just walk you home to your dogs?" Hannibal asked, leading Will out of the reception room.

They hadn't met Jack, which was a plus, though Will assumed he'd pay for his escape the next day at work.

"You can come too, if you don't have any other plans." Will replied quickly. "You saved me from a disastrous murder-suicide, so I guess you can choose what we do next."

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled in amusement. "I don't think you would have killed yourself, Will."

"But you do think I would have killed everyone else?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow in response. "I mean, you're my psychiatrist. You shouldn't be satisfied with my ability to kill."

"Absolutely not, but I know your mind well enough to know that murder, as you crudely put it, would indeed be a last resort in desperate situations." Hannibal replied. "I don't fear for your soul."

"I'm not sure an FBI reception would be considered a desperate situation, but thanks, I suppose." Will frowned. The evening had been too long, and now Will was having trouble following Hannibal's reasoning.

Which was a shame, because he usually found it refreshing to talk to the man, whose knowledge was equally disparate and profound.

"Still, I have complete faith in you, Will." Hannibal smiled, not knowing or perhaps not caring how strange it was for Will to hear that. "That said, I'd love to spend some time at your place."

"As you wish." Will swallowed.

****

"I had a question for you."

Will looked up from where he was tending his dogs, raising an eyebrow at Hannibal.

Hannibal should have known the encephalitis had had a major impact on Will's brain and behavior, yet it was still a surprise to see a bit of himself and a bit of Miss Katz in the man before him, as if Will's psyche was absorbing something tangible from those he interacted with.

It was fascinating, it was interesting.

Especially if absorbing Hannibal's impulses had let Will get much closer to himself.

"If you're asking about my dogs, I can't answer," Will said, narrowing his eyes.

Hannibal paused, suddenly unsure whether Will had acquired those dogs legally, or whether they were legally maintained and registered.

Not that it mattered.

Hannibal was in no position to judge anyone's compliance with the law.

"No, actually, my curiosity was in the bedroom." Hannibal jerked his chin toward the bed in the living room. "You have a functional, well-furnished bedroom upstairs, yet you seem to live only on this floor."

"It's not for me." Will replied quickly, almost hastily, before pressing his lips together and looking toward the stairs. "I mean, the house is mine, so technically the room is mine, too. And I furnished it completely. But it's not for me."

"You mean you didn't buy it with yourself in mind." Hannibal deduced, a pang akin to jealousy coursing through him. "May I ask who you were thinking of in such an intimate and important moment as buying a new house and setting up a living space?"

"My sister." Will replied in a whisper.

His expression had suddenly become devastated, as if Hannibal's question had pushed all the buttons for Will Graham's breakup.

This didn't please Hannibal as much as he'd imagined it would.

"I didn't know you had a sister." Hannibal replied instead, leaning back in his chair and looking at Will. "You never mentioned it."

"I've never been asked." Will replied curtly, narrowing his eyes and frowning at Hannibal.

Hannibal paused. He wanted to know more, to squeeze until he knew everything that Will Graham was.

But at the same time, he didn't want to lose Will to his curiosity, and that looked like it was about to happen.

"I did not mean to press too far," Hannibal apologized. "I'm sorry, Will."

"I'm fine with you going any further," Will denied the apology, then pointed to Hannibal, "but this is a conversation I'd rather have with my friend, not my psychiatrist."

Hannibal frowned, until realization dawned on him.

"I apologize." Hannibal said, correcting his posture. "As I said, it is a real pleasure to see any new aspects of you. I seem to have a tendency to distance myself emotionally when that happens."

"Don't do that." Will shook his head. "I don't like that."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "From everything I understand, you want emotional distance from psychiatrists."

"No, I want physical distance from them." Will corrected Hannibal. "But... I trust you. You're not trying to use me to boost your name, and you're not interested in pretending to be my friend to study me like a guinea pig. So, I don't want emotional distance. If you distance yourself now, I'll feel like I've been played all along, and I hate being used."

"As you should." Hannibal nodded. "I won't deny that I'm curious, of course. I'm a psychiatrist with a background in surgery. I'm obviously interested, but I don't feel compelled to seek answers."

"There's no need to look for anything." Will shrugged. "Mirror neurons."

"What do you mean?" Hannibal asked, blinking.

"My big secret? Mirror neurons." Will said.

"...It was my understanding that with pruning, the mirror neuron networks, although improved in quality, are very limited."

"Well, something went differently in my development." Will explained patiently. "And the number of mirror neurons hasn't decreased. The quality has improved, as you said, as happens with every adult, but the quantity hasn't decreased."

"So, you have the ability to become anyone thanks to a simple aspect of the brain." Hannibal murmured. "The best hunters have a high number of mirror neurons."

"Cetaceans, wolves and lions, birds of prey, and even dogs." Will confirmed. "I’ve read as much too."

"I guess you enjoyed the comparison to dogs, given your propensity." Hannibal nodded toward Will's pack, before realizing something. "Even though they're not dogs, are they? They're more like wolves."

"And I live in Wolf's Trap." Will smiled with amusement, almost sociability. "Seems I've gotten a little too invested in wolves, huh"

"There's nothing wrong with that," Hannibal said. "In fact, I think it's admirable, the way you've helped and supported yourself better than anyone else ever could."

Will smiled, before sighing and saying, "You may have noticed that my social skills are a bit poor. And that I tend to mimic and mirror the person in front of me in conversation."

Hannibal nodded. "But Jack told me about your autism, Asperger's, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not mistaken. It's part of the reason I avoid eye contact. People are much more uncomfortable when I look them in the eye. And I don't need eye contact to bring the conversation up to par with the other person."

"Manipulation in its simplest and most altruistic form." Hannibal stated simply. "Fascinating and rather depressing, since I hate seeing you limit who you are because of social conventions and the discomfort of others. You deserve to be yourself with the people around you."

"The point is, I never learned to be myself," Will explained. "My high mirror neuron count has led me to imitate and emulate the behaviors of those around me all the time. Yet, if I have people I'm particularly close to, my character absorbs from them the traits that, forgive me if I borrow a phrase here, Dr. Lecter, I find most fascinating.”

"I imagine your sister was the prime example," Hannibal stated. "And losing her made you lose your point of reference, or rather, made you lose your primary source. Something that negatively balanced, like a counterweight, the bombardment you were receiving from the outside."

"Yes. But my sister wasn't my blood sister. I was adopted after my father died, and my adoptive sister was incredible at taking care of me. At making me feel normal, even though I wasn't. Losing her was like losing myself."

"May I ask how she died?" Hannibal asked.

"She's not dead." Will replied, looking away. "She was kidnapped."

***

Will hadn't spoken for almost half an hour. He was exhausted. Sitting in the passenger side of Hannibal's Bentley, he watched the landscape pass by without actually seeing it.

They were returning from yet another case headed by Jack Crawford in which Will had spent more than a few hours embedded in the mind of a killer.

"Sleeping behind the wheel is both dangerous and unprofessional," Hannibal said. His voice was calm; soothing.

Will snorted slightly. "I wasn't sleeping, and in case you forgot, I'm not the one driving, either."

"No, not sleeping. You were simply collapsing against my car door with your eyes shut for recreational reasons."

A corner of Will's mouth lifted. "There's a difference between resting my eyes and being asleep, Doctor."

"Indeed there is." Nevertheless, Will could see a glint in the Doctor's eye; the man was teasing.

By the time they reached Hannibal’s place, it was already deep into the night.

The house was silent. The lit windows seemed to float in the darkness like lanterns.

Will hesitated at the door. "I can drive home."

Hannibal looked at him, stared with those frighteningly deep maroon eyes. "You could." He paused for a moment. "But you've slept a total of forty-five minutes in the last thirty-six hours."

Will sighed. "You're disturbingly precise."

"It's my job."

"Your job is supposed to be psychiatry and, last I knew, legally required to be nothing more."

"Come now, Will; you and I are no strangers to bending the law. I take care of my friends."

These last words came out so naturally that Will couldn't think of anything to say to deny them. No barriers, no forts  in his skull to defend against genuine kindness the likes of which he'd yet to experience from anyone the same as Hannibal …. or Miriam.

He entered.

The inside of the house still smelled the same, with old wood, paper, red wine and spices scent. Something warm he could never quite place.

Hannibal handed him a blanket, one he'd gone and whisked up from somewhere. "The guest room's ready."

"Do you always keep it ready?"

"I like to be prepared."

Will laughed softly. "Of course."

***

The house was asleep, but of course  Will wasn't. For all his roadside exhaustion. he couldn't find it in himself to relinquish his hold on the waking world.

He tossed and turned in bed for a long while before giving up, stubborn et eternum.

Strange specters and memories haunted him; the last time he’d seen Miriam’s smile, the last time he’d sent a bullet through another man’s chest. 

The house was asleep, and it was cold…. 

…Will went downstairs; floorboards creaking slightly under his bare feet.

Moonlight streamed through the enormous windows, casting long shadows between the furniture. He inhaled, and it smelled nothing like dust; Hannibal’s home was as well-kept as the man himself. Almost frighteningly so. Almost — he didn’t know. 

Will decided to go in search of him, hoping for late company.

By now he understood (even if he didn’t quite get why just yet) that talking to Hannibal would keep his imagination at bay. At least for a little while.

Lost in thought, he meandered down the nearest hallway, a sleepwalker in all but actuality.

 Out of the corner of his eye, a bright flash of white — Will slowly raised his head.

A noise had come from the hallway. At the end. Where a single bonepale door broke the harmony of the dark wood.

Will continued to stare at it.

Another noise.

Something...

Something had scraped against the wood.

Will walked slowly, as if entranced; closer, and closer, and closer.

The hallway seemed too long.

Every step was muffled.

Will reached the door.

He placed his hand on the doorknob.

Cold. Very cold. Why was it cold? It was wood. He caressed the doorknob, light, soft, tapped it. The thing felt more like bone.

Another vibration; thud.

Almost … as iff something had fallen inside.

Will inhaled, slowly, deeply.

"Hannibal, if you're here..."

No response.

He let go of the doorknob. Lowered his hand —-

—a click.

The door cracked open a few inches.

Frizzy air immediately escaped through the gap.

Too cold for a pantry.

Will frowned, eyes darting, to and fro, from the door to the hall but – well, he didn’t look behind him.

"Why..."

He reached out to open it fully.

A hand wrapped itself around his wrist.

Will flinched. "Damn!"

His heart leaped into his throat, he whirled around, and —

Hannibal!

Close, close, much too close. 

He hadn't made a sound.

His hand was firm and strong around Will's wrist, but not strong enough to hurt. Just... impossible to ignore.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Will's eyes searched Hannibal's, and something in them was different, different, different. 

And then, and then it was gone.

Hannibal smiled; slight, calm, elegant. "I assure you that you’ll find no entertainment, snooping  around my pantry."

Will tried to catch his breath, looked at the crack again. "You gave me a heart attack."

The cold air continued to leak out.

For a moment...

He almost thought he could make out a smell.

Iron. Sweety.

But it quickly vanished, covered by the scent Hannibal’s expensive cologne.

“I thought I heard a noise.”

Hannibal’s smile widened; he shook his head. “The freezer-compressor is getting old. It creaks, sometimes, most often in the night.” 

"You should have it fixed."

"I will."

Another second of silence.

Hannibal reached past him and gently closed the door.

The click of the lock echoed in the hallway.

"Come." His voice had become soft, warm spring meltwater, no more glaciers to be found.. "The tea is getting cold."

And something wasn’t right; Will knew it wasn’t right, but—

But he was exhausted.

And Hannibal was Hannibal.

The person he trusted more than anyone.

So he let it go.

"Alright."

As they walked away toward the kitchen, the house fell silent again.

And Hannibal, without turning around, let out an almost imperceptible breath.

For the first time in a long time, he had been just one step away from losing control of his double life.

Will was not ready for the truth.

***

Hannibal watched Miriam Lass with a feigned sort of pride and concern.

The poor girl was clearly in shock, but Jack couldn't handle her arrival.

Hannibal's hope, of course, was that Jack's efforts would focus on her, freeing Will from his yoke.

Miriam had spent time with the Ripper, after all. Obviously, she should be able to identify him. Jack had no doubts.

Hannibal wondered at the mirrored reactions of those around Miriam. Reflected, inverse to the other defective profiler he knew; where Alana had defended Will, she’d seemed eager to push Miriam to work, saying it would make the traumatized woman feel better to find the culprit of her pain.

And it would. Hannibal knew it was cathartic. But without prior, independent healing, well; in the long run it wouldn't help Miriam at all.

She would always fear her tormentor's escape, and when that happened, she would plunge into the deepest terror, breaking in the parts of herself Hannibal hadn't broken.

"Miriam, you have to tell us who it was," Jack said. "Anything would help now."

Miriam shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

Hannibal looked at her curiously. She hadn't cried much under his control. In fact, most of the time she seemed tense; hell-bent on staying alert, as if she feared something that wasn’t the man who had her bound in a cold, cold room.

Interesting.

"Miriam, you'll feel better," Alana said, sounding sweet and false.

"Come on, don't..." Jack began, growing more abrupt, but his sentence was interrupted by Will's entrance. The profiler entered in a storm of plaid; he smelled of anxious hope and wet dog. An interesting combination.

paused editing here, more soon – "Oh, Will, good, you're here." Jack looked at him annoyed. "You didn't answer my call, so I wonder how you knew you were supposed to be here."

"Miriam!" Will called, making Miriam look up. She held her breath when she saw Will. "Will."

Within a few steps, Will was at Miriam's side, his arms around her.

"I don't want them here." Miriam murmured, speaking into Will's shoulder. "I want to be alone."

Will looked at Jack. "You heard her. Go away."

"Will, you don't have the authority to..." Alana began, but Will stopped her. "I'm her brother. And if you two don't leave now, I'll report you." Will looked at Jack. "I'm sure you can't handle this scandal, Jack."

Hannibal stared in delight, even though a part of him was scared.

If Miriam was the sister Will loved so much, then...

Then Hannibal had no chance with him.

***

Will Graham had never been crazy.

He'd just learned that the only way to stop Jack Crawford was to let him believe he had a weapon he could still use.

When Will brought Miriam to the house he'd bought for them, Will finally got to call her his.

Seeing her there, just seeing her, was so incredible that Will stared at her for a few seconds, unable to say a word.

She smiled faintly. "I'm not surprised by dogs." Miriam bent down. Winston was the first to approach. He sniffed her hand cautiously, then began wagging his tail.

"They trust me."

"They trust almost everyone." Will shrugged.

"No, they don't." Miriam stared at him, smiling, recognizing Will.

"No." Will agreed, closing the door behind him. "You can go to your room if you want."

"My room?" Miriam asked, staring at Will. "We lived in a dingy apartment when..." Miriam trailed off, and Will was very grateful.

"But since I'm the best brother in the world, I made you a room." Will nodded toward the upper floor. "Come on, it's perfectly tidy. Just the way you like it."

Miriam climbed the stairs, looking at Will as if she thought he was crazy.

Probably, Will mused, seeing the room would only confirm that assumption.

Indeed, Miriam opened the door with only a moment's hesitation, before inhaling.

"It's my room." Miriam looked around. "It's all just as I left it before... Oh, Will!" Miriam turned, pulling Will into a tight embrace.

Devoid of any pride, Will slumped into Miriam's embrace, soaking up her affection like a sponge.

"I missed you."

Miriam hummed a tune, the song she sang to Will to sleep when they met. The song that silenced the voices in Will's head when nothing else worked.

"I won't judge you, but... you know it's not healthy, holding on to the things of a dead man."

"You weren't dead." Will denied it, staring at Miriam. "I knew you were alive."

"The Ripper..." Miriam began, perhaps trying to explain to Will that her being alive was the exception.

"I know," Will interrupted, because Miriam was the exception, too, "but you're not one of those he targets, Miriam. You were a means to get to Jack. I knew you were alive."

"How?" Miriam asked. "I was convinced he would kill me the moment the game was over."

"But the game was with Jack," Will said. "You were Jack's arrogance. He was punishing him, taking away something he should never have had in the first place."

Miriam narrowed her eyes, staring intently at Will. "Alana told me you were insane, compromised. Fragile."

"Yes." Will nodded. "He lost someone he shouldn't have. I made everyone think I was another one of those things."

"You fooled the FBI." Miriam acknowledged, a hint of pride in her gaze.

"And the Ripper." Will added, watching the pride fade in horror.

"Will!" Miriam scolded him.

"I thought it would lead me to where you were." Will confessed. "And you know I don't care about morality the way normal people do. I just wanted to keep you safe."

"I would have made a deal." Miriam acknowledged. "You know," she commented, starting to leaf through her files, those notes that had brought her to the Ripper's door, "it would have worked. From what I remember, he would have loved your mind."

"Nice." Will commented.

"Will." Miriam called, her gaze fixed on the last note.

Will looked at the paper, feeling something pressing against his chest.

He should have known better.

****

Hannibal opened the door.

He smiled when he saw Will.

"What a pleasant surprise."

Will was still.

A gun pointed directly at the center of his chest.

Hannibal's smile faded.

"Can I come in?"

"You're already in."

Will looked at him with completely clear eyes.

No confusion.

No tremors.

No madness.

Just a devastating clarity.

"How long?"

Hannibal asked.

"Long enough."

"The encephalitis?"

"Never been crazy."

For the first time in many years...

Hannibal Lecter was genuinely surprised.

"You were acting."

"For Jack."

"For me."

"To see which of us would try to use me."

Silence.

"I wish I'd been wrong."

Hannibal lowered his gaze slightly.

"But what?"

"But I was right."

Will's eyes filled with tears.

"You were the Chesapeake Ripper."

"Yes."

"You watched me suffer."

"Yes."

"You let me think I was going crazy."

Hannibal didn't answer.

He couldn't deny it.

Will took a deep breath.

His finger was still on the trigger.

"You know the worst part?"

Hannibal waited.

"That if I were truly crazy..."

His voice cracked.

"...I would have forgiven you."

A long silence fell between them.

"Shoot, Will."

He stared at him.

The gun wasn't shaking.

But his hand was.

"Shoot."

Will closed his eyes.

He saw Abigail.

He saw Miriam.

He saw his dogs.

The dinners.

The conversations.

The wine.

The laughter.

All true.

And all false.

When he opened his eyes again...

He slowly lowered the gun.

"I can't."

Hannibal smiled with infinite sadness.

"I know."

"Don't take this as forgiveness."

"I won't."

Will took a step back.

"Listen carefully."

His voice was cold.

"If you come near me again..."

Another step.

"...to Miriam..."

Another.

"...or even one of my dogs..."

Their gazes remained locked.

"...I'll kill you."

This time Hannibal believed him.

Because he saw something he'd never seen before in Will's eyes.

Not anger.

Not fear.

Mourning.

The mourning of a man who had just buried his best friend, while the latter was still standing before him.

***

The house in Wolf Trap was empty.

Will had sold almost everything.

Miriam sat in the passenger seat of the old pickup.

In back, the dogs took up practically the entire covered bed.

"Where are we going?"

Will looked at the road ahead.

"Louisiana."

"Why there?"

A small smile.

"Because there are swamps."

"And?"

"Swamps are full of noises."

Miriam laughed softly.

"Do they help you sleep?"

"No."

She started the engine.

"But they cover the ones I carry inside."

The car slowly drove away.

Far away, in Baltimore, Hannibal Lecter stood at the window of his study.

He stared at the empty road for a long time.

He wouldn't chase them.

For the first time since meeting Will Graham, she understood that some losses couldn't be healed with patience, intelligence, or manipulation.

Some losses had the bitter taste of wasted opportunities.

And that, perhaps, was the one thing even Hannibal Lecter could never stomach.

***

Miriam found Will sitting on the porch.

The coffee cup in her hands had been cold for at least half an hour.

The dogs slept scattered at her feet.

She sat next to him without saying anything.

For a few minutes, they listened only to the chirping of insects and the wind in the trees.

It was Miriam who broke the silence.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Will nodded slightly.

"Why do you still love Hannibal?"

Will remained still.

"It's a serious question."

"Yes."

He looked down at his cup.

"I thought that was over."

"What?"

"The idea that everyone expects me to hate him."

Miriam looked at him carefully.

"And instead?"

Will let out a slow breath.

"But no."

Silence.

"I still love him."

She said it with an almost disarming simplicity.

As if she were saying the sky was blue.

Miriam blinked.

Will continued.

"It doesn't mean I forgive him."

"I know."

"It doesn't mean I condone what he did."

"I know."

"It doesn't mean I want to see him again, either."

Miriam tilted her head slightly.

"But?"

Will smiled bitterly.

"But love doesn't work that way."

He ran a hand over his face.

"I wish I could wake up one morning and find I don't feel anything anymore."

He gave a short, humorless laugh.

"It would be so much simpler."

Miriam remained silent for a few more seconds.

Then a corner of her mouth lifted.

"Perfect."

Will looked at her, confused.

"Perfect?"

"Yes."

"Why would it be perfect?"

She stood up, dusted off her jeans, and nodded toward the driveway.

"Because it's here."

Will frowned.

"Who?"

"Hannibal."

...

The world seemed to stop.

"What...?"

"It's out here."

Will whirled around.

Parked next to the fence was a black Bentley.

He gasped.

"How long...?"

"Long enough to hear the whole conversation."

Will closed his eyes.

"Miriam..."

"What?"

"You did it on purpose."

"Absolutely."

"You're terrible."

She smiled.

"I learned from the best."

"Who would that be?"

"From you."

Will dropped his head into his hands.

"I can't believe you did that."

"You can."

"No."

"Yes."

He laughed.

Against all logic, he actually laughed.

Miriam patted him lightly on the shoulder.

"Go."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Will."

"What?"

"You just confessed you love him."

"I confessed it to you."

"And unfortunately for you..."

He pointed to the driveway again.

"...I wasn't the only one listening."

Will stood still for a few more seconds.

Then he slowly stood up.

Each step toward the gate seemed more difficult than the last.

When he arrived, Hannibal was still there.

Standing next to the car.

Hands behind his back.

Elegant as ever.

But something was different.

For once, he seemed... uncertain.

Will stopped a few feet away.

Neither of them spoke.

Hannibal broke the silence.

"I shouldn't have listened."

Will snorted.

"No."

"But I'm glad I did."

Will looked down.

"I won't take back what I said."

"I would never ask that of you."

Another silence.

Then Hannibal smiled slightly.

"You still love me."

Will looked up at him.

"It's incredibly annoying, isn't it?"

For the first time in years, Hannibal laughed.

A real laugh.

A small one.

Almost incredulous.

"Yes."

Will shook his head slowly.

"I don't forgive you."

"I know."

"Maybe it'll never happen."

"I know."

"But..."

The word hung in the air.

Hannibal waited.

"...I can't imagine a world where I completely stop loving you."

Hannibal's eyes softened in a way very few people would have recognized.

"For me," he said softly, "this is more than I ever hoped for."

From the porch, Miriam watched the scene with her arms crossed.

Then she smiled to herself.

"Finally."

And, with the timing of someone who knew when it was time to disappear, she returned to the house, leaving the two men alone with everything they still had to learn to say to each other.