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Chapter Text

Every person who has ever lived had a Peak. A single moment that, whether it's expected or not, is the most important. That means something different to everyone. Maybe it's the moment that you fulfill a lifelong goal, or when you finally realize what your purpose is, or the one piece of your life that will become your legacy. The thing that makes you go down in history.

Most people don't know what their Peak will be. Some people don't even recognize it when it passes. But everyone has one person who can see their potential.

Growing up, Will's dad always told him that he and Will's mother were soul mates. That the first time he looked into her eyes, he saw the day Will was born. That their son would be her Peak, her legacy. It was probably meant to be inspiring, a reminder of how deeply she loved him even though he never got to know her, but it felt like a great deal of pressure. To be honest he was relieved when, in a drunken stupor while Will was in high school, his father revealed that he and his mother had never been soul mates to begin with. He had no idea what her Peak was, let alone his own. Will suspected it must have happened early. It must not have been all that remarkable.

Will wasn't sure he wanted to know what his Peak was. He was terrified that it had already passed him. He had a few suspicions. It might be one of his books getting published. Or maybe all the dogs he'd rescued. A criminal he'd helped capture. Whatever it was, if and when he met his mate, they probably wouldn't be that impressed. He's heard horror stories about that. Looking into someone's eyes and seeing they become a famous scientist or a Nobel prize winner, and them rejecting you because they saw you winning a high school football championship or getting promoted to Regional Manager.

Will doesn't want to meet his mate. Not really. Doesn't find any outcome that enjoyable. If his mate's Peak is lower, or already passed, then what does he have to look forward to? If it's high, how can Will compete with that? Seeing someone's potential should be inspiring, optimistic. Instead it feels like a death sentence.
He's listening to Jack as he describes the missing girls in Minnesota. He's trying to focus, but he feels on edge. He hates meeting new people, and there's one in the room. Doctor Hannibal Lecter, a psychiatrist here to consult on the Shrike case. He'd given the man a sharp nod but hadn't looked up from his coffee.

"Tasteless," He mutters to himself.

"Do you have trouble with taste?"

Will swallows. Nice Accent. "My thoughts are often not tasty."

Doctor Lecter sits beside him, Will glances at him from the corner of his eye. Nice suit. "Nor mine. No effective barriers."

"I build forts."

"Associations come quickly," He counters.

"So do forts."

He's quiet for a beat and he can feel Doctor Lecter's eyes on him. "Not fond of eye contact, are you?"

Will chuckles. Well that's a loaded question. "Eyes are distracting," He says, because of course they are. There's an unavoidable moment of 'what if?' every time you look a person in the eye for the first time. And then a flicker of either relief or disappointment and then how does anyone react properly when you finally do see something? How does anyone look at anyone else without being terrified? "You see too much, you don't see enough." He sees Doctor Lecter's hand fall to the table beside him. Nice hands. "A-and it's hard to focus when you're thinking-"

Before he can stop himself, his glance flicks up to meet Doctor Lecter's. Brown, lovely deep brown, staring right into his own.

His heart stops. He swallows. "W-when you're thinking, um, 'Oh, those...those whites are-"

The Tableau is gruesome. Artistic, clean, and absolutely brutal. Organs strewn about in an intricate pattern. And it's an MO he recognizes instantly.

"-really white.' Or uh, 'H-he must have hepatitis'," He tries desperately to feign normalcy, to continue his train of thought, to hide that anything is amiss. Sometimes soul mates are one-sided. It's rare but it happens. Dear God, please be one-sided. "Or 'is that a burst vein?'"

Doctor Lecter is still staring, his mouth quirks up into a smile. Oh God. Oh no. Please no, I'm not ready to die. Please don't know. Don't know that I know.

Will forces his eyes to rest back on the table, clears his throat nervously. "S-so yeah, I try to avoid eye contact whenever possible." Should've avoided it this time. I'm going to die.

The universe can never go easy on Will, can it? His family, his brain, his career, and now-

Now his soul mate is the Chesapeake Ripper.

-

Hannibal has been prepared for this day for quite some time. He's always known it was a possibility. He's never been interested in sharing his life with another person, romantically or otherwise, but it would be foolish to disregard the chance.

He knew what his mate would see. His accomplishments are many, his legacy more grand than most. He wasn't sure which of his works would appear in his mate's eye, but it hardly matters, they are all worth beholding.

It wasn't an eventuality that he was particularly worried over, especially as he got older. A part of him had begun to suspect that he didn't have a mate after all, but it wouldn't matter if he did. He would kill them the moment he had the chance.

Will Graham is handsome, smart, aggressive. He's also very rude and more twitchy than Hannibal would like. He's repressing something, something that takes every ounce of him to keep under the surface. Hiding something behind those pretty blue eyes, Will? Let me see it. Even without a soul mate connection, there is much to be seen in someone's gaze.

"Not fond of eye contact, are you?"

He tries to force out a laugh but it's breathy around its edges. He adjusts his glasses. Does he need those to see, or is he building another wall? "Eyes are distracting," He says at last. "You see too much, you don't see enough."

Hannibal smiles. It's true, but for many people that's the appeal. It's common for people to establish eye contact with a new person as quickly as possible, to ensure the chance of being truly seen does not pass them by. Will Graham must frustrate everyone he meets, eyes glued to the ground like this. Is there something he's afraid of seeing, or something he doesn't want others to see?

He places a hand on the table between them, trying to establish a place in his line of sight. It has the desired effect, and Will's eyes flick upwards at last. "And it's hard to focus when you're thinking-"

Blue. So lovely, so bright and clear. It's a crime, keeping those behind glasses. His pupils dilate in terror and Hannibal's vision flashes. He can't resist a smile.

Oh. Oh. Well, isn't that fascinating.

Will keeps talking, fumbling through more excuses about eye contact and shallow inferences, but Hannibal is still locked on those eyes. He knows that initial glimpse is all he'll get, that all he'll see now is that gorgeous blue, but he's hoping it will show itself again.

Will's Peak is glorious. Visceral and untamed and so, so beautiful. Hannibal wants to live there, in that moment.

All plans of murdering Will go swiftly out the window, replaced with immediate infatuation. Of course, he'd been a fool to believe anything else would happen.

His soul mate is a ruthless killer. He's less experienced than Hannibal, but they are the same at heart.

Love at first sight, it would seem.

Will looks back down at the desk. He's gone pale, there's a fine sweat being born near his hairline. Oh darling, no.

"S-so yeah, I try to avoid eye contact whenever possible."

Hannibal can smell how afraid his mate is, feels the urge to reach out to him. There's nothing to fear, my love. We are the same. Couldn't you see that your darkness is made to blend with mine?

Unless.

Oh, what a treat. This will be magnificent.

His Peak hasn't happened yet. He has no idea what's coming, does he? No wonder this sweet boy is so anxious, he hasn't accepted the beast within him. But it's there, Hannibal knows it's there. And he is more than happy to help it come to life, if that's what his soul mate requires of him.

Chapter Text

Will spends most of the night pacing in his motel room. He needs a plan, needs ten plans. The Ripper knows. Knows that he knows. He hadn't been sure before, when he'd walked free from their first conversation and lived to see the following morning. Maybe the Ripper didn't know where he lived, but maybe their connection was unrequited.

Not that there was affection to be returned. He sighs, rubbing his hands down his face. Why in God's name is his soul mate the Chesapeake Ripper? Is it one of those esoteric 'fate has bound us' things? Like soul mates in the sense that Will is destined to catch him? He'd never heard of a connection being like that but he's the Chesapeake fucking Ripper, the rules don't apply here. They can't, because Will would never, could never-

He can't even think about it.

But when he saw Cassie Boyle, draped over those antlers, he felt a terrible suspicion that he knew exactly who killed her. And it wasn't the Minnesota Shrike.

He'd tried to avoid this without raising suspicions, but it hadn't worked out.

"Hey, Jack?" He'd said, catching him on the way out of the lab. "I know you uh, respect Doctor Lecter's opinion, but-" He hesitated, fidgeting with his glasses a little. "P-please don't leave me alone with him."

Jack had just smiled, completely unaware of the danger Will is in. The danger they're all in. "I know you hate socializing, Will, but Doctor Lecter is going to be a great asset on this case."

He pictured himself trying to convince Jack a few times. He can only picture it going one way.

'Doctor Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. How do I know? Just trust me. Evidence? Not exactly.'

"I just have a, uh. Bad feeling about him."

Jack just waved him off. Typical.

There's a knock at his door, and he prepares to try and divide his attention. He wants to catch the Shrike, but it's going to be difficult to tear his thoughts away from the Chesapeake Ripper.

Speaking of the Ripper-

"Good morning, Will. May I come in?"

Will's heart stops. His eyes lock onto the Ripper's as if on instinct. Dark. So dark they reflect Will back at him. The Ripper smiles.

"Where's Crawford?" He asks, chastising himself for the quiver in his voice. He gives the man in his doorway a quick once-over. Not armed, at least not that Will can see, but not empty-handed either. Is that....Tupperware? What is happening?  

"Deposed in court." He smirks. "It seems the adventure will be yours and mine today."

Will runs some calculations. The Ripper is blocking the doorway. Will's strong, but there's no way he can get past him. And he doubts he'll be able to outrun him to his rental car. Maybe, but he's half-naked. Oh God, I'm in my underwear in front of my serial killer soul mate. How many times has that sentence been said? Hopefully this is the first. His keys are on the bedside table, with his phone. Calling for backup was definitely a no-go, he'd be a puddle by the time they got to him.

There's a gun in his bag. If he made a dash for it, maybe he could get to it before the Ripper-

"I know that you would prefer to avoid my company," He says, because of course Jack told him. "But the two of us have much to discuss."

Will's terror must be evident in his eyes because the Ripper looks pleased. "This Shrike business is quite intriguing, after all."

He has the strangest impulse to smile and it makes him sick. Fan of Double Talk, is he?

"May I come in?" He asks again.

Will stares at him. Tries to divine something in those eyes. There's a spark. Humor? No. Curiosity. Or is it mine, reflecting in his?

Will backs into the motel room, slowly. Keeps his eyes on the man in the doorway.

"I'm very careful about what I put into my body," He says, ushering Will toward the small table near the window. "Which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day."

Will stares at the bowl before him. The Ripper busies himself with pouring some coffee from a thermos into a small cup. He then places that beside Will's bowl. He eyes it suspiciously. Poison isn't normally the Ripper's style, but then nothing about this situation is normal.

The Ripper's breakfast looks identical to Will's. "Some eggs, some sausage," He says to fill the space.

He's not eating. He's watching Will. He wants me to take a bite first.

An idea comes to mind then.

Does he...think that I don't reciprocate the connection? Is this a test, to see what I know?

Maybe so. Maybe he saw Will's Peak, but isn't sure if Will saw his. He hadn't addressed it when they were with Crawford, after all. Not directly.

Will sees an opportunity. Play cool, don't die. Worth a shot, if it means he can live to see his dogs again.

He takes a large bite. The satisfied hum leaves him before he can think to repress it. Oh my God. "It's delicious. Thank you."

"My pleasure," He returns and begins to eat.

Will takes another bite. If it's poison, then it's damn good poison.

"I would apologize for making you uncomfortable the last time we spoke," He says. That accent is really smooth, where is he from? "But I have a habit of pressing people's barriers, so I would probably need to apologize often. I must use it sparingly."

Will downs a gulp of coffee. "I'd really prefer to just keep things professional," he says. It's what he would say to anyone. It's also the truth. Catching killers is, by definition in Will's case, professional after all.

"Or we could socialize like adults. God forbid we become friendly."

Will feels his heart jump at that. God forbid indeed. "I don't really find you that interesting."

It's a calculated risk, but he feels confident in it. It's an inflammatory thing to say, but it also indicates that Will doesn't know his identity. What criminal profiler could say he isn't interested in the Chesapeake Ripper?

It's a risk. It's also an absolute lie.

"You will."

Will almost chokes on his coffee. He's been avoiding the Ripper's eyes but he glances up now, sees a knowing smile on his face.

If this is a test, then Will thinks he might be failing. Might as well do some testing of his own.

Fine. If you're going to kill me, I want to at least die getting some work done.

"I don't think the Shrike killed that girl in the field," He says.

The Ripper looks back down at his breakfast. "The devil is in the details. What gave it away?"

Will raises his eyebrows. Was that a confession? Maybe not. "Everything," He says, carefully observing the man across from him. "That crime scene was practically...gift wrapped. For me."

Oh. Oh my God, did you want that? For me to know? How much of this is a test? Or am I just overthinking things? Christ, his head hurts.

The Ripper nods. He's pleased. Amused. Not threatened at all. What did he see when he looked at me?

"How do you see me?" He asks. It's bold, maybe even stupid. But there's not a drop of malice in the monster across from him. It's confusing, and frustrating, and he'd honestly be less frightened if the Ripper just stabbed his fork into Will's neck right now because if he doesn't then it means he saw something in Will that makes the rewards of this game worth the risk. 

The Ripper smiles. "As the Mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by."

Will laughs. It's not a polite laugh, either, it's genuine because fuck that answer is useless. And he knows it. Knows that's not what Will wanted to know. He's still fucking Double Talking. And it's... weirdly stimulating to Will.

It's funny. Funny because Will's completely forgotten about the gun in his bag.

He knew the Chesapeake Ripper would be a charmer. It's part of his profile at this point, because it's practically a guarantee based on his victims.

The Ripper isn't planning on killing him, at least not today. So at least he might make himself useful. Will has more pressing tasks at hand.

Focus on the Shrike. Focus on the Shrike.

-

It's a simple joy, helping your beloved reach their potential. Something pure, indicative of everything that makes humanity worthwhile. Their society is built on this principle, and yet Hannibal felt so sure it wouldn't be something he could participate in.

He thought it was beautiful, all the same. To lock eyes with the person who sees the best version of yourself, to see the best version of them in turn. To then set to work, roll up your sleeves and help one another reach that apex, no matter how high or low. To bask in the afterglow of it together, and reap the harvest of your beloved's accomplishments- there must be no further joy.

He was certain of that now. Not just joy in the reaping, he realized, but joy in the toiling as well. In the planting and the watering and the endless nurturing.

It fills Hannibal with pride, knowing that he would be instrumental in Will's Becoming. Every time he closes his eyes now, he sees Will reaching his Peak- beautiful and bloody and completely divine. He'll be patient, as always, and take any steps to help Will get there.

Their conversation that morning had been delightful. Will is cunning, so sharp and quick as a whip. He knew right away that Hannibal had been the one to so carefully wrap his gift, and likely a hundred other things that he's still waiting to reveal.

Will's being patient too. Even though he won't acknowledge his darkness yet, he still hasn't challenged Hannibal, let alone breathed a word of it to Jack Crawford aside from some vague nonsense about not wanting to be alone with him. He's trying to fool himself, that much is clear.

He truly feels like he can't predict what his soul mate will do next, and knows that's exactly why they're connected to begin with. Smart, pretty, nervous thing- what on earth are you planning?

"They know," He says before hanging up the phone. It's something he would've done regardless, if only because he's curious to see what Hobbs and Will might do. But now he's acting with purpose, his thoughts completely goal-driven.

Will is teetering on the edge of something wonderful, Hannibal can feel it in his every breath. There's no need to drag him, he only needs a slight nudge. So Hannibal will waste no time, he starts nudging today.

He watches Will swallow something for his headache before approaching the house. He's surprised that his mate was so willing to share a car with him when he's been so skittish, but perhaps the breakfast had earned him some favor.

Or perhaps he just recognized that Hannibal is too tenacious to take no for an answer.

Hobb's wife falls onto the porch, gaping slash along her neck spilling blood across the stone. Will kneels beside her and Hannibal can hear him gasping for air, already in a panic. Good. It will be exciting to see how he behaves when frenzied.

He places a hand on her neck far too late, she's already gone before he can apply any pressure. Her blood coats his arms and Hannibal tries to commit the image to memory, to store it on a shelf alongside his vision of Will's Becoming.

Will casts him an unsteady glance. "Stay here," he orders. Hannibal was planning on it. For a moment, at least.

He pulls the gun from its holster as he walks inside. Hannibal feels a shadow of disappointment. Guns aren't suited for killers like Will and himself, they are men of hands and blades and teeth. Still, it's a start. If he uses it.

He hears gunshots. Several. Too many. We'll work on that.

When Hannibal enters the kitchen, Will is kneeling over Hobbs' daughter. The Shrike himself is lying against the cabinets, littered with gunshot wounds.

Darling Will is shaking like a leaf. Hannibal's heart seizes up at the sight of him. He's covered in blood, it's spattered across his face and even decorating the glasses he wears to keep others out. He looks breathtaking, but he's clearly in distress. Hannibal understands, killing a man for the first time can be terribly overwhelming. He longs to cup his mate's face, to hold him in his arms until he stops feeling so frightened.

He's unraveling before Hannibal's eyes. He's trying to help the girl but he's having trouble getting himself together. Hannibal considers letting her die, but the panic in Will's eyes gives him pause. If Abigail Hobbs dies here, how might it affect Will's Becoming? Hannibal can imagine Hobbs as a good first taste- he's a serial killer, after all. For a man who's trying so hard to convince himself of his own virtue, Garrett Jacob Hobbs might be an ideal first kill. But to have this girl's blood on his hands?

Hannibal gently bats Will's hands away. He realizes for a thrilling moment that this was their first contact. That the first time the two of them have touched, Will has the blood of an entire family soaking his skin. Good. Excellent.

He holds her wound fast, limiting the blood loss. Will is still shivering uncontrollably, his eyes darting all around the room like he's looking for an anchor. Will, my heart, you know where your anchor is.

Eventually he finds it. Their eyes meet and Will's brow furrows in deep confusion. His eyes dart down to Hannibal's hands- the hands keeping Abigail Hobbs alive- and then back up to his mate. He opens his mouth to speak but Hannibal knows this isn't the time. Patience. Let it wash over him. Let him adjust at his own pace, there's no rush.

"You. H-how did you...I didn't want to-"

"Call an ambulance, Will. I have her."

The last thing he needs right now is Will asking too many questions this early. He might scare himself away if he understands too much.

All in good time. Will's Peak, whenever it comes, will be well worth the wait. It's important, so important, that Hannibal gets this right.

Chapter Text

"I want you back in the field. And I'm recommending a psych eval."

Will nods. Of course he is. He glances up at Alana. He'd always been afraid to look at her, but he'd taken the chance a few months after they met. A naive part of him had hoped she'd be his soul mate. Part of him still wishes she was. Or wished that she didn't care about finding hers. He didn't need to know what her Peak was to want to help her reach it. They could've been happy, Will could've made her happy. Still wants to.

After all it's hard to care about soul mates when the universe has connected you to a serial killer.

"Are we starting now?" He asks, regarding Alana.

"Oh, the session wouldn't be with me," She says.

"Hannibal Lecter's a better fit, your relationship isn't personal."

Will has to bite back a laugh. Better fit. Not personal. Is it funnier because he's my soul mate, or because your sending me into the mouth of the Ripper, again?

"Therapy doesn't work on me. I know all the tricks."

He frowns to himself. I know all his tricks. Now there's an idea.

"Why not just have a conversation with Hannibal?" Alana prods, but his mind is already made up.

It took a couple days but he has half a plan now. It's only half, but maybe it could become a whole plan by the end of the day.

Sure, lets have the Chesapeake Ripper decide if I'm insane.

He hasn't said anything about the Ripper's identity to anyone. Will knows that he's actively putting innocent people in danger because he could strike again at any moment, but what could he do?

He's sure as shit not going to admit to being his soul mate. He doesn't care about his social standing, but what does that say about him? That he's been deemed a perfect match for a brutal, awful monster? Even if he did decide to commit social suicide, it certainly wouldn't hold up in court. Not without actual evidence. Things like that never do.

So he'll get some evidence.

He knows the Ripper's profile backwards and forwards. He knows all his tricks. He knows that he uses his charm to gain people's trust. Now that he sees the man himself, he knows that's a combination of pretty words spoken in an equally pretty accent, and the mystique that comes with an eccentric but lavish lifestyle. He knows that his weakness is a love of theatrics, that his need to be observed and admired will be the key to catching him. He knows that the Ripper likes to play with his food through mutilation, and perhaps in Will's case, flirtation.

He can't help but wonder what he must've seen in Will's eyes, what amazing eventual success is going to top this.

Because Will Graham is going to catch the Chesapeake Ripper. Fair and square. That's why they're mated, has to be.

He still isn't sure why the Ripper hasn't killed him yet, why he seems so keen on having Will around. He's planning something, but Will can't figure out what.

"Is it harder to imagine the thrill somebody else feels killing, now that you've done it yourself?" He asks a few minutes into their session.

Will hesitates. Another very loaded question. Eventually he nods, and he notices the way the Ripper almost looks disappointed with his answer.

Well. That's interesting. I knew you were playing a game with me. Is this the game you're choosing? The idea fills him with rage. He's not playing that game. Not by the Ripper's rules.

"So this killer," the Ripper diverts. "Why is he planting his victims?"

"We're supposed to be talking about the Shrike case," Will says. In truth, he doesn't want to think about what happened in Minnesota ever again, but he's not letting the Ripper take control of the conversation.

He shrugs. "I don't think you're insane, Will. I intend on telling Agent Crawford as much."

"So we're continuing this meeting for your benefit."

"For both of our benefits," He corrects with a knowing smile. "Feeding both of us, taking the edge off our intellectual hunger."

Will laughs, hates that he laughs. He feels sick every time this demon pulls a smile from his lips, and yet it keeps happening.

Will doesn't make a move to leave, just regards the man across from him. Their eyes meet, and there's that spark of curiosity again.

"You wanted me to kill Garrett Jacob Hobbs."

The Ripper's smile is almost imperceptible, quirk of the lips gone in a flash but still lingering in those dark eyes.

"It's only natural that I should want you to follow whatever you desire, Will," he purrs, and Will feels his flight or fight response kick in. It's the closest they've come to actually acknowledging their bond and it sends a terrible shiver crawling down his spine. "I aim to help you seek out whatever might bring you joy."

The words wash over him and Will feels fresh anger creeping up his neck. He digs his nails into the armrest of his chair. "You thought that I would enjoy killing Hobbs."

"Did you?"

He forces himself to look at the floor, the Ripper's gaze too paralyzing, too terrible, too fucking proud. "No," He spits. He cares more about resistance than honesty. "That day in his kitchen was the worst moment of my life. Second worst," He amends, standing to storm out. "Meeting you was still worse, I think."

He hears the Ripper stand to follow him, slowly. His footsteps are even and quiet, like he's in no rush. "You'll fall apart out there on your own, Will. You need a supporting presence in your life."

At this Will feels the strongest anger yet. A vengeful, overwhelming anger. Anger over something he didn't fully realize he cared about, had convinced himself he didn't care about since childhood.

"You were supposed to be my support," He snarls, turning on him. And oh, he's furious with this man. "I was supposed to be able to rely on you." It stings, terribly. Everybody only gets one, and the one Will got doesn't care about him. He sees Will as a plaything, a toy he can dispose of once he's broken. Will deserves better, why is his soul bound to Hannibal Lecter? He wants a new mate, wants to throw this one away and take someone else's.

"Did you consider, even once, how you would make me feel? Did you?"

Will doesn't even know how he feels, but it's terrible. He feels abandoned, betrayed, lost, alone. He feels scorned, wronged by someone who didn't even know who he was hurting.

He wants to realize his potential, whatever it is. He cares about his Peak, he wants to find it, he always has. Everyone does. He wants to invest himself in helping someone else find theirs, desperately. He wants to know that peace, to know that he and his mate are both made better because of their bond. He spent years telling himself that he didn't care about it but he can't anymore, not now that it's been stolen from him by this monster.

He feels hot tears prickling at his eyes and turns them skyward, refusing to cry in front of the Ripper.

Will wants to feel wanted, needed, loved.

But he can't. He won't know anyone else's Peak. The only Peak he knows is the Ripper's, and the Ripper doesn't need any help killing.

Will wouldn't give it to him if he did need it.

"You can rely on me, Will," The Ripper says, and Will lets out a bitter laugh. He steps closer to Will but pauses when his shoulders tense.

Will can feel the Ripper's eyes searching his face, trying unsuccessfully to catch his eyes again. He chases that eye contact. It must be a power play. Or maybe he just enjoys seeing. Being seen.

When he speaks, his voice is heartbreaking in its sincerity. "I want to support you."

Will grits his teeth but a tear falls despite his efforts. Then another. It's humiliating, but he can't stop himself. He's grieving the loss of his future, and it's too much to bear.

Grief is just love with nowhere to go.

He sees the Ripper reach out to him in his periphery. He flinches but doesn't back away. Gently, so gently that it burns along his skin, he rubs his thumb across Will's cheek.

Will jerks his head away before the touch can become anything more, roughly wipes his face on his sleeve. The skin where they'd made contact buzzes, imbued with an overwhelming potential energy.

"Come back next week, Will. Please."

Will finally looks at him, wishes he hadn't. So dark, but warm, too. Had they always been so warm? "For another therapy session?" He asks.

Doctor Lecter smiles, and the warmth gathers in his eyes like high-quality rum. Will feels an urge to get drunk. "No," He says. "I'll tell Jack that I've approved you for fieldwork regardless, I have no intention of impeding your work."

"So we'd just be...having conversations."

"Yes. Completely off the record. I wouldn't even charge you for it," He says with a soft chuckle. Despite himself, Will smiles. It's nauseating, but it's tolerable.

Will hesitates and Doctor Lecter leans against his desk nonchalantly. "We worked well together with the Shrike, perhaps I could aid you with your cases, in addition to keeping Jack Crawford from abusing your mind."

He sighs. This is objectively a terrible idea. Doctor Lecter is dangerous in every sense. "And would that...benefit both of us?" He asks. What's in it for you?

Doctor Lecter smirks, holds Will's eye like it belongs to him. According to fate, it does. "I think it would. I'm predisposed to enjoy your company, after all. And as I said, I'm partial to the pursuit of desires."

Will searches Doctor Lecter's eyes. Sees amusement, more curiosity, smugness. There's something else there too, something soft and warm. Admiration.

Will wants to catch the Ripper. The more time he spends with him, the easier that'll be. It's a goal-driven decision.

"Same time, same place?"

Chapter Text

Hannibal had a backup plan, initially. To frame Will for the murders of Cassie Boyle and Marisa Schurr. It wasn't something he was particularly keen on, since it would surely cause dear Will to despise him, but if it proved necessary he would. Then even if he did change his mind and expose Hannibal's secrets, no one would ever believe him. Luckily it seems it won't come to that. Hannibal's work toward bringing Will to his Peak is going quite smoothly, as he knew it would.

Well, as smoothly as one could hope for, circumstances as they are. Will keeps showing up, week after week, which Hannibal views as both very encouraging and deeply flattering. He's quickly grown attached to Will, beyond interest in his Becoming or the natural draw to his mate. He's fond of the other man, he takes great joy in spending time with him.

For many weeks he helps Will catch lesser killers, all the while winding through countless conversational threads. Hannibal never held much esteem for fellow murderers, although he will certainly hold a great amount of respect for his mate once he finds his voice. It doesn't feel like a betrayal to help the FBI apprehend his 'peers'. In fact, it's quite gratifying to see Will succeed. Every time Hannibal helps steer him toward an answer, his face holds a mixture of confusion and pleasant surprise, like he can't understand why Hannibal is playing for both sides.

It's for you, Will. It's all for you.

Hannibal isn't really one for personalized hatred. Hate brings with it a level of...passion, that he wouldn't associate with his relationships. He detests humanity in a very generalized sense, for the most part. That being said-

Hannibal is beginning to hate Jack Crawford.

It's useful, Hannibal thinks. That Jack is abusing Will like this. Hannibal and Jack are two extremes of a pendulum, every move that Will makes away from Jack is a move toward Hannibal. He should be grateful for the man, driving his beloved into Hannibal's embrace. And Jack is always very kind to Hannibal, very warm and accommodating. But he sees how Will is suffering, and it makes Hannibal want to tear Jack apart for treating his mind so carelessly. Will gives so much to his boss, and gets nothing in return. He says the justice is enough. Will deserves more.

Will's beginning to fall apart at the seams, but against his better judgment he's letting Hannibal hold him together. The two of them still spar almost constantly, Will still clings to his own version of morality rather than reaching out to his mate, but at the end of the day Hannibal usually feels like they've made progress.

It feels like it takes an eternity, a lifetime of venom and stubbornness, but Will finally starts to let his guard down. It isn't trust, Hannibal won't mistake it for trust. It's weakness. And he knows where it's coming from.

It started with the headaches, hallucinations, nightmares, then the sleepwalking. Hannibal had his suspicions but they were confirmed entirely by accident.

This process of leading Will to his Becoming is rewarding, but slow. And with so many of his own cards on the table, he doesn't feel able to draw Will in romantically until he's near his Peak. It's torture. He hungers for Will, daily, but he can't hold his beloved close yet. Will looks him in the eyes more often now, and even that blessed glimpse of blue is like a balm to his soul. He needs this boy, he doesn't understand how Will can resist the pull between them. Hannibal feels like he needs Will in every sense, he wants Will to completely cloud his mind.

And so, in a moment of weakness, he'd smelled him.

Terrible aftershave, truly miserable. Underneath that, cedar, and pet dander, and salt like he'd just come from the sea. And underneath that, a strange fevered sweetness.

Ah, my darling Will. It seems fate truly does want you to find my embrace.

He lets their game continue like that for a while, letting the scales tip more and more in Hannibal's favor. Will is assigned a tasteless copycat of the Chesapeake Ripper and seems terribly disinterested in it. They both know why he doesn't care about Abel Gideon, but neither of them say it. Their conversations slowly lose their bite, Will stops being able to keep track of time. Hannibal gets to kill two men, right under Will's nose, and he barely seems to notice. A melancholy glaze overtakes those lovely eyes more often than it doesn't.

It's satisfying, right until the point that it isn't.

When Will has a seizure in Hannibal's dining room, he decides to get his soul mate some medical attention. The game isn't fair otherwise. Isn't fun. And it hurts Hannibal to see him suffering, even if it had been useful in his transformation.

"Smells delicious," Will mumbles, still half asleep. Hannibal smiles. Even his voice sounds healthier. Welcome back, my love.

"Silkie chicken in a broth, wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates, and star anise," He recites, pleased to be cooking for his mate again.

Will smirks at him. "You made me chicken soup?"

Hannibal lets his gaze rest on that dazzling blue, finally looking clearer after weeks of increasing haziness. "Yes."

He helps Will to a small table in the corner of the hospital room, relishing at how he clutches at his shoulder for support. He watches Will take a bite, feels a swell of pride at how his eyes slip closed, how he hums around the mouthful just like he did the day he killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs.

"You knew I had Encephalitis the whole time, didn't you?"

Hannibal samples the soup to hide a grin. My heart, such a quick healer. Already biting again. It seems only fitting to celebrate his recovery with a small offering of honesty. The lies are growing tiring, he wants to gain Will's trust. "Yes."

Will nods, he looks surprised by Hannibal's answer. He's earned that, after months of misdirection. "You were going to let it kill me," He says, staring into the bowl.

He feels a tug at his heart. Oh, my love, never. Can you not see? I want you to thrive. "Of course not. I fully intended on getting it treated before it became too severe."

"So, what? You just wanted to let it torture me for a while?" He looks Hannibal in the face and there's fire in his gaze. He missed that fire. "Was it fun, watching my mind burn, Doctor Lecter?"

"I was merely curious. How it would affect you. What you would do."

Will narrows his eyes. "And did I meet your expectations? Did it sate your curiosity?"

Hannibal chuckles. He gets the sense that they aren't only discussing the Encephalitis. "You've exceeded my every expectation, Will, but you'll find that my curiosity knows no bounds." He looks up from his meal, holds Will's gaze again. "Especially not when it comes to such a fascinating subject."

Will blushes, and Hannibal hasn't felt this triumphant since he saw Will kneeling over Abigail Hobbs. "Well," He says, quickly averting his eyes. "I suppose I should be flattered that I've caught the attention of a man with such discerning tastes."

Hannibal feels warm. Perfect, delectable thing, my attention is yours alone. "You once asked me how I saw you."

Will nods. "Your answer was...unsatisfactory."

He shrugs amicably. "I answered you as honestly as I felt comfortable at that stage in our relationship." He notices how Will tenses at the word 'relationship'. "I'm sure you'll offer me the same courtesy."

Will chuckles. "You want to know how I see you?"

"Very much."

Will's eyes are back on his own. It's as if he can't make himself looks elsewhere without a great deal of discipline. Look all you'd like, dearest. Do more than look if you want.

He hesitates for just a moment before speaking. "I see you as a puzzle," He says. "A physical puzzle, one with a predetermined solution."

Hannibal tilts his head.

"Even though I can picture the solution in my mind's eye, I know that I need to solve it in order to get a good look at the finished product."

"You're still interested in finding the solution, when you already know what it looks like?" He prods. He expected as much, Will was sticking around for a reason after all.

"Of course," Will says, and he almost looks offended that Hannibal would think otherwise. It warms his heart. Will is possessive over his mate, whether he'll admit it or not. Will clears his throat. "The solution is deceptive, in its complexity. I keep turning it around, but I get stuck constantly. It's vexing, and exhausting." He shakes his head, laughs to himself. "And deeply satisfying."

Hannibal lets himself smile, though he wants to lunge across the table and steal the breath from his perfect mate's lips. "Your enjoying yourself, then?"

"Immensely," He confesses. "Encephalitis aside. It would seem that curiosity is a trait that we share." He furrows his brows. "Do you...want me to solve it?"

"I'm looking forward to it," He says. "Though I won't be making it easy for you. Not when you're having so much fun, I couldn't possibly deprive you of that. I'm excited to see what you find."

Will gives him a searching look, but Hannibal moves to stand before he can reply. "You should get some rest, Will. I'll see you soon."

He collects his coat and prepares to leave. He stops himself in the doorway. "And Will?"

Will looks back up at him, eyes wonderfully sharp and sparkling with intrigue. There he is. I love him so.

"I truly am glad to see you're feeling better."

Chapter Text

Will tosses a stick for Buster, but Zoe moves faster and catches it before he can reach it. He takes a deep breath, taking in the crisp Autumn air. It feels so good to be himself again. The nightmares and hallucinations still plagued him more than he'd like, but the treatment for his Encephalitis had cured his sleepwalking and time loss.

He smiles to himself, since no one is watching. Of course he knew all along, what a manipulative bastard.

He can't even really feel angry at Doctor Lecter. Lay down with dogs, wake up with fleas. Lay down with the Chesapeake Ripper, wake up with a brain inflammation. Will had known what he was getting into the first time he stepped into that office, and every time after.

The Encephalitis was hell, but he can't help feeling relieved. He'd thought he was just going crazy, turns out it was just bad luck coupled with the fact that he spends so much time with a serial killer.

Now that he's back to normal- more or less- he can redevote his attention to his puzzle. Although he now had a new one to solve.

'I'm excited to see what you find.'

Will kept turning it over. They both knew the solution, both knew that Will knew it. Is that really so exciting? Maybe it was back then, but not now. He hadn't found the solution himself, anyway. The universe dropped it into his lap.

'I'm excited to see what you find...while solving it?'

What is he expecting Will to uncover? Doctor Lecter is a man of many secrets, to be certain. Maybe he's interested to see which of his secrets will lead Will to the solution.

'...excited to see what you find...'

No. Not a secret about Doctor Lecter. A secret about...Will? Something Will doesn't know about yet.

What did he see?

It drives him mad, even after all this time. He wants to know what Doctor Lecter saw, desperately. Knowing that someone else has seen his Peak and is keeping it from him makes him want to scream. Will sighs.

He would tell Will if he asked. Will knows he would. He would tell Will everything if he just asked.

'I won't make it easy for you. Not when you're having so much fun.

Maybe he should ask for a hint.

But no, he won't. He'll find evidence about the Ripper, then he'll use it as leverage, demand Doctor Lecter describe his vision in exchange for his silence.

Will blinks. His thoughts had gotten away from him. No, not in exchange for his silence, of course not. He'll turn Doctor Lecter over to the FBI the second he can do it without risking his reputation. He belongs behind bars. Will's enjoying this game, but not that much.

I'm excited to see what you find.

Will shakes his head again, falls to sit in the dying grass.

Despite himself, he thinks of Jack Crawford. He's only met Jack's wife once, but she seemed nice. Jack and his wife are soul mates. He never divulged what he saw in his wife's eyes, but he guesses that she saw Jack apprehending some high profile criminal, triumphant in the face of injustice. The two of them seem happy enough, not that Will ever really asked. Or cared.

Alana hasn't met her soul mate yet, but she's also never dated before. She's only interested in the One. It's not that uncommon, but Will wonders if she's lonely. He wonders what her Peak is. Hopes it's something really good. Something she'll be proud of.

He wonders if he would've been happy, if Alana was his mate. He likes Alana. She's fun to talk to, for a little while at a time. What would she think of his Peak, if she saw it? He hopes she'd be impressed. It must be something good, if it eclipsed catching the Chesapeake Ripper.

Because he's still going to do that.

Isn't he?

Yes. Of course. Doctor Lecter is a killer. A horrible, awful killer. Will hates him. Hates his cold manipulation and disregard for human life and his terrible brown eyes. Will cares about the violence, like any decent person would. He cares- deeply- about the injustice, the crime.

He wants to care.

What's wrong with me? Is it you, Doctor Lecter? Are you in my head so completely that I can't stop seeing the world through your lens?

He falls backwards, lies on the ground as his dogs swarm him. Zoe licks a long stripe along his face.

Does Doctor Lecter like dogs? Probably not. He seems like more of a cat person.

But maybe he would try to like Will's dogs anyway.

He smacks himself in the head. No. Stop that. Shut up and focus on the puzzle.

He closes his eyes. Tries to focus.

Brown. Warm, dark brown. Nice accent. Surgeon's hands. Fucking amazing cooking. So smart, God he's smart. Will's never met anyone who can talk circles around him like that. They can talk for hours and say absolutely nothing, and then say a day's worth in a handful of words and a passing glance. It's dizzying, it gives him whiplash.

He can't give it up.

Who's he kidding, he's not turning Doctor Lecter over to Jack. Maybe he never was. He's just solving this for fun.

And what's he going to do when the finished product is sitting right in front of him? Put it in a closet somewhere and forget about it? Can he do that?

He tries to imagine it. Tries to imagine going a day, even one fucking day, without thinking about Doctor Lecter. His soul mate.

He rubs a hand along his face. He pictures Doctor Lecter. Pictures himself straddling him. Feels his face heat up at the thought. But no one is looking, he won't get caught. So he looks down at Doctor Lecter. They're on his floor. Pressed together. His stupid little suit is crumpled and stained. Stained red. Will's knuckles hurt. He tears his eyes away from Doctor Lecter's to look at them. They're bleeding. Doctor Lecter is bleeding. He pulls back and punches him again, and Doctor Lecter laughs. He beats him half to death, and that infuriating, cruel smile never leaves his face. Will burns just looking at it. He reaches down to Doctor Lecter's neck.

The flesh parts under his touch so easily, and he rips open Doctor Lecter's throat with his fingers. He's bleeding out on the floor, just like Abigail Hobbs, and he doesn't try to stop the bleeding this time.

Will wakes with a start. His back is killing him. The sun is hanging low in the sky and his dogs are all piled on the front porch, waiting to go inside. He looks down at his hands. His knuckles aren't bruised. No blood has been shed.

He feels strangely disappointed.

Chapter Text

Hannibal's strength is leaving him.

He's trying so, so hard to be patient for Will. He knows that Becoming is difficult, he's trying to be everything his soul mate needs. Trying to push him only when he needs it, to keep him at a safe distance until he can find his place in Hannibal's arms. It would've been easy, at one point, to just break him until he fit the space in Hannibal's heart. But he doesn't want that. Seeing his darling Will suffering from Encephalitis showed him that. He wants to win Will fairly, wants to win his lopsided grin and his breathy laugh and his eyes, he wants to earn every bit of it.

But oh, he's having dreams about Will's Becoming. He feels like if he has to wait another moment he'll simply fall at Will's feet and beg him for his affection.

But that isn't what Will needs. He's enjoying this. Enjoying the slow descent into his own darkness. Hannibal needs to support that. To enjoy it with him.

But if all he needs is another nudge in the right direction, he could do that, couldn't he?

Randall Tier appeared at the perfect time. He's an excellent clue for Will's game, his ties to Hannibal so clear. And Hannibal saw an opportunity. An opportunity to nudge. Just a little.

He tells Tier to revel in what he is. Outside of Will's house. Just something to get the scent of blood back in Will's mind. He'll be fine, Hannibal is confident in that. He's stronger than he was with Garrett Jacob Hobbs, won't need that absurd number of bullets this time. And he has a home court advantage, so to speak. Will is going to be fine.

He still breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Randall Tier's body on his dining table mere hours later. Will is standing at the other end, presenting the gift to Hannibal personally. It's an excellent token of affection, though it was a late reciprocation. Hannibal gave Will Cassie Boyle months ago, after all.

Will looks up from the table, meets his eye. Every day those eyes get darker. Every day Hannibal falls more deeply in love with them.

A smirk pulls at his mouth. "Still curious, were you, Doctor Lecter?"

"I did warn you that my curiosity was never ending."

"You sent him to kill me."

"I sent him to entertain you," Hannibal corrects. He tilts his head, admires the blood gracing Will's knuckles. "Did you enjoy him?"

Will closes his eyes, takes a long breath. Tell me the truth, my sweet. You know that you will meet no judgement here.

"Yes. I did."

Hannibal's heart soars. This isn't his Becoming, they aren't there just yet, but it's a beautiful step. One that he tries to capture.

He looks down at the body, observes his wounds, his unseeing eyes. "You killed him with your hands," He says. Brilliant. Beautiful. You're finding your voice, my heart. You don't need a gun. Men like us never do.

Will nods. "It was...intimate."

He feels a pang of longing. He knows Will isn't ready yet. He must be patient, but Lord I want you. "I imagine so."

Wills takes a step closer. Stares at Hannibal until he meets his gaze. Holds him there.

"It's the way I do it when I fantasize about killing you."

It's too much, he can't possibly be expected to endure this. The smell of blood is clinging to Will. His adrenaline is so captivating. And his phrasing- God give me strength- was utterly delectable. Picture, he could've handled. Imagine, he would've been delighted by. But fantasize?

He catches Will by the jaw before he can think better of it, pulls him close without worrying over the consequences. Perhaps it was premature but no, this is destined. The two of them are soul mates, everything they do is leading them closer to their Peaks, there can be no wrong decision.

Will meets him with matching fervor, tongue and teeth and passion. Hannibal's fingers find themselves in his lovely curls and Will makes a sound that can only be described as devastated. Truly, completely devastated. Dear heart, how long have you wished for this? You needed only ask and I would have given it to you without a second thought.

Will grabs him by his lapels and shoves him against the wall. Hannibal gasps into his mouth, delivers a loving bite to his lower lip.

"What did you see?" Will asks, speaking into his mouth. He catches Hannibal in another hungry kiss before he can reply.

Hannibal lowers his head, begins to mouth at Will's neck. Will grunts when Hannibal sucks harshly at the flesh and Hannibal wants to bottle that sound.

"Will," He murmurs, powerless. "I've been waiting for this for so long."

Will grabs his shoulder and pushes him against the wall again, harder this time. Hannibal's head hits the wall with a satisfying bang.

"Tell me what you saw," He demands, voice tantalizingly dark.

Hannibal can only smile. He lifts a hand, cups Will's cheek with tender affection. "I saw your Becoming, Will. And it is beyond compare."

Will's brows furrow. "Becoming? Becoming what?"

Hannibal strokes his cheek with his thumb. Darling boy, do you still not see? Open your eyes, don't be afraid. Despite his rage, Will leans into the touch, and Hannibal feels like he could fall apart here and now.

"Something far greater than I ever could have hoped for."

Will stares at him for a few more moments before raising his hand. He places it atop Hannibal's, pries it from his face. He regards it, how it fits into his own, then laces their fingers together. Will presses their hands into the wall, partially pinning Hannibal in place. He allows it.

When they kiss again they're more coordinated. It's clear that they were made to fit together, in every aspect of life. Will Graham's lips were crafted to lie against Hannibal's. Another low sound escapes Will's mouth.

"Take me to your bedroom," He whispers.

Hannibal looks into his eyes, those exquisite pools that he wants to drown in. At last, his soul mate is seeking his embrace.

His eyes flick to the body of Randall Tier, still lying on the table. "The meat will spoil if we leave it for too long, Will. Do you want me to make you dinner first?"

Will gives him a confused look, then his eyes widen. Oh, have I spoiled the surprise? I'm sorry for disturbing your game, dear heart. Although Will doesn't seem too displeased.

He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. He releases Hannibal's hand, takes an unsteady step back. "Yes. Show me how you do it."

Chapter Text

Will watches Doctor Lecter prepare the meat with practiced ease. He's done this many times, so many that he feels confident adding slight flourishes to his motions. Of course he has.

He eats his victims. How did I never put that together?

It's so obvious, now. Will must really be a fool. He watches his mate handle the knife, sleeves rolled up in a way that accentuates the muscle of his arms. Doctor Lecter grunts slightly when a cleaver slams through bone and Will can't help but let out a soft groan in reply. Yes. He is a fool.

Will had known for quite a while that their game would end like this, though he never wanted to admit it. The two of them are soulmates, this is how it's supposed to go. And if he isn't going to turn Doctor Lecter in, and he isn't going to reject Doctor Lecter, then what else could he do?

He swallows, trying to focus but getting hopelessly lost in the sight of Doctor Lecter in his element. He'd tried, harder than he probably should've, to keep his desires contained behind lock and key. The men he's killed have rattled the bars enough to wake the thing inside. The hungry kiss Doctor Lecter gave him broke the lock wide open. And now it's out and it's awake and it's ravenous.

Dinner first, Will.

Will is quiet as Doctor Lecter explains every step to him, letting him see the process in gruesome detail. When he hands Will a knife and asks him to mimic his movements, he tries to do it properly, to keep his hands steady despite the thrumming of his heart. He listens carefully, absorbs all he can. Like he wants Doctor Lecter to know that he's paying attention. Like he wants to impress him.

When the two of them are at last seated at the dinner table, Doctor Lecter observes as Will takes the first bite. A part of him is expecting it to be terrible, to strike him with a horrible wrongness. Another part of him expects to be overcome with euphoria, to feel powerful and inhuman.

It's meat. It's very fresh, well prepared meat. It's delicious, because Doctor Lecter is an incredible chef.

Is it worth going to jail over?

"Is it about the killing, the eating, or the displaying?"

"Can it not be all three?"

Will looks up at him from across the table. "You do it for one, the other two are accessory."

Doctor Lecter shakes his head. "I've eaten people without displaying them. I've displayed people without eating them."

"It's about the killing, then."

"Dead men tell no tales. If I could display and eat someone alive without incriminating myself, I might. For curiosity's sake."

Will thinks that over. The lies are gone, he realizes, even lies of omission. The puzzle is here, solved before him. Will has won, this is his prize.

Doctor Lecter smiles. "It's always a treat, to watch your mind work."

Will swallows. No, this is Doctor Lecter's prize. Will forfeited. His mate is the victor.

"You made me breakfast, then lunch, now dinner," He muses. "A day of nourishment, spread out over months of manipulation."

"How long shall I make you wait for dessert?" He asks, and Will feels his face flush at the flirtatious spark in his eyes.

Will laughs. It doesn't make him sick. This doesn't feel real. It feels like a hallucination or a nightmare. Most of his nightmares lately include killing the man across from him. Maybe this one will too.

"Not long, I hope."

Will takes another bite, lets himself savor it. How much of a difference does your second bite of human flesh make, after all? A big one, he knows. As much as your third, your fourth, and every one after. Because each one is a decision to keep going.

But he doesn't think turning back is an option. On a technical level, perhaps, but it's not an option Will wants to consider. So he eats.

"So what happens now?"

Doctor Lecter smiles around a mouthful of deep red wine. Pleased as punch. God, he's smug when he's winning. "I was under the impression that you wanted me to take you to my bedroom."

Will snorts. "In a broader sense. Things have fundamentally shifted between us, Doctor Lecter. It feels pointless to return to our game, now."

"Were it up to me, I would say we could continue benefiting one another. I could keep assisting you with your cases, we could work together to hide both of our own crimes." He looks at Will with that warm, admiring gaze again. "With your cunning mind and my expertise, I'm confident that we could kill whomever we like and still never get caught."

"Partners in crime."

"Something akin to that. I'd like to get to know you better. More intimately. I'll help you reach your Peak, as I have doing been all along." He pauses, swallows. His eyes meet Will's. Deep, dark, beautiful. Nervous. Will has never seen him nervous before. Maybe Will is the victor, after all. "I'd like to show you how much I care for you, Will."

Will narrows his eyes, searching. Searching for the trap. Searching for the lie. He can't find it. "The Chesapeake Ripper doesn't care for people," He says, and it hurts both of them.

"No. He doesn't. But our dynamic is not the only thing that has undergone dramatic change."

Will clears his throat, tries to focus on the food instead of the man who prepared it. "You know, the future you're describing sounds suspiciously similar to that of a typical pair of soul mates. It boarders on idyllic."

Doctor Lecter chuckles. "I can't offer you a white picket fence, Will. There is no Happily Ever After at the end of my story. But what I can offer you is a life free from doubt, guilt or shame. One where you're able to pursue anything and everything, no matter how dark, and I'll be beside you every step of the way."

Will takes a slow breath, tries to keep his face from showing his emotions. Despite all of his attempts to guard himself, to maintain power, Doctor Lecter's words are affecting him. He sounds so honest, after so many lies, he sounds completely honest. And Will wants what he's offering, if the offer is real.

"I've no interest in fences, picket or otherwise," Will says. "I'm done with barriers."

When he looks up, Hannibal wastes no time in making eye contact. In showing Will the adoration that has always lied just beneath the surface, and is now rising to the top.

"Which one of my works did you see, Will?"

Will takes a sip of wine, he's surprised by the sudden change in topic. I thought we were getting close to something. Was it too close for comfort?

"You still haven't told me much about my Becoming, as you call it. Why should I describe yours?"

Hannibal sets down his utensils. "It's remarkable. It's coming soon, I can feel it. And when it happens, you'll be something new." He shrugs. "What more could you need to know?"

"It's a murder, I'm assuming," He says, because Hannibal still hasn't divulged that much, not directly.

"Murder implies killing between equals. It's a slaughter. And it's glorious."

Will nods. He should've expected this. A part of him did. The part that lived behind bars until Hannibal freed it.

He tries to picture it in his mind. Tries to imagine something he's done being glorious, especially by Hannibal's standards. Hannibal is a connesuir of violence, and yet something Will is capable of, or will be capable of in the near future, has captured the others man's interest. His devotion.

He thinks about killing Tier, animal instincts and unbridled frustration coursing through him with every blow. Then he goes further back.

"I lied to you."

Hannibal tilts his head with curiosity.

"I...I liked killing Hobbs, too."

His soul mate smiles. He isn't the slightest bit surprised. "Yes. You did."

Will lets out a shaky breath, because this is what Hannibal was hoping Will would find. Not a secret about himself, but a truth he'd always known and buried too deep for anyone to reach. Anyone including himself.

"All of this has been...flirtation, to you. Your own monstrous version of courtship. You put me in the path of men to kill, because you've known all along I would like killing them. They're gifts. Tokens of your affection."

"I'll happily give you more, if you want them. I'll be your siren, drawing men to drown in your depths."

"If you bring them to me on your own, and they try to attack me on their own, then I can sleep at night calling it Justice or Self Defense," He mumbles, following the thread.

"That makes it easier for you, doesn't it? You can allow yourself to enjoy it more."

"I'd be depriving both of us of witnessing my Becoming. Holding my Peak hostage."

"You would."

"You don't seem upset by the idea."

Hannibal smiles, seemingly content. "I dream of the butterfly, but I can be satisfied by the chrysalis, if the chrysalis is satisfied as well."

Will furrows his brows. This is not the Chesapeake Ripper. The Ripper doesn't compromise. Doesn't settle for anyone. The Ripper gets exactly what he wants, no substitutions.

Will considers the offer, destroying monsters that Hannibal sends into his territory. It would be an interesting continuation of their game. It would also be a hollow imitation of the future fate had planned for both of them.

He'd always silently hoped for devotion. Someone who would do anything to help him find his Peak, and Hannibal had proved a dozen times over that he fit that description. He'd been equally disgusted and guiltily pleased by the reality of what anything could truly mean. But now, the sentiment was something new, something Will had never thought to hope for.

'I love you even if it never comes. I love you if you decide you don't want to Peak. I love you even if you're not ready.' And it felt so much truer, so much more worthy.

But Will wants more.

Neither of them have touched their forks in a while. The meal is over. Will won't wait another second for dessert.

He stands and circles the head of the table, comes to stand before Hannibal. Without a word, he falls into the other man's lap, straddling him in his chair. He pulls Hannibal into a sloppy kiss, searching for the taste of blood and wine in his soul mate's mouth.

The chrysalis is not satisfied. Not yet.

Chapter Text

Hannibal groans into Will's mouth, hands grabbing the thighs at his sides. Will is kissing him like he'll die if they aren't touching, and Hannibal shares the sentiment. His tongue is insistent, licking at Hannibal's teeth and swiping behind his lips. It's dizzying.

Will bites Hannibal's lip and his hips grind downwards, and for a moment Hannibal feels powerless. His soul mate's touch is too disarming for him to do more than just accept it.

And then the moment passes.

Hannibal grabs his thighs roughly and stands, lifting Will with him. He lies Will down on the dining table, narrowly avoiding the remnants of their forgotten meal. He grinds against Will, both of them gasping in response. Hannibal's hands start working at Will's shirt, undoing a few buttons and exposing his gorgeous collarbones.

Will pushes himself up from the table, sitting on the edge. He pulls Hannibal down by his tie and kisses him roughly, brings his other hand to cup Hannibal's errection. Hannibal groans into his mouth, braces himself on the table and ruts against his hand. It's good, it's not nearly enough. Will pulls away and starts biting at Hannibal's neck. The sting of his teeth is beautiful and Hannibal can feel his own cock throb, straining against his clothes, against Will's palm.

Will's hands leave his tie to tear off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor as he starts hungrily fumbling with Hannibal's waistcoat.

"Fuck, I hate how you dress," He says against Hannibal's throat. It's the first thing either of them has said since they started touching, and Will's voice is rough with animal desire. Yes, my perfect beast, let me take you. We can claim each other.

Hannibal's steady hands come to the waistcoat, prepared to undress more swiftly for him. "Allow me, darling," He purrs.

He's not sure what he was expecting, but he wasn't expecting Will to bite down harshly enough to draw blood. Hannibal moans openly, pain and pleasure mingling seamlessly. In almost the same instant, he sees Will blindly grab at the place setting beside him. His fingers close around the handle of Hannibal's kitchen knife.

"Will," He breathes. My beloved, so unpredictable. Even now- especially now. Was this a trap? Have you made yourself a Honeypot for me?

Will cuts along the front of the waistcoat, stitches breaking with a satisfying tear. He rips it away, licks mindlessly at the wound on Hannibal's neck. Hannibal growls, but he can't feel annoyance at Will's rudeness.

Will pulls away, stares up at Hannibal. There's a frenzied look in his eyes and it has a shiver running along Hannibal's spine.

"You are incorrigible," He says, voice betraying his own wonder.

Will smirks, pulls Hannibal close by his tie again. Hannibal parts his lips for another desperate kiss, but Will doesn't close the space between them. Instead, he lifts the blade again and places it between the fabric and Hannibal's neck. The tie surrenders easily, and it falls limp into Will's hand. Will sets the tie and the knife on the table, looking quite pleased with his little performance.

Hannibal tangles his fingers into Will's hair again, bringing their mouths to meet once more. His scent is overwhelming this close, and Hannibal's cock twitches in response to the rich, rustic aroma. He finishes the job he'd started, making quick work of Will's remaining buttons before starting on his belt. Will responds in kind, forgoing his previous methods of cutting and tearing to actually strip Hannibal without ruining his shirt. Hannibal undoes Will's pants, and the other man gasps when Hannibal's fingers duck into his underwear. Will pulls Hannibal's shirt off of his arms, his own still hanging open, and begins to stroke his hands along Hannibal's now exposed torso.

Will's hips twitch when Hannibal's fingers caress his length, and the sound he makes is like the first taste of a powerful spirit. Potent enough to knock Hannibal off balance, and shockingly addictive.

Hannibal is slightly surprised when Will pulls his hand away, but the confusion shifts to amusement when long legs are wrapped around his waist. Will pulls him close, sighing when their hips meet. Sweet, desperate thing, are my hands not enough for you? Is your longing so deep that I must take you, here and now?

His mate truly is unpredictable. He's reminded of that when Will braces his legs and shifts their weight violently, sending both of them careening to the floor.

Hannibal lands flat on his back against the hardwood, head hitting the ground with a thud and making him see stars. He probably could've countered such a maneuver, had he not been taken so completely off guard. The wood is cold against his bare back, and he arches away from it.

Will's knees hit the ground awkwardly, it has to hurt. Will hisses slightly, but he laughs. He's straddling Hannibal now, like he was when this started. As if Hannibal's many attempts to take charge of the situation had been pointless. Perfect boy, I love you so.

Will rolls his hips slowly, and Hannibal's rise to meet him. They fall into a panting rhythm, Will sitting above him. They aren't touching, aside from their hips, and it isn't enough for Hannibal. He gropes needy handfuls of Will's ass and Will groans, staring down at him with dark eyes. He looks thoroughly, deeply pleased with what he's seeing, and a realization hits Hannibal.

"Do you fantasize about killing me often, Will?"

Will laughs again and nods slightly. His hips don't stop moving. "Yes. Not at first, but lately, yes."

Hannibal's hand finds Will's. He observes the dried blood on his knuckles. He should really put a bandage on this. "Do you do it like this, in your fantasy?"

Will nods again, lifts his hand to brush his injured knuckles along Hannibal's cheek. "Sometimes it's exactly like this."

Hannibal groans at the sentiment, hips thrusting up harshly. "Do you fuck me before killing me, or after?"

"Before. After. During. Sometimes I do it with my teeth, or with a knife. Usually with my hands."

"Do you ever use a gun?"

Will stops. Furrows his brows. "No. Never. It's not...not personal enough."

Their eyes meet and Hannibal sees something loving in Will's eyes. He'd seen it a few times before. For a flash during a session here or there. Briefly while Will was in the hospital. More than once, tonight.

Lovely thing, you do know that you aren't just a designated mate to me, don't you? This is more than a step toward your Becoming, so much more.

Hannibal rises and Will allows it, shifts his weight so he's sitting in Hannibal's lap. Hannibal pulls him back in for a kiss and it's still passionate but it's more human. They can be animals together later.

They kiss languidly on the floor for some time before Will moves to stand, reaches out a hand to help Hannibal to his feet.

"Do you ever fantasize about killing me?" Will asks. He's not obviously nervous or hopeful, simply curious.

"No."

He narrows his eyes, a smirk comes to his lips. "Do you ever fantasize about me killing you?"

Hannibal smiles. "Often."

Will looks happy with his answer, pulls him close for one more kiss. "Did you think I was going to kill you tonight?"

"I thought it was possible, but I've never been able to predict you. It seems hopeless to try."

Will takes Hannibal's hand, pulls him to the door that leads out of his dining room. "Take me to bed."

When he at last has Will lying across the sheets, fully exposed and welcoming, Hannibal finds himself at a loss for words.

"Am I continuing to meet your expectations, Doctor?" Will asks with a knowing grin.

He is helpless, hopeless, heartless in the face of this man. Hannibal Lecter is an empty vessel, fit only to be filled to the brim with whatever Will may see fit to give him.

He's grateful to find that Will is currently seeing it fit to fill him with love. Its possible that tomorrow, he'll choose otherwise. But tonight, the keeper of his heart is merciful.

Hannibal falls to kiss his inner thigh. "You're remarkable," He sighs, and the words fall short.

His mouth moves to Will's hips. "Beautiful." Still not enough.

He settles between Will's thighs. "Sublime."

Will laughs it off, but there's a prominent blush rising across his skin. "Well, you're sappy, pretentious, and way too chatty. You gonna fuck me or not? Because I can go back to Wolf Trap if- f-fuck!"

Hannibal takes his cock into his mouth in one long swallow, relishing the way the head hits the back of his throat before pulling off slowly. He swirls his tongue, looking up to Will with a mischievous glance. Will's head is thrown back against the pillows. My bed will smell of you for days, my love. What a gift, to be surrounded by you as I sleep.

Hannibal takes his time; Partially because he never rushes pleasure when savoring it is an option, but also because his mate is so utterly incalculable. It isn't impossible that Will might change his mind after tonight, and deny him.

Will whines, his fingers thread through Hannibal's hair, curling into a weak fist. It isn't enough to sting, nor is it another bid for control.

"Hannibal, you- haaah- you're so..."

Will cuts himself off with another shuddering gasp, hips lifting slightly from the bed. Hannibal can't bring himself to care about the end of that sentence, he's still stuck at the beginning.

Will's never said his first name before. Hannibal hadn't given it much thought. The way his mate's voice danced over every consonant in Doctor Lecter was enough to set his heart racing. But Oh, Will, does it feel so good when I say your name? I say it so often, how have you managed to resist this feeling?

Hannibal moans around Will's length, begging him to say it again. Will tenses beneath him, and a weak fuck leaves his kiss-swollen lips.

Hannibal pulls away, and Will lifts his hips in a wanton attempt to chase his mouth.

"Say that again," Hannibal says, and even he is surprised by how rough and dark he sounds.

Will simply stares up at him as Hannibal rises to grip Will's jaw. "I...say what? I wasn't..." He laughs, his eyes are a little dreamy, his smile loose. He's gorgeous. "I wasn't really paying attention."

"The sound of my name in your mouth, Will. It's unlike anything I've ever heard. It's..." Breathtaking? Rapturous? Divine? Too sappy. Too pretentious. "It's filthy."

Will's eyes widen a fraction, the blush dusting his cheeks deepens. And then, to Hannibal's dismay, he sees a familiar spark. An idea. A game. The spark of a man who knows he's holding all the cards. Again.

"Did i strike a chord, Doctor Lecter?" He asks. He says the title slowly, every sound dripping from his cunning lips.

"Will," Hannibal says. He'd meant for it to be a warning, but it sounds undeniably like a plea.

Will laughs. He rises from the pillows to give Hannibal a searing kiss, then falls back. He looks so comfortable in this bed, like he belongs here. He does.

"Fuck me and I'll think about it."

Hannibal is helpless to refuse, even if every single cell in his body wasn't screaming yes, please yes as loud as it could.

He tears himself from where Will lay, rummaging in his bedside drawer for a bottle of lube. He applies more than is necessary in his haste, spreads it across his fingers. "Have you done this before?" He asks, guiding Will to bend his knees.

Will snorts. "Have you? You're shaking, Doctor Lecter. I've never seen you like this." He smiles lazily up at him. "I like it."

"It's...been a while," He confesses, though it has nothing to do with his sudden nervousness. He could be the most experienced lover to walk the earth, and this moment would still find him trembling. He pushes a finger into Will, and he doesn't flinch. He does let out a shivering gasp, though, sweet as honey on the air. He adjusts quickly, his lip curls up to reveal a canine.

"You're cute," He says, and it's a word no one has ever used to describe Hannibal.

He chuckles softly, presses a second finger in. "I think you'd have trouble finding someone who shares that sentiment, Will."

Will sighs again, high and beautiful, as Hannibal's fingers stretch him open. "That's because nobody sees you how I do...Hannibal."

A small groan comes forward from Hannibal's throat, and he rests his forehead against Will's knee, gently searching for his prostate. He finds it, and Will moans softly, rocks his hips against Hannibal's fingers. He looks so lovely like this, Hannibal wants to burn the image into his mind.

Blue eyes find his own, vibrant and lively with desire and fondness and that loving note that Hannibal wants to chase forever.

"There it is," Will murmurs. "I knew I'd see it soon."

Hannibal furrows his brow in confusion, but his impatience outweighs his intruige. He adds a third finger, even if it distracts Will from speaking for a short while.

"You get this- fuck. This look in your eyes sometimes," He says around sighs and keens.

"What sort of look?" He asks. He crooks his fingers and watches Will twitch.

Will moans at the feeling, clutching at the sheets. "It's warm," He slurs after a moment. "It's...worshipful. Do you see me as a god?"

Hannibal pulls his fingers away, smiles when Will whines and ruts into nothing. "Not yet. Soon, though, yes."

"After my Becoming," He says, breathless.

Hannibal spreads more lube along his cock, hissing when Will brings the vision of his Peak to his mind. "Yes."

"You want to be there when it happens, don't you?"

"If you'll let me."

"I want you to be there," He says, and Hannibal sees that love in his eyes so clearly. It mirrors his own. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of just thinking   about you when I kill. I want you to share it with me."

Hannibal grabs a handful of Will's curls, crushes their mouths together passionately. He knows his words won't suffice, but he needs Will to know, so he tells him how he can.

He pushes into Will and they both groan with relief. Hannibal is achingly hard at this point, and every warm, tight inch of Will is driving him mad in the most perfect way.

"I'll be there," He says against Will's mouth, pausing for a moment to let his mate adjust. "I'll be there when it happens."

Will seems soothed by the words, and he relaxes against Hannibal. Hannibal begins to thrust, slow and deep. He wants to make this last, he's been trying to make it last, but Will feels incredible, and they do say it feels different with one's soul mate. 'Overwhelming' is a term that gets thrown around a lot. He can certainly see why.

Hannibal groans, lips parted and skin flushed. He tries to fight the need to speed up. Will's legs find themselves around Hannibal's waist again, and Hannibal is less surprised this time when Will uses his weight to flip them.

Will is straddling him for the third time tonight, and he immediately starts to ride him. The pace he sets isn't punishing, but it's certainly quick enough that this will be over soon.

"You're too precious when you fuck," Will criticizes. "I'm here, Hannibal. We can do this every night if we want to. You don't need to be so fussy about it."

I'm here

Will is here. He's finally here. He finally wants Hannibal. There's no need to savor, he and Will are bound. Their future will hold many nights like this one. Many.

He grips Will's hips, thrusts upwards to meet him, and Will looks perfect right now- head thrown back and flushed collarbones and muscles in his thighs flexing again and again.

Will's breathing is shallow, his motions are becoming erratic, his moans high and frequent.

"H-Hannibal," He keens, and Hannibal makes up for Will's slipping focus by doubling his efforts, singlemindedly chasing Will's release. "Hannibal, Hannibal-"

Hannibal takes Will's cock in his hand, stroking it as he fucks upwards into his lovely, perfect mate. "Let me see how you look when you come, Will. Show me."

"H-ha-Hanni-" Will's final call of his name is broken off with a cry of ecstacy. Hannibal takes it in, absorbing every twitch and shiver, as his soul mate falls apart above him. He comes onto Hannibal's stomach,  convulsing around him.

Hannibal fucks him through it, muttering encouragements to him in his mother tongue.

'Good boy,' He says, though Will won't understand his words. 'I love you dearly, so good for me. Lovely thing, perfect creature.'

Will breathes out a laugh as he gasps for air, clearly amused by Hannibal's shift in language.

Hannibal is close, his mate's orgasm had made quick work of him. Will keeps riding despite the oversensitivity that is surely growing with every thrust.

"Will, ah-Will-" He can't focus, his English fails him. 'Ruin me, make me wretched. Bend me to suit you, I'll be your servant- Will, God, I love you, Will-

Hannibal comes inside of his soul mate, cursing in his native language and gripping his hips like Will might disappear if he doesn't.

They're still for a few moments, catching their breath and coming back to Earth. Will speaks first, gently caressing Hannibal's cheek.

"I don't think yours has happened yet, either."

Hannibal looks up at him, leans into the touch. "Wil..."

"I was obsessed with the Ripper, even before I knew you. I know every Ripper display. Every single one." He shakes his head. "I only recognized what I saw in your eyes because I knew the MO. It hasn't happened yet."

His heart picks up its pace, but he tries to be reasonable. Doesn't want to cause false hope. "I killed before I was the Ripper."

Will shakes his head again, smiling softly. "I couldn't find a report about something like my vision. Your Peak is still coming, Hannibal. It hasn't passed."

Hannibal covers Will's hand with his own, smiling up at him. Will looks pleased. I've been caught worshiping again, haven't I? "Good," Hannibal says. "I want you there with me."

Chapter Text

Will wakes to the feeling of warm skin shifting against his cheek. Just slightly, like a twitch in one's sleep. Will sighs. There's a steady heartbeat against his ear, soothing him so that he can melt into this moment. An arm is thrown easily around his back, strong hand resting protectively against his side.

This is the most dangerous man in the world.

The thought should be frightening. A part of him knows that it should be frightening. Will is vulnerable right now, curled up and naked in the Ripper's bed. At any moment, he could strike, and the only person who could ever lead to Hannibal's downfall would be eliminated.

Hannibal breathes deeply beneath him. The other man is completely relaxed, though Will doesn't believe he is asleep, heart rate even. Not a care in the world. They'd both slept through the night, once they finally allowed themselves to sleep. Will couldn't remember who'd drifted off first, but he knew they both had.

Hannibal Lecter fell asleep, completely defenseless, with Will. Will, who had killed two men now, and was destined to kill again. Will, who fought Hannibal every single step along this road. Will, who made it no secret that he dreamed of killing Hannibal often.

He feels his own heart tighten with sudden affection. It was a display of trust, intentional or not. Putting his life and his freedom into Will's hands, with faith that he wouldn't hurt his soul mate. An act of confidence, consent. Submission.

Will isn't a fool. He knows that he can hold his own in a fight, but Hannibal is clearly stronger. If he'd wanted to, he could have pinned Will down last night- forced him into bed and taken whatever he wanted. Instead, he let Will test him. Test him to see how far that hopeless, adoring look in his eye would go. The answer appeared to be 'forever', because Will had been rude and teasing and insistent on control the whole evening, and Hannibal had never looked anything less than completely delighted.

He likes it when I'm greedy, Will realizes with a slight chuckle. He wants me to take whatever I want, in every aspect of life. Even other people's lives.

Hannibal's fingers brush slightly against Will's side and it makes him shiver.

It goes deeper than that, though. If Will is insistent on getting his way, and still ends up in Hannibal's bed, then Hannibal must be wanted. Will knows him better than anyone, and he's still choosing his mate, every moment that he stays. He's choosing Hannibal right now, just lying here with him.

Hannibal never tried to push him away. It was always Will starting fights and playing games, his mate just played along. Hannibal cared for Will from the beginning. And now, after all that time, Will is making it clear that he wants to be with Hannibal, too. Of course, he thinks- of course the other man is obsessed with this feeling.

He's the second most dangerous man in the world, then. Because the Chesapeake Ripper would do anything for me.

Will wraps his arms around Hannibal protectively, nuzzles his face into the other man's chest like he wants to mark him with his scent. Mine. The Ripper is mine, he's always been mine. It's written in our fates, no one else can touch him.

The warm chest beneath him rumbles with soft laughter, and Will feels himself smile against his mate's skin.

"Good morning," Hannibal says. "Did you sleep well?"

Will nods, face still buried.

The other man brings a hand to smooth its way down Will's spine, and it makes a low, overwhelmed sound leave his throat. He blushes, embarrassed by the reaction.

"Is everything alright?" Hannibal asks, concern painting the edges of his voice.

Will plants a kiss on Hannibal's chest, tightens his hold. He feels suddenly overcome.

"Yeah," he murmurs against his skin. "Yeah, just...just feels good."

Hannibal keeps rubbing his back, and Will is hoping he won't have to elaborate because he wouldn't even know where to begin.

It all feels good. Being here, knowing we're both too deadly for anything to hurt us and survive feels good. Knowing that the monster in my head doesn't have to keep me from being happy feels good. Having you, giving myself back, letting myself feel this fucking wanted. It feels so good.

Hannibal's other hand finds the nape of Will's neck. "Look at me, Will."

Will obeys, raises his head to look at his soul mate. He looks so beautiful, more so than Will's ever seen. The sun filtering through the curtains is catching on the soft hair falling into his face, the flecks of gold and crimson that mingle within those perfect dark eyes, the slight curve of his lip in a barely-there smile that grows when Will feeds it. Will watches as his grin blooms, sharp canines that clearly belong to an apex predator causing heat to spread through his stomach.

"You are truly a thing of beauty, Will Graham."

Will shakes his head slightly, leaning in for a soft kiss. "Your view has nothing on mine," He says.

Hannibal closes the space between them again, kissing him in a way that will quickly leave both of them breathless. Will sighs into the kiss when Hannibal's hands resume drifting up and down his bare back, dancing across the skin as if mapping every inch. Will brings a hand to Hannibal's jaw, idly stroking the rough skin of the other man's cheek with the pad of his thumb.

God, I could do this forever. I will do this forever. Mine, mine, mine.

Will pulls away with a gasp. He's not used to feeling like this, so possessive. Like he wants to burn down the whole world until he and Hannibal are the only ones left.

He's heard of mated pairs experiencing something like this, at the very beginning. Feeling so protective of their bond that they became jealous at the slightest implication that anyone else could matter. It usually passes pretty quickly and then everything goes back to normal, but there's been enough murders at the hands of freshly mated lovebirds that Will is aware of the phenomenon.

Hannibal chases Will to give him one more searing kiss and Will feels another rush of something primal, desperate, like an animal need to defend.

He understands why someone would kill over this. He feels the urge to even now, completely alone and in each other's arms. A sick thrill runs down his back.

I'd say 'God help anyone who makes the Chesapeake Ripper jealous', but let's face it- God won't be able to help them.

"Are you hungry, darling?"

Hannibal's loving voice brings Will forward from the possessive haze enveloping him. He laughs.

"We spent one night together and you're already calling me 'Darling'?" He shakes his head, smiling fondly. "You're such a sap."

Will laughs again when he sees what is surely the closest thing Hannibal Lecter ever comes to an eye roll, which isn't much. "I could always send you back to Wolf Trap with an empty stomach."

"And what were you thinking we could have for breakfast, sweetheart?" Will asks, both joking and completely serious. Don't send me home, I'll be good.

Hannibal chuckles, places a kiss on Will's forehead. "Only teasing, Will. My conscience could never allow you to go hungry."

"You have a conscience, now?" He fires back.

"Sometimes."

Will rolls away reluctantly, allowing Hannibal to stand. He watches as the other man pulls some pajamas from a drawer and dresses.

"Surprised to see you don't just roll out of bed and directly into a bespoke three-piece," Will says, yawning.

Hannibal chuckles again and I've never seen him display this much emotion. He almost looks like a man, standing here. I guess violence wasn't the only thing hiding under the surface. "I've nowhere pressing to be, and I'm not expecting anyone other than you," He says casually. "I take great pride in my sense of style, but I won't pretend to think it appropriate for a morning in."

"I'm sorry about your clothes," Will mumbles.

Hannibal smirks. "Nonsense. The tie and waistcoat are replaceable. The sight of you stripping me with a blade is not."

Will feels himself blushing. He tries to look around the room, for something to grab aside from the other man's amused face. His eyes land on the half-open door of the en-suite.

"Hey, would you mind if I used your shower?"

"Not at all. I'll get started on breakfast."

Hannibal's shower is like a religious experience. Will's never lived somewhere with water pressure like this, and Oh my God, what do these buttons do? Is there...mood lighting in here? Will can't help but laugh when he presses a button and the water changes source, no longer from the three large nozzles near his head and shoulders but instead from a rectangular showerhead directly above him. The pressure is different too, it's like a pleasant version of getting rained on.

Oh, we are definitely fucking in here.

Will picks up a bottle of...stuff. He can't actually read it. 'Acqua di Parma- Bagno alla Colonia'. That could be anything. He notices two bottles that look very similar to each other and infers that those must be a set of shampoo and conditioner. Maybe this is his body wash? He opens it and inhales.

Oh, fuck.

It's definitely something he uses often, because Will's body reacts like it knows the scent. It might as well be labeled 'essence of Hannibal Lecter' and Will literally groans when he brings the bottle to his face again, bergamot and rosemary and sandalwood but missing some key note that makes it fully Hannibal.

It's probably expensive. It's probably more than Will spends on body wash in a year. Probably twice as much. He can't resist the need to use it anyway, to mark himself with Hannibal's smell.

The scent of the shampoo isn't quite as intense, but Will is still flushed and aroused by the time he leaves the shower. He goes back into Hannibal's bedroom, prepares to shrug his clothes back on.

His eyes go to Hannibal's dresser.

Will's not going anywhere, he knows that. Hannibal's been trying to get Will's affection for months, he's not leaving until he wants to. Is he really going to lounge around in a dirty button-down that definitely reeks of blood and adrenaline and sex? Hannibal wouldn't mind, if he just...

Will's fingers are shaking when he grabs a soft grey shirt from Hannibal's dresser. Without really thinking about it, he brings the shirt to his face.

Do I have a scent thing, now? Have I always had a scent thing?

He buries his face in the fabric, breathes it in deeply and lets out a shuddering exhale.

Wearing it. Not taking it off. Taking it home with me, keeping it forever, mine.

He finds some black lounge pants and pulls those on too, relishes in how the clothes are a little big on him. The two of them are practically the same height, but Hannibal's strong physique leaves Will feeling small in the fabric. He pulls the sleeves of the shirt up to bunch at his elbows, nervously combs his hair through his fingers, and heads downstairs.

Hannibal's attention is on a pan of smoked sausage, but he clearly hears Will's approach. "Did it suit you, Darli-"

Hannibal falls silent when he glances up at Will. Will blushes at the look on the other man's face, something dark and satisfied flashing behind his eyes. Will suddenly feels like he can see himself through Hannibal's eyes- standing there wearing his clothes and smelling like his body wash and looking so entirely claimed.

"I uh, hope it's okay that I borrowed some stuff," He says weakly, even though he can tell that Hannibal is just as happy about the display of ownership as Will is.

Hannibal crosses the kitchen quickly, fingers immediately tangling into Will's wet curls. He pulls on them roughly, forcing Will to look up at his face. Hannibal licks his lips before kissing him again. Hannibal is untamed in his affection, tongue hungrily exploring Will's mouth as his other hand grabs at Will's ass through the stolen fabric.

"You look delicious like this," He growls, and Will's heart jumps at the hunger in Hannibal's voice. "So delectable."

Will laughs as Hannibal presses a line of hot, insistent kisses along the column of Will's throat. "I fear I've distracted you from breakfast."

Hannibal tugs at another needy handful of Will's hair, eliciting a sharp moan as Will bares his neck. He forces himself to pull away for a moment, and Will tries not to lament the loss of contact. "I could always reschedule it for Brunch, if you'd like."

Will looks at Hannibal. The desire is burning in his mate's eyes, but he's also never looked happier. The sight pulls at his heart again. Will never thought that he would belong to someone like this- and yes, that's what it really is, not ownership or claiming but belonging to each other.

Hannibal smiles. Mine. His. Ours.

Will kisses Hannibal again, more tenderly than the moment calls for. He hurt himself more than he let on when he pushed them both off of the table last night, but it doesn't stop him from falling swiftly to his knees.

A few hours later, Will opens his eyes to see Hannibal reading on the other end of the sofa. Will swallows, shaking the fog from his head.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep."

Hannibal doesn't even look up from the pages. "You've had a tiring twenty-four hours, Will. And I confess, I haven't necessarily been fostering your recovery."

Will chuckles. That's fair, Hannibal's been giving Will plenty of reasons to be exhausted. He'd returned Will's favor this morning with eagerness to spare, and last night was nothing short of mind-blowing from start to finish, and Oh my God, I killed someone yesterday.

"I can't believe how different I feel today. It feels like everything with Tier happened years ago."

Hannibal nods. "Your worldview has shifted rapidly, as well. All the more reason for you to rest."

It's true. Will's sense of morality, of justice, even his own sense of self- it all feels different now. He thinks that he should feel lost, unable to find his footing in this new world. That he should be mourning the victory of his inner darkness, and feel horribly alone.

Will stretches along the sofa, regarding the man beside him. Hannibal looks perfectly at peace, calm and content as a cat in a sunbeam.

He turns across the cushions, head now much closer to Hannibal. "What are you reading?"

A small smile tugs at Hannibal's lips. "A poetry anthology."

Will nods. "I've never been a fan of poetry, but okay. Go ahead."

Hannibal lifts an eyebrow. "Pardon?" He asks, but he adjusts his body to make space for Will.

Will rests his head in Hannibal's lap the moment he's able, smiling to himself. "You want me to rest, right? I find your accent soothing, I always have. Go ahead."

Hannibal chuckles fondly. "Not even a day, and already spoiled," he mutters, but there isn't an ounce of annoyance in him. He clears his throat. "Would you like me to translate for you?"

"No," Will says, letting his eyes fall shut. "I liked how you sounded last night. The words sound good in your mouth."

Hannibal is silent for just a moment and Will imagines he's looking down at him with the same expression as always.

"Efter at have elsket ligger vi tæt sammen
og på samme tid med afstand mellem os
som to sejlskibe der nyder
deres egne linier i de mørke vande, de skiller..."

Will drifts off again, and dreams of blood and antlers and an overwhelming sense of Belonging.

Chapter Text

The concept of a Soul Mate is, by and large, horribly overrated. It leads to people disregarding any and all relationships that don't immediately result in prophetic visions, causing chronic isolation and feelings of self-loathing in those that don't meet their mates early in life. There is an unfair stigma against people who choose to pursue a platonic relationship with their mates, as if romance and sex are somehow elevated beyond other forms of love. Not to mention the complications that come from Peak Visions in and of themselves- the impatience one can feel for its approach and the emptiness that many people experience once their Peak has passed, which results in higher suicide rates following what is meant to be the most fulfilling moment of a person's life.

That being said, Hannibal Lecter has never felt happier in all of his forty-four years of living. The satisfaction he feels from something as small as the sight of Will Graham's coat hanging near his own by the door is almost overwhelming. The way Will enters Hannibal's foyer the moment the door is opened, lets him pull the coat from his shoulders with a light sigh, and mumbles out a 'my day sucked, how was yours?'- it warms a part of his soul that hadn't been touched before Will.

Will can be found in Hannibal's home more evenings than not, if only for a while. He always stays for dinner, and Hannibal often convinces him to stay a little longer to talk by the fire, and sometimes he's lucky enough to lure him to bed after that, and very rarely, the universe smiles on him and Will stays through the night. Regardless of how much time he's given, Hannibal is grateful for every moment.

At his core, Hannibal has always been a Provider. He feels a deep pride when he feeds someone meal that they enjoy. This feeling is much deeper with Will.

The room in his memory palace dedicated to the other man had originally been a dark, rich study that branched off of a vast library. It contained secrets and schemes and visions of Will, bloodied and victorious. Now, it had expanded and changed. Will's place within Hannibal's mind was a grand sunroom, with floor-to-ceiling windows that cast a lively glow on images of his beloved. Will taking the first bite of a tiramisu Hannibal had slaved over- eyes closed and sighing and immediately going in for more with a 'delicious, Hannibal, thank you' on his perfect lips. Will half-asleep in the small hours of the morning, sated and content after a long night of lovemaking, cracking a lopsided smile when Hannibal asks if he enjoyed himself. 'You know that I did, you just like hearing me say it.' Helpless to deny, he simply shrugs in response. He's rewarded with a 'It was good, asshole' for his troubles. Will looking clean and comfortable after a hot shower, wearing Hannibal's clothes for lack of an alternative but also undeniably with some measure of joy at the feeling.

Yes, in every sense, Hannibal loves to Provide.

"Is everything alright, Darling?" He asks. Will is being uncharacteristically quiet this evening, eyes focused on the grain of the dining table as though deep in thought.

He doesn't respond.

"Will," Hannibal says, a bit more firmly.

Will jumps, looks up from the table at last. His gaze lands on Hannibal's mouth. "Hm?"

"You seem pensive this evening. Did something happen at work?"

Will tries to force a smile. "I'm fine, babe. Just thinking. You know how I am, I'm just in my head today."

The use of babe is intentional. Will's casual little pet names are endlessly endearing to Hannibal, almost unbearably pedestrian in a way that should be infuriating but isn't. Instead it meets his ear as something teasing but affectionate, only patronizing enough to remind both of them that Will is not afraid.

It won't distract him.

"It might help to discuss what's on your mind."

Will winces slightly, eyes darting back down to his plate. "I don't want to make something out of nothing," he mumbles.

That sparks some alarm. So it is Something, then. A Something that he'd prefer to be a Nothing.

If it was something work-related, he would say it. Is it something Hannibal's done? Was he not providing properly?

"If there's anything I can do," He says, trying to keep his tone gentle. "Merely say the word."

Will's brows furrow. His jaw works, chewing on words that may go unsaid. Hannibal braces himself for impact, a knot forming itself in his stomach.

"Why don't we ever hang out at my house?"

Hannibal has to bite back the relieved chuckle perched at the back of his throat. "Is that all?"

Will's frown deepens and Hannibal chastises himself for taking this so lightly. "Yes, that's all." He spits. "Is spending a night in Wolf Trap really that unappealing?"

Hannibal is glad that Will is still avoiding his eyes, the mirth within them would be beyond disguise. Darling boy, so ready for this to become a fight! You're being foolish, it's adorable. "Not at all, I simply enjoy having you in my home. Seeing you so comfortable here is enjoyable, there's no ulterior motive."

Will seems to think this over for a while. Hannibal is surprised by how long he needs to process it. Were you truly that convinced that I had something against your lifestyle, my love? I don't. Well, except for-

"I want you to get to know my dogs, Hannibal."

Hannibal suppresses a slight grimace. "I've met your dogs."

Will shakes his head. "I want them to know you. I'm tired of them freaking out when I come home from your place, like I smell like a stranger." He breathes out a short laugh. "Makes me feel like I'm hiding a second life from them."

Hannibal considers this. He isn't necessarily against animals. He would never hurt an animal, aside from with intentions of eating it. And he has no plans on ever making Will unhappy. In his visions of their future, a dog was always reluctantly included. One dog. Kept outside, where dogs belong. The matter of Will's current seven animals was simply accepted for what it is and largely ignored.

Will meets his eyes at last, loving and sincere and so, so beautiful. "This is important to me, baby. Please?"

Hannibal takes great pride in his self-control. The only reason he's come this far- become this wealthy man of status with a prolific background of bloodshed- is due to his unwavering willpower.

But Will had looked at him, gorgeous blue eyes peeking up from beneath a curtain of pretty lashes. And he'd called Hannibal 'baby'. And said please.

"Of course, Darling. Whatever you'd like."

That weekend, Hannibal finds himself parked outside Will's house, prepared for what will probably be a rather taxing evening. The front door opens almost as soon as he parks his car, and a small stampede of furry bodies ambush the Bentley. Hannibal all but trips over the squirming creatures as they nose at his legs and yelp in excitement.

The more talkative members of the Pack fall silent at the sound of a sharp hissing sound, and Hannibal looks up to see Will moving to meet him. Will parts the canine mob like Moses through the sea and his hands find Hannibal's jaw, pulling him close for a quick kiss. "Hey," He says with a soft smile. "Thanks for coming over."

The dogs are still wagging their tails and pushing insistently at both men, but Will hardly seems to notice. How could someone be so accustomed to this? "They certainly are...spirited, aren't they?"

Will chuckles at that and moves to crouch on the ground, offering a few of the dogs scratches and rubs. "They're just excited because they're finally putting a face to your scent, that's all." He takes a small one's face in his hands, smoothes the fur near its ears and speaks to it in a cooing voice. "Isn't that right, Buster? Are you excited? Oh, is that who Daddy smells like?"

Hannibal feels his chest tighten. It's almost painfully cute. And something about Will referring to himself as his dogs' 'Daddy' makes him want to laugh out loud. It's so charming.

Certainly, one dog would be fine. Kept outside.

Will stands and beckons Hannibal to the front porch. When they both sit on the front steps, the dogs follow them. Will takes Hannibal's hand, holds it out. "Let them smell you," He instructs patiently.

Hannibal does so and, to his horror, a large white dog takes the opportunity to give a slobbering lick to his hand. Will seems thoroughly pleased by this. Hannibal is not.

Hannibal jerks away and the dogs flinch backwards in kind as he pulls out his pocket square and wipes the saliva from his skin. Will laughs and Hannibal tries to keep from snarling.

"Aw, come on, babe. It means she likes you!"

"How wonderful," He deadpans.

"Hannibal," Will says, and his tone is that of a teacher with a failing student. "I'm not choosing between my soul mate and my dogs. These guys are like my family, okay? Make an effort for my family."

Hannibal sighs. Neither of them have families in the traditional sense. He suspects that Will's father is still alive, somewhere, but Will clearly has no interest in ever seeing him again. He isn't entirely sure what happened between them, but he has a feeling that Mr. Graham would swiftly appear on his menu if he did know.

Will is petting the white dog lovingly, coaxing her easily from nervousness to happiness, her tail wagging so fiercely that her hindquarters are following.

Despite himself, Hannibal thinks of Misha. He imagines how he might feel if Will could meet her, seeing the two people he cherishes most in the world together. The idea brings with it a flood of emotion so strong that he forces himself to close it away again.

He reaches out once more. When a quieter member of the Pack, a fluffy dog with auburn brindle patterned fur steps forward to sniff him, Hannibal scratches at his chin.

Will smiles. Perhaps their dog could be allowed inside on occasion, when the weather is poor.

He stands abruptly. "I'll be right back. You're gonna give them some..." He pauses for effect, looking to the animals. "Treats." A couple of them yelp immediately, and all seven are sent into a fresh excitement at Will's feet, new person almost entirely forgotten. He chuckles at the sight. "And then we can play for a bit before dinner. Sound good?"

"I am your guest tonight, love. It would be rude to deviate from your plans," Hannibal replies with an answering smile.

Will laughs, letting the door close behind him while tossing a quick "You're not my guest" over his shoulder. He emerges again shortly, armed with a small plastic container and a few dog toys that appear to be very used. Hannibal makes a silent plan to buy Will some new ones that aren't quite as filthy looking.

Will rejoins him on the step, popping the container open. The treats look homemade, and the Provider within Hannibal suddenly sees a companion in Will Graham. He is once again reminded that they are more similar than anyone would guess from the outside.

"You've never really been properly introduced, have you?"

"Not yet."

Will passes Hannibal the treats. "Make them sit before you give them out. Feed them by hand, if you drop them on the ground they'll fight over it. Start with Zoe- the one that licked you- and work your way to the smaller ones. She'll try to steal if you don't."

Hannibal listens, admiring the fact that Will has this down to a science. The care he puts forth in every aspect of these animals' lives is evident in the words.

Two dogs, perhaps. If Will only had one, it would undoubtedly be spoiled rotten.

Hannibal begins with Zoe, hesitating when she only sits for a fraction of a second before darting forward for the treat. Will doesn't seem bothered.

"That counts, go ahead. Zoe's a mess, you're lucky you got that much out of her."

Hannibal smiles to himself. "I suppose I couldn't expect more from someone who thinks it appropriate to French Kiss within minutes of meeting someone."

Will laughs loudly at that, a genuine laugh that manages to pull a mirroring sound from Hannibal's chest. "Yeah, she's a menace. Go for Juniper next," He says, gesturing to another large, fluffy dog. They're all struggling not to jump at Hannibal, and he's impressed by how well-trained they all are.

"Isn't she gorgeous?" Will says, practically glowing with pride as she sits calmly for her treat. "I think she's a pure Aussie- I mean, just look at that face. Now, why anybody would abandon a purebred Australian Shepherd in the middle of Wolf Trap, I couldn't tell you. But their loss is our gain, right?"

Will pats his thigh to get Juniper's attention and she wiggles her way between his knees. Will ruffles her fur, voice dropping to that sweet indulgent coo once more. "Isn't that right, my little Junebug?" Hannibal is fairly certain Will says something akin to 'Who's my pretty girl? You're my pretty girl!' but it's barely recognizable as human language.

Hannibal's eye catches the shy dog with the brindle fur. Its eyes are incredibly kind, and a part of Hannibal feels something protective and tender in his heart shift at the sight of it.

"What about that one?" He asks. The others are getting impatient and Will relents, supplying two more with treats as the fluffy mutt approaches Hannibal.

"Oh, that's Winston! He's kind of the new guy around here."

"Is he?" He asks. Winston sits without being told, looking up expectantly.

Will nods. "Yeah, I've only had him for a few months. I actually..." Will trails off, furrowing his brows. "Huh. That's weird. I actually uh, found him the night before we met."

Hannibal pets Winston after feeding him. He's quite a handsome creature, as far as dogs go. "That does seem like quite the coincidence."

"Yeah, I remember because I was so scared that Winston he was going to be alone again. I got home that night and I just..." Will swallows. He seems to realize all at once what he's saying, and to whom. He clears his throat, finds some comfort in petting an old looking dog with white overtaking his red fur. "I just sat on the floor. I held them all night. Waited for the Ripper to come get me. I felt so guilty. Like I was letting them down if I got myself killed." He sighs, staring out at the yard. "It was a bad night. Not a great first impression."

The words don't have any bite when they're spoken, but they cut into Hannibal anyway. The image Will painted is vivid, and it threatens to tear him asunder. "Will," He starts, unsure of what will follow.

Will sniffs sharply. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so serious." He pats the old dog firmly on the back. "Uh, this one here is Jericho, and-"

"I never had any intention of killing you, my love. Even from the beginning, I never could have done it."

Will sighs. "Too enamored with my Becoming?" He asks, and his tone is shockingly bitter. My heart, how many times must I show you that I love you for more than that? I would love you even if we weren't mated at all.

"Too enamored with you, Will. Too hopelessly infatuated with the way our conversation flowed like a river, even when we were arguing. With how you were unbelievably precocious and completely unreasonable." Will laughs, a blush spreading across his cheeks. Hannibal continues. "You preached about the evils of eye contact to a complete stranger with total confidence but looked at me anyway, and saw me, beyond anything a vision could tell you. I saw something captivating in your eyes that day, Will, but I continue to be captivated by you every moment."

Will looks him in the eye, and Hannibal feels Provided for. He threads his fingers into Hannibal's hair and pulls him close, his kiss lingering and sweet. "I never would've turned you in, either. I think part of me always wanted to end up here."

"Partners in crime?" He asks teasingly.

Will kisses him again. "Something like that."

Hannibal is properly introduced to Jericho, Buster, Daisy, and Luna. By the time the Pack gets tired of chasing tennis balls and fighting over ropes, the sun is low in the sky and Hannibal feels his soul mate's joy like honeysuckles on the air.

Two dogs. Allowed inside but not on the furniture.

Will stretches his back, tails of his flannel rising to reveal a tantalizing strip of pale skin. Even now, armed with exhaustive knowledge of what that skin feels, smells, tastes like, Hannibal feels a pang of longing. "I should get started on dinner. Come on, let's go inside."

Hannibal follows. This part of the evening is one he's cautiously optimistic for. He's never tasted Will's cooking, but Hannibal is excited for the glimpse into what Will eats on his own. Hannibal observes as Will combines cherry tomatoes, feta cheese, and a variety of herbs with olive oil in a bowl. There's a large pot of water on the stovetop, which Hannibal suspects might be for a pasta of some sort. Vibrant but undeniably homey. No less beautiful for its simplicity. I expected nothing less, mylimasis.

"You're staring," Will says without looking up.

"Guilty as charged."

"Go get comfortable, I don't need an audience."

Hannibal chuckles fondly but relents, sitting on the sofa with the now resting animals at his feet. He still has a good view of Will from here, his home is too small to hide without a great deal of effort.

Winston jumps up onto the couch, lying across Hannibal's lap and making him respond with a surprised "Oh".

Will looks up and immediately moves toward him. "Winston, down!" Will looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, he doesn't usually jump on people. Aside from me, at least."

"It's quite alright, Will," Hannibal says before Will can leave the kitchen, watching as Winston moves to lie on the rug. The dog had been warm in his lap, and Hannibal feels an all too familiar desire to Provide for someone.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he removes his jacket and tie, even loosening the top button of his shirt to adopt a more casual air, and drapes them across the back of a chair. He sits back on the couch and, mimicking Will's earlier action, pats his leg. Winston hesitates for a moment before hopping back onto the sofa as well, sitting close to Hannibal with his head resting on his thigh.

Hannibal looks up at Will. He's positively beaming.

Two dogs. Allowed on the furniture, but never on their bed. Hannibal wouldn't compromise on that matter.

"You know, the others might catch on if you start picking favorites."

Hannibal smiles back. "Unfortunately, I'm heavily biased toward the Pack Leader already."

A comfortable silence fills the small home. Hannibal smells feta baking and fresh bread and basil. It's lovely. He begins to understand why Will is so partial to taking naps in Hannibal's home, he feels remarkably safe in this moment. As if any need that arises will be swiftly met by his beloved mate. It's a feeling he's constantly hoping to inspire, but hasn't felt himself in quite some time.

He pets Winston. Scratches him behind the ears and strokes along his back. He's a very polite animal, and Hannibal finds that he prefers him to many humans. He thinks of how Will interacts with them. He sees no point in conversing with a dog, but the urge to do so suddenly presents itself.

"Hello, Winston," He says, not cooing but warm and soft. "You're a sweet fellow, aren't you?"

He hears another loud laugh from the kitchen. He can't imagine how strange this must be from Will's perspective. "He's a dog, Hannibal. Not one of your clients."

"I would never talk to my clients like this," he retorts.

Winston looks up at him, his tail thumping rhythmically against the cushion. Hannibal feels a warmth in his heart. He continues to pet the dog, watching Will as he does.

"We're quite lucky, aren't we?" He says to his fluffy new companion. "Alone in this life, until fate saw it fit to put us in the path of your Father."

Will looks to Hannibal, their eyes meeting quickly. He looks utterly overcome by something, like he's fighting to keep it from rising out of his chest and into the world. He's above Hannibal in a flash, gently moving Winston out of the way so he can fall into Hannibal's lap.

Will's arms curl lazily around his neck, his kiss filled with adoration. Hannibal responds in kind, bringing his hands to rest on Will's hips and returning the kiss.

They sit like that for a while, kisses filled with meaning as each strives to communicate things that wouldn't let themselves be said.

And Hannibal feels that he hears everything Will is saying. Tries to say it back.

I love you. I love you. I love you. My heart, my dear, mylimasis, beloved, perfect, angelic thing. I love you.

"Will..."

Will looks at him, once again gracing him with that flawless, sparkling blue. Their noses are still touching, ready at any moment to rejoin the kiss. Will looks hopeful, and Hannibal thinks that there may be no better moment than this.

"Will, I-"

Winston whines beside them, jealous and petulant. Hannibal breathes out a laugh and Will echoes it. "They all act like I've never given them an ounce of attention, no matter what I do," Will says softly, reaching over to pet Winston with fond indulgence.

Will presses another kiss to Hannibal's lips, then stands and leans down to kiss Winston's forehead as well. Hannibal cringes slightly.

"I'll wash my face before I kiss you again, okay?" He says with a roll of his eyes.

Hannibal watches Will return to the kitchen. I do love you. So much. But I suppose we have plenty of time to say it. There's no rush.

Winston looks pleased, blissfully unaware that he'd disrupted a very important moment.

To his own surprise, Hannibal leans over and presses a kiss to warm fur, in the same place Will had.

Chapter Text

"Professor Graham?"

Will looks up from gathering up his papers to see one of his students standing near his desk. She's a quiet, mousey girl who always sits in the back. She tries hard, she's a solid B plus student.

"I was wondering if you could take a look at what I have so far for my essay? Maybe give me some feedback?"

Will notices Alana Bloom walking into his classroom, gives the student a tight smile. "Sure, yeah. Come by my office at about one o'clock, we can talk about it then."

She smiles. "Thanks, I'll be there."

She leaves and Will directs his attention toward Alana. She looks slightly surprised. "Your students are actually engaging with you, for once."

Will frowns. "For once?"

"They usually come to me when they have questions. They say you're too...standoffish."

Will nods, frown deepening. He'd never tried to alienate his classes. "Well, I'm glad they had somebody to ask, then. Although I wish you'd mentioned that sooner."

"Doesn't seem to matter anymore, either way. I caught the end of your class. I've never seen your discussions be so open."

Will just shrugs, tries to ignore how Alana is giving him these appraising looks. "I've been feeling more inclined to openness, lately. Selective openness, that is."

She smirks at him. He suddenly feels like he's fallen into a trap.

"I've heard that finding your soul mate can make you more confident."

Will swallows. "Have you?"

Alana looks around, makes sure that all of Will's students have left, and leans close. "You found your match, didn't you?"

He scoffs. It's probably a bit much. "How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?"

She gives him a patronizing look. "You're looking people in the eye when you talk to them, you always leave work the second you can, you're happy, which is damning enough on its own, and you're always covered in these," She finishes by pointing at the deep bruise peeking out above Will's collar.

Will feels his anxiety spike. This isn't good. There's no line of questioning that will end well. Who's my mate? Doesn't matter. What's their Peak? Let's talk about something else. Mine? I gotta go, actually.

Deny, deny, deny.

"I'm...seeing someone," He says, because that much is obvious. "But they aren't my soul mate." Difficult to prove a negative, after all.

Alana forces a smile. "Oh, that's...cool. That's- I mean, I'm glad you're having fun."

Will huffs at her tone. Traditionalists. "Come on, Alana, you know I don't care about all that soul mate stuff anyway."

"I know, I know. But I care about you. I think that you deserve to find your Happily Ever After, don't you?"

"I don't want a fairytale ending," He snaps, and it's more aggressive than he'd intended. But it's true.

"Then what do you want?"

Will sighs in exasperation. For the first time in his life, he actually has an answer to that. A clearer one than he's ever had before. Whatever Hannibal Lecter is leading me to, that's what I want.

God, even thinking about him makes Will feel a little calmer under Alana's interrogation.

"I don't know. I don't want to plan ahead that far. I'm happy right now, we've got a good thing going. It's not going to last forever, and when it ends it's going to end poorly. But so is every relationship, even between soul mates. So I really don't see what the big deal is."

Alana looks like she wants to protest, but she relents. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm glad it's going well, really. How long have you been seeing each other?"

A smile tugs at Will's lips. "We were flirting for a long time before things became official," he answers honestly. "But it started in earnest about three months ago." He's brought back to their first night together, the months of charged conversation and power games finally culminating into something dark and exciting and so, so much better than Will had expected when they met.

Although in all fairness, he'd been expecting to die then, so the bar wasn't terribly high.

Alana looks pleased. "Well, I'm looking forward to meeting them. I'm sure anybody who can keep up with you for that long is bound to be a fascinating person."

Will chuckles. Honey, you've got no idea. "That's certainly true in this case, at least. Very fascinating."

Alana opens her mouth to speak, no doubt looking to ask another question about Will's mysterious new partner, but she's distracted when Jack walks in. Thank God.

Well, he should be feeling relieved, anyway. It was much smarter to keep his and Hannibal's relationship hidden, minimizing their ties to each other and avoiding further scrutiny. But it had been...nice, telling someone about it. Keeping their entanglement a secret was surprisingly difficult, he wanted to brag about it with anyone who would listen. It's a strange impulse for Will, he's never been much of a peacock before, but that primal, territorial feeling he'd felt early on was still very present. It's why he hadn't been as careful about hiding hickeys as he probably should be.

Mine. His brain still insists. The Ripper is Mine. See how he restrains himself for me? He could eat me alive, he probably wants to. But he holds himself back because he's MINE.

Everything he'd learned about the subject- from working on cases where it was relevant or from the extensive reading he's taken up- suggests that the possessive urges are supposed to smooth out about six weeks after the initial bonding, if not sooner. But here he is, twice that time having passed, still feeling the instinct to bite any hand that comes near Hannibal.

It's just difficult to suppress it. His mate makes him feel feral, bloodthirsty. He's developing a taste for it. Cooking and eating at the Ripper's side, asking him question after hungry question about his murderous lifestyle. Hannibal said his Becoming would be soon, Will can't believe it hasn't happened already. He feels...altered. Improved. Evolved.

Will tries to re-orient his thoughts, hoping the heat creeping up his neck isn't obvious.

"Will," Jack says. He looks distressed and it brings Will back down to Earth. "My office, now. We need to talk."

Jack's gaze flicks to Alana and then back at Will before he adds "It's about the Ripper."

Will has to resist the impulse to smile. My favorite topic. He follows Jack to his office, feeling a dark thrill on his back. Jack is nowhere near catching Hannibal. He never will be, especially not now that he and Will are working together. Hannibal is a genius, an artist; and Will is his muse, he always says so. So instead, the Ripper investigation has become a new game for Will to play. It's fun, being on the opposite side of this game for once. He spent so many years trying to follow tracks, it's exciting getting to cover them.

Will settles into a chair opposite Jack, ready to hear a new plan that definitely won't work because the Ripper himself will hear about it tonight over dinner.

Jack sighs. He's nervous. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this, Will."

Will almost laughs. No you aren't. "Dragging me into what?"

The nervousness seems to melt into pity before his eyes. "What happened, Jack?" He prods. This feels wrong, suddenly. Very wrong.

"Forensics found something in the new Ripper display. We have a prime suspect."

Will frowns. Did Hannibal plant something while I wasn't paying attention? He must have. Probably trying to surprise me, the big showoff. Who are we sending the FBI after? "Who is it?"

Jack sighs again, looks down at his desk.

"Hannibal Lecter."

Will's blood runs cold. "No," he whispers. No, no no, this can't be happening. Not now. "There's got to be some kind of mistake."

"They found a stray hair on the scene. It's Hannibal's."

Will feels the world crashing down around him. This is his fault.

Will had gone with him, that night. He wasn't ready to participate just yet, but he wanted so badly to observe. It hadn't taken much convincing, Hannibal was eager to share this life with Will and any doubts were easily erased with a 'please' and a doe-eyed glance. He stood close by, brought Hannibal different tools and supplies when he asked for them, tried his best to stay out of the way.

But Hannibal was distracted. Will found it flattering, at the time. His soul mate was there, watching him work. Will captured his attention, just enough that he must not have noticed a hair falling from his head and finding itself in the display.

It's not something Hannibal ever would've done if Will wasn't there. I can use that. Yes.

"The Ripper doesn't leave evidence," Will argues, trying to keep his tone even. "This doesn't sit right with me. Maybe it was a plant. Maybe he's being framed."

"He meets the profile, Will."

"You think the Ripper doesn't know that?" He snaps, and okay, maybe this could work. I can spin this. Hannibal isn't going down because of me. Isn't going down ever.

"He has surgical experience, he's methodical, theatrical, intelligent-"

"Do you hear yourself right now? Hannibal Lecter is your friend, Jack, I can't believe you're even entertaining this." Yes. Emotional manipulation. Yes. Okay, good. Something else, need something else.

"I'm just as upset as you are, Will, but I'm not going to ignore evidence based on friendship."

Will seethes. Just as upset as I am, give me a fucking break. You have no idea what you're doing. You're about to ruin two lives, Jack. Four, in fact, because if you put him behind bars you and your wife are going to-

"We're just gonna search his house and bring him in to ask some questions, Will," Jack placates. "You're acting like I'm putting him on death row."

"And you're acting like he belongs there!" Jesus, Will, you're gunning for Best Supporting Actress here. Rein it the hell in. Will sighs sharply. "You know Hannibal, Jack. He doesn't belong in jail."

Jack stands. "And I hope you're right, but it's my job to make sure. I was only telling you in advance as a courtesy, I'm heading over there right now."

And Jack is already leaving. Right now?

Will feels an all-consuming urge to grab Jack by the throat. To beat him into the ground and rip his throat out with his teeth and slice him open with his pocket knife. MINE. Keep your filthy hands away from him, he belongs to me. Will's mouth waters.

"He's never going to forgive you for this," Will calls after him. "And neither am I."

The moment the elevator doors close, Will is sprinting down the stairs. He pulls out his phone, calls Hannibal with shaking hands. He tries to clear his head. Head start, head start. Everything is fine, we have a head start. Hannibal will know what to do.

"Come on, pick up, pick up," He hisses as the phone rings again and again. It cuts to Hannibal's voice-mail. Will curses and dials again.

Will makes it to the first floor in record time, fumbling for his keys as he half-runs to the exit. Voicemail again. "Pick up your fucking phone," Will grits out. There's tears rising to his eyes but he blinks them away.

"Will? Hey, where are you going?"

Will whips around to see Alana. She takes in his expression, the tears gathering. "What happened with Jack?"

"I can't talk about it right now, okay? I need to go."

She looks concerned. It's deserved. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to cover your next class?"

He huffs. "Cover it, cancel it, I really don't care. I need to go. Now."

Will is shaking by the time he gets into his car. He's trying to call Hannibal again, quickly getting swallowed by panic. What happened to being stronger together, huh? What happened to all that 'with you by my side, we can kill whoever we like' shit?

He starts his car and drives away, headed toward Hannibal's house but not really sure what his plan is. His mind is in a thousand places at once, he can't focus, why isn't he answering his fucking phone?

Will finds himself replaying the last three months in his head. Three blissful months of solving cases together, taking down fools who could never compare to the Ripper. They'd dodged suspicions with Tier so easily, it'd been child's play to redirect their goose chase to a dead end. Three months of making love in every room in both of their houses, not by design but by the sheer magnetism that draws them together. Hannibal's shower had not disappointed, but the medical table in his hidden basement had been a definite highlight. Three months of sparkling conversation and late mornings and feeling so complete. For the first time in his life, he feels so complete.

The image of Hannibal on Will's couch, Winston in his lap, flashes behind his eyes as the phone rings. Happy and calm and warm. Another image of Hannibal with Will's hands around his throat, dark and aroused and sickeningly proud.

Hannibal in his element, sparing a moment to send a ravenous glance up to Will from where he knelt, removing his victim's kidney with practiced ease.

The part of him he'd always tried to keep hidden can come out with Hannibal. And it's not just accepted but celebrated, cherished like Will never dreamed it could be. At long last, the darkness inside of Will had found a companion, a second voice to harmonize with.

Of course Will is more confident with Hannibal by his side, the man is constantly praising him at every opportunity. And when he finally does decide to shut his mouth, he's giving Will that look, like he'd move the moon for him if Will wanted him to.

No one is ever taking you away from me.

"Hello Darling," Hannibal says, accented voice finally coming through the phone. "I'm sorry I missed your call, is everything alright?"

"Get out of the house."

The sweetness seems to drain from Hannibal's voice. "What happened, Will."

"I don't know if I have time to explain, just get out of there!"

Will hears it through the line. Like church bells heralding the arrival of some horrible messenger. "Don't answer that. It's Jack, he knows, you have to get out."

Hannibal is silent on the other end of the phone. Will feels sick. "Tell me what to do, babe. I'll do it, just tell me. I'm freaking out, I don't know what to do-"

"Did you plant any seeds when you spoke with Uncle Jack?" He asks. He doesn't sound worried. Serious, but not worried. It makes Will stop shaking as much.

"Used Jack's emotions as leverage pretty liberally. Wedged in some room for doubt. Said you were framed by the real Ripper."

When he answers, Will can hear that he's smiling. "Ethos, Pathos, and Logos- all attacked in one fell swoop. Clever work, mongoose."

Will smiles despite himself. "Thank you. What do you want me to do now?"

Will hears knocking. Jack is getting impatient. "I want you to go home and stay calm. No one knows that we've been spending time together and you haven't incriminated yourself. You've nothing to fear."

Will's smile falls. "What? No, we're leaving, right? You're going to escape out the back, or kill Jack yourself. Right?"

"Have faith in me, Will."

He immediately feels nauseated. The tears make a reappearance. "No, no. Don't let them take you. Hannibal, don't. L-let's leave the country, yeah? Don't do this."

When Hannibal doesn't answer, Will feels himself spiraling. "Hannibal. Baby. Please. Just kill him and run. Go without me if you have to, I'll find you later, just go."

"Just a moment, please," Hannibal calls out toward the door. Jack must've knocked again while Will was talking.

Anger surges inside of him. Anger at the situation. Directionless. Blind. "Hannibal Lecter, I swear to god if you leave me alone again after I've finally found-" He swallows a sob. "You promised me you'd be there. You told me you wanted to see my Becoming, you promised."

"I did. And I never go back on my promises. Never."

Will freezes. I hate that I believe you.

"I love you, mylimasis."

Will's heart stops. He knew, of course he knew. Hannibal had told him in every way a person could say it, just never out loud.

The line goes dead before Will can respond.

Chapter Text

Hannibal often wondered if Prometheus regretted sharing the gift of fire with Man. Perhaps not the first time his liver was consumed by the eagle, but the tenth, the hundredth, the thousandth. If he wished that he'd left humanity as he'd found them, blindly struggling in the dark.

Hannibal has his answer now.

He sits in the uncomfortable metal chair, the room a few degrees cooler than what would be preferable. His wrists are chained to the table, unable to adjust the rough orange jumpsuit as it itched against his collarbone. He sits in silence, awaiting some form of judgement, and thinks of Will Graham.

His Will hadn't put him here, of course. At least not intentionally. But Hannibal is well aware that he likely wouldn't be here were it not for Will.

He imagines an alternate path. One where he doesn't make eye contact that blessed day in Jack Crawford's office. Where he chooses not to consult on the Shrike case to begin with. Where he sees Will's Becoming and, still too besotted to ever harm him, flees the country at once. Leaving Will as he found him, repressed and lost, stumbling alone in his own beautiful abyss. No, Prometheus hadn't an ounce of regret for showing mankind the flame of the gods. Not if he loved them. Prometheus would do it again, even knowing the consequences, if only to see the faces of his beloved Greeks kissed by the light and warmth of a nearby flame.

Did they think to cry for dear Prometheus, when he was sentenced to his unending punishment? Was he missed?

The door opens and Doctor Alana Bloom walks in, clutching a folder and a small recorder. She forces a sad smile as she sits across from him.

Hannibal is not Prometheus, not yet. He is yet to be sentenced. With any luck, Hannibal will evade the wrath of Zeus and reunite with his own weakness, free to burn alongside him until the world is rended to ash at their feet.

"Hello, Hannibal," She says weakly.

"Hello, Doctor Bloom," He responds pleasantly. He casts a glance to the wall beside them. "May I ask if we are speaking privately or before an audience?"

Alana picks up her recorder. "Both, in a way. It's just you and me, for now. But it won't be after I leave."

He nods. "I either thank you for your transparency or take deep offense at your deceit, depending on what lies beyond that mirror."

The ghost of a smile plays at her lips despite the circumstances and she presses a button on her recorder. She clears her throat before she speaks. "I assume they've given you the rundown by now."

"Jack Crawford has reason to believe that I am the Chesapeake Ripper, based on the presence of my DNA at the latest crime scene," Hannibal recites. He resists the need to curse himself for his negligence for the thousandth time, lest the emotion touch his expression. It was terribly frustrating, though, and he feels awful about putting poor Will in this position.

Alana nods. "Forensics did a sweep of your house yesterday, they're probably running tests on your possessions as we speak."

Hannibal nods again. He infers that they missed the secret entrance to his cellar, since he's still being treated with some measure of compassion. At last, a stroke of good luck. Lord knows I need it.

"Allow me to spare them a frenzy and inform you that my white cufflinks are ivory, not bone."

Alana smiles as she opens her folder. Good. "I'm about to ask you some questions that you've already been asked at least a dozen times, and them im gonna ask you some you probably haven't been asked yet."

"Would you allow me to ask you some questions in return?"

"I might not answer them, but you can ask them, sure."

Hannibal smiles amicably. It's important that Doctor Bloom is on his side by the end of this. "Very well. Please, ask away."

"Where were you, the night Patrick Kore was murdered?"

He answers the same way he did every time. "I was at home all night. I retired early, thought nothing of it. A completely typical evening."

"And there's no one who can corroborate that claim?"

He shakes his head. "I was alone."

"Did you know Mr. Kore?"

"Not at all."

"Do you know of any reason why your DNA might have been on Patrick Kore's body?"

He pauses for a moment before saying. "Not unless someone put it there."

Alana nods. "Will Graham seems to agree with you," she says. "He's convinced you've been framed."

Hannibal can't keep the smile from rising to his lips. "It's nice to hear that someone is maintaining faith in my innocence."

She frowns, looking up at him. "Are they treating you okay, Hannibal?"

"We've arrived at the new questions, then. No one has bothered to ask after my well-being since my arrest."

"I know Chilton can be..." She grimaces. "Well, it doesn't seem like the two of you would get along under normal circumstances, and he has a personal reason to be particularly cruel to the man being called The Ripper."

He notes her phrasing and takes a moment to be grateful that he is simply a man being called The Chesapeake Ripper, for now. "I'm fairing quite well, all things considered. Frederick is a nuisance, but I'm able to spend a great deal of my time simply occupied with my thoughts. Thank you for asking."

Hannibal swallows and shifts in his seat. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but it goes without saying that public knowledge of this business will be detrimental to my practice, even once I am exonerated. As little as I like to admit it, I am concerned for my reputation," He says, hoping she'll catch how he speaks about his release in terms of absolutes rather than possibilities.

Alana gives him a pained look. "Freddie Lounds had an article up within twelve hours of your arrest." She shakes her head. "Someone must have tipped her off, but we aren't sure who. Either way, it was all over Tattlecrime before we had any say in the matter."

Well, isn't that interesting? I'm tempted to say that I smell a rat, but a part of me suspects it might be a mongoose. "I'm surprised that Miss Lounds would run another story about the Ripper, after what happened with Doctor Gideon. Still, I suppose she has always been shameless, hasn't she?"

"And now history is repeating itself," She says. He frowns at her and she sighs.

"A woman was found dead this morning. Her killer removed her face and positioned her so that she was holding it out, like she was..." Alana trails off, visibly shaken.

"As if she were offering someone a mask to try on," Hannibal finishes, trying to picture the Tableau. Oh, Darling, you shouldn't have.

Alana nods solemnly. "Will is convinced that it's The Ripper. That he...I don't know, changed his mind about framing you, and now he wants the credit back."

"He put the mask on me, to see how it fit, but realized it would only ever look right on his own face."

"That's how it seems."

Will Graham, I love you so much that it pains me. This plan is deeply romantic, his head is all but swimming with the beauty of it. It's so fiercely loyal, a tribute in addition to an effort to clear his name. It's a shame that it won't work.

"You don't agree with his assessment."

She sighs heavily. "It seems like it's a copycat. Jack feels pretty sure of it. The theatrics, the symbology- it's all there, but the Ripper is surgical in his precision. This killer is- well, he's doing more ripping than the Ripper ever has."

"Perhaps the Ripper is more brutal when acting out of passion. After all, this is the second time in the past year he's had his identity stolen from him."

She looks surprised. "That's Will Graham's perspective, as well. You practically stole the words from his mouth."

Ah, my dove, what a valiant effort you're making. I do wish it didn't border on suicidal, so that I could applaud you more. He smiles softly. "It's my experience that Will is almost never wrong. Surely that must hold some weight."

"It does."

Alana pauses for a moment, gives him an appraising glance. She turns off her recorder.

"I saw Will, after Jack told him about what they found on Kore. He was trying to keep it together, but he looked like he was on the verge of hysterics. I've never seen him so upset, it was like his world was coming to an end."

Hannibal's heart aches with the memory of their last conversation. Even through the phone, he could feel his beloved's despair. It wouldn't have worked, fleeing wasn't an option. Jack had backup- just two officers to take Hannibal to the station or intervene if things went South, but it was enough to even the scales between them. It wouldn't have worked, but he'd wanted with every fiber of his being to try. If only to ease his sweet Will's sorrow. He would've liked to run away with Will. Cuba, perhaps. Or Florence.

"He's your soul mate, isn't he?"

Hannibal looks at Alana. Her eyes are sorrowful. He knows that she is a Traditionalist, that she believes a soul mate bond is the only thing that can give one true happiness in life. It would be very beneficial to have her on his side.

Slowly, he nods. She looks heartbroken.

"That explains why he's so desperate to believe that copycat is the real Ripper. It's not like him to just ignore evidence like that."

"Will knows that I don't belong here, Doctor Bloom," He says. "He believes in me. In my innocence."

"I hope for his sake that he's right about you."

A smile tugs at his lips. "Rest assured, there is no one on this earth who sees me more clearly than Will Graham."

Alana looks touched. She's a romantic at heart, which makes her easily manipulated. Another stroke of luck, since Will and I are more in love than any two people she's ever encountered.

"We know that he called you before your arrest. What did he say?"

Hannibal realizes that Will was probably asked the same question. He wonders what his mate's answer was. Alana would find it suspicious, if their answers differed. He decides to be bold and answer truthfully.

"He told me to flee, of course. Asked me to run away with him until this all blew over."

She raises her eyebrows. "Why would he do that, if he knew you were innocent?"

Hannibal makes a point of shifting his hands, chain hitting the table with an unpleasant sound. "Will is not a fool, Alana. He is well aware that the truth can be obfuscated, and that the Ripper is skilled enough to do such a thing."

"And what did you say to his request?"

"I told him to have faith." He says, shrugging slightly. "I will be freed soon enough, and then Will and I can resume planning our future together, no worse off for it."

Hannibal can practically see Alana's heart burst at his words. He's captured her. Of course, his and Will's bond would be his greatest asset.

Alana frowns. "Why haven't either of you brought this up until now?"

"Will is a very private person, he prefers to keep his romantic affairs to himself. Moreover, he doesn't enjoy the culture surrounding soul mate bonds. I had no qualms about keeping it quiet until divulging it became necessary, either by virtue of a proposal or by...unforeseen external circumstances."

She cringes, realizing that this was likely the absolute last way either of them wanted to announce their bond to anyone.

"This information holds no weight on my innocence, Alana. And it hasn't been recorded. Will you pass the information along to Jack Crawford regardless, against mine and Will's wishes?"

She thinks it over for a moment. Then narrows her eyes.

"Where were you the night Patrick Kore was murdered, Hannibal?" She asks again.

"As I said, I was at home all night."

She nods. "But you weren't alone, were you? You were with Will Graham."

He lifts his chin. He was with Will that night, and they did spend it in Hannibal's home. After they were finished with Kore. But saying so would put Will under scrutiny, and Will has his hands quite dirty at the moment. He's cunning, and Hannibal harbors great respect for him, but he's never covered his tracks on his own before. Hannibal is worried for him. Deeply worried.

"I was alone, Doctor Bloom. There is no reason to bring any of this to light." He swallows his pride and adds "Please."

Alana looks Hannibal in the eyes. Her eyes are blue, but they pale in comparison to the blue that can be found in his mind palace. It had been contained to a single room for some time, even as the room had expanded, but now traces of that shade could be found behind almost every door.

The fact that his thoughts lingered on Will must've been evident on his face, because as Alana rises she mumbles "I won't bring it up until it seems pertinent."

She leaves, and Hannibal is ushered back to his cell. Still a temporary cell, and though it isn't as comfortable or clean as the cells more permanent patients stay in, he takes that as a blessing.

The eagle has not come for Prometheus today, though he fears it might feast on Man instead.

Chapter Text

Will looks at himself in his car's vanity mirror. His eyes are dark and focused, his face clean and schooled into forced neutrality. He barely recognizes himself right now. It doesn't matter. Hannibal will know him. Hannibal will taste it on the air, the frenzy and metal and blood that should be in view but isn't. Will shakes his head. Reign it in.

He fidgets with his glasses as he meets Alana and Jack outside the door, ignoring the way his pulse is rushing with anticipation.

"He's going to know you're listening."

"He still might be more willing to talk to you than to us," Jack says.

Will catches an unfamiliar sorrow coming from Alana and gives her a searching glance. Sympathy. Compassion.

"Maybe so," he mumbles. Alana forces a small smile. Suspicious. Both of us. What do you know?

"Are you sure you want to do this, Will?" Alana asks gently. "It might be...difficult, seeing him like this."

Will catches the softness in her tone. She knows about his connection to Hannibal. Probably more than that, too. Ah, it seems we've both been making moves. That's interesting. Bold. I like it. Too bad my plan is already underway.

Will shrugs, brushing past them. "Anything to move this nonsense along," he says, moving to enter the building.

Fucking anything.

Will is impatient, restless as he moves through the BSHCI. He has been since that phone call with Hannibal. He knows, with absolute certainty, that they're running on borrowed time. Any moment now. The secret entrance to the cellar, packed with evidence. Something else on Kore, or a past victim, that becomes more incriminating upon closer inspection. Some piece of the puzzle that hasn't yet clicked for anyone but Will, and as soon as it's solved the puzzle will be hidden away. Will won't get it back.

His fingers twitch at the very thought. Hannibal locked behind an impenetrable barrier, near but never with him.

Will knew it was critical to act as fast as possible. It's either do something drastic or risk running out of time entirely. So Will had gone to Freddie Lounds the same day Hannibal was arrested, already intent on taking a page from his old friend Abel Gideon.

Hannibal probably had his own plan, before. One that was elegant and cunning and patient. But Will couldn't just sit idly by. The separation is tearing him to pieces, he can't risk it becoming permanent.

Have Faith in Me.

Well, there would be time for faith once Hannibal was free.

Will's thoughts grind to a halt when he's ushered into the interrogation room. Hannibal, Hannibal, sitting at the metal table in the center of the room. His expression doesn't change as Will enters, but his eyes are all but sparkling. Will's heart aches. He wants to just fall into Hannibal's arms, kiss him breathless and break his wrist until it slips out of the cuffs tethering him to the table. He wants to attack every person in this building until the path is clear for them and pull Hannibal along behind him until they're alone and Hannibal is safe.

Will swallows around the newly formed lump in his throat. There's so much he wants to say, but Jack and Alana are listening, right beyond the glass.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal says, pleasant as always. Will wants to melt. The words feel like a coded message, hitting his ear as a 'Mylimasis, there you are.'

Will smiles, settles into the chair across from him. Of course, the two of them have never needed to speak directly. They will understand.

"Hello, Doctor Lecter." 'You have no idea how good it feels to be looking at you right now.'

"I wasn't sure I'd see you again until my trial began," He says. 'I missed you.'

"I would have come sooner, but I've had my hands full lately." 'I missed you more.'

A small smile comes to Hannibal's lips and Will wants to kiss him until it blossoms into an ear-to-ear grin. "Yes, I've been told you're trying to clear my name. It's reassuring, knowing I have you in my corner."

Will nods. "You shouldn't be in here, Doctor Lecter. I aim to show everyone that." 'You should be with me. Nowhere else. With me.'

Hannibal is quiet for a moment, then tilts his head. "You look tired, Will. Are you well?"

Will chews at the inside of his cheek. He's not well. He's been unraveling at an alarming rate, without his mate around. The possessive need to protect and defend is destroying him from the inside out. Every moment the other man spends in this prison is a moment Will feels he might just storm this place in the dead of night and hold an orderly at gunpoint until they release him.

"I haven't been sleeping much," he confesses. "Everything about this...it's keeping me up at night."

Hannibal nods. His eyes are concerned, loving. Please take care of yourself. For me.

Will lets his forehead fall against one of his palms. I'm trying.

"You are shouldering the burden of my exoneration, which entails finding the true culprit, and I've been informed that you're simultaneously investigating another recent death. The stress must be unbearable." 'I'm worried you've bitten off more than you can chew.'

Will's eyes flick to the mirror on the wall. He looks like a mess. Jack and Alana are watching. Jack must be suspicious. Alana knows.

Alana knows. Will looks back at Hannibal, lets some sincerity bubble to the surface in a way that hopefully looks accidental. "The ends justify the means, in my opinion."

The adoration flickering in Hannibal's face is gone as quickly as it came, but it warms Will to his bones. It was true. The ends could justify any means.

"You believe the Chesapeake Ripper killed Alice Schaffer," Hannibal says, abruptly shifting topics. The hidden statement is matter-of-fact.

'You killed Alice Schaffer.'

Will nods. He would've preferred to delay his next kill until Hannibal could be present. He didn't want to risk rushing his Becoming, and either way he knew his mate would be disappointed to miss it. Still, it had been exhilarating. The warmth of her blood, the parting of flesh. Will isn't a creative person. He's more suited to practical work, he wouldn't call himself an artist by any means. But Alice Schaffer had looked quite pretty when he was done with her, all the same. Hannibal would've done better, but Will still held hope that it would please.

She was a means to an end, as well. Not Justice or Self Defense like Hobbs or Tier, but not the slaughter that Hannibal promised him, either. Will was trading one life for another, simple as that. Schaffer was an innocent person, but Hannibal's life was more valuable by nature, intrinsically worth more than anyone else's. In the end, the choice had been easy.

"All of the trademarks are there. It seems obvious, don't you think?" 'Did you like it?'

He's anticipating a flash of dark amusement. Pleasure. Pride. Hannibal looks disappointed.

"Jack Crawford believes it to be an admirer. A copycat." 'You aren't fooling anyone, mylimasis.'

It cuts deep. Will sets his jaw. He speaks without thinking, lashing out. "Jack Crawford is so hellbent on catching the Ripper that he won't see reason," he spits, knowing fully that Jack is listening. "He doesn't care if you're guilty or innocent, he just wants someone to be punished."

"Will."

He stops, the worry in his lover's eyes extinguishing the fire in his guts. 'You're making yourself into a target. Pull yourself together.' "I'm sure you'll find the man who killed Patrick Kore. And Alice Schaffer. Be they the same person or not, they cannot hide from you. Have patience."

'Have patience. Have Faith. Have Faith, Will, I begged you to have faith.'

Will shakes his head, slowly. He lets out a bitter chuckle. "You know, I feel like I could really use some therapy right now," he says. 'I wish I could talk to you. Really talk.'

He's running headfirst into this madness, he has to. They're running out of time. So much for One Step Ahead, he's barely keeping pace while everything rushes up to meet him. In so many ways, he still feels exactly how he did when he called Hannibal. Lost, panicking, begging Hannibal to just make it all go away. He's being reckless, he knows it, he wasn't ready to kill an innocent person, not yet. Not alone. But it felt like the only option and now he just wants Hannibal to tell him what to do. He feels his hands start to shake and curls them into fists. Please. Please tell me what to do.

"I'm sorry, Will."

It settles into his chest like a stone. 'I can't protect you now. I want to, but you are beyond my reach. I can't help.'

"Well," He says, forcing himself to move forward because he can't afford to fall behind. "Whether he's the Ripper or a Copycat, there's one thing Jack Crawford and I agree on."

"And what might that be?"

Will meets Hannibal's eye, knows his own gaze is burning with righteous intensity.

"Whoever killed Alice Schaffer is going to kill again. Soon."

The concern in Hannibal's eyes crystallizes into pure fear and it shakes Will to his core. He's never seen Hannibal afraid like this.

"He will be caught, then. Sooner rather than later." 'You can't sustain this, dearest. Don't play this game. Please. You will be caught.'

"Good. Then they'll let you go."

"Only if it's the Ripper," He says. 'You aren't the Ripper, Will!'

Will swallows. He's thought about that, too. He smiles. Hannibal's life is worth more than anyone else's. Anyone.

Just a life for a life.

"It's the Ripper. I know it is." 'I could be. I could be the Chesapeake Ripper, for you.'

He wants, more than anything, for both of them to escape. He wants to kill just enough that they have reasonable doubt, just enough that Hannibal can leave. And then they'll run away together. That's the outcome he's working towards, the one he's praying will come to pass.

But if separation is unavoidable, if one of them has to be caged-

"I'm not giving up," Will says, softly. He does something risky, stupid. It's becoming a pattern. "You would do the same for me."

Hannibal's face is carefully indifferent. His eyes are fixed on the table. "Yes," He confesses. "Of course, I would."

"I...have the feeling that our time is almost up," Will says. Will didn't actually ask him the questions that he was supposed to ask, Jack would probably chew him out for that.

Hannibal nods.

Will stands, resisting the burning need in his soul to take those bound hands in his own and kiss them. "Thank you for speaking with me, Doctor Lecter."

"Be careful, Will," Hannibal says. He looks up at Will, face so filled with love and fear that it makes Will feel sick. The meaning makes itself at home under his skin. 'I love you, Will. I love you. Be strategic, be careful, be smart. Have faith, have patience, use your head. Please don't get hurt while I can't protect you, mylimasis. I love you.'

Those parting words from their last conversation have been spurring Will into action every step of the way. They sat with him in the dark, quiet corners of his mind. They encouraged him as he mutilated Alice Schaffer, and they would do the same the next time, for as many times as it takes.

He looks at the cuffs on his mate's wrists and his lip twitches into a snarl for just a second before he smothers it. Mine.

"I'll do my best." 'Love you too.'

Chapter Text

Hannibal does not think of his family often. Doesn't allow himself to. The memories are too painful, and Hannibal has nothing to gain from reliving them but heartache and the resurgence of a chill that can't ever be warmed away.

And yet, sitting in his cell, winding through the halls of his mind palace, he finds himself at the top of the stairs that lead to the basement. He's hesitating, not sure if he's prepared to descend them. But it feels necessary, to face this now.

He'd been too young when he lost them. Too small and weak to save the people he held so dear. There was nothing he could have done, but he still holds a grudge against himself for letting them slip through his fingers.

Hannibal takes a few steps down the stairs, toward the wrought iron gate that contains his deepest fears. He breathes and smells the lavender in his sister's shampoo, and silt from the stream they played in, and the honey from her favorite Medaus Tortas. He's freezing, suddenly; shivering through winter after endless, bitter winter. He turns on his heel and moves swiftly through twisting corridors, not slowing until he reaches the door to the Solarium.

Yes, his beautiful beloved sunroom. This could stave off the chill. He pulls open the door, eager to see Will's face kissed by dappled light. He finds the version of Will he'd seen a few days ago instead. His lovely, darling dove, so lost and desperate and afraid. The poor angel only wanted to set him free, to see them reunited, but he was in deep over his head. Hannibal could see it clearly that day, the truth that has him lingering near the basement.

If Will is left to his own devices, he will get himself killed. Killed or locked away. Prometheus has given fire to Man, and Man is going to burn himself alive with it. Hannibal only wished he could steady his mate's hand, could make him see. If he would only take a moment to recenter and think more clearly, he would see that he did have the tools to solve this problem. Hannibal knows he does. He knows that Will Graham is cunning, capable of such great things. But he's just too blind. Too blinded by the bloodshed and the loneliness to remember who he is.

He isn't behaving like himself anymore, on a fundamental level. It frightens Hannibal. A part of him is worried that he's changed Will too much too quickly, that Will might have snapped, fractured by his rapidly shifting surroundings like improperly tempered glass.

Hannibal sighs, pushes past the frantic man with dark circles under his eyes that haunts his Solarium, and selects something from the shelf. Will Graham, violent and righteous and bloodied but undeniably himself. Blue eyes bright against the darkness as he cuts his prey open, captivating as always.

It will come to pass. It must come to pass. It is destined. And I will be there when it does.

"Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal exits his Solarium with a small sigh, regarding the orderly outside his cell. It's late, there's no reason for a staff member to be disturbing him. He regards the man before him, carefully observing Hannibal with dark fascination. He's noticed this man before, always watching him with a crooked smile.

"Hello. Is there something I can help you with?"

The orderly gives him that same lopsided smirk, looking undeniably predatory. He steps closer to the bars and jerks his head to the side, indicating to Hannibal that they will be traveling somewhere together. Hannibal smiles amicably and holds out his wrists for the cuffs when he enters. As he fastens them, Hannibal takes a look at his Employee Badge. Matthew.

Matthew leads him past the other patients without a word. Hannibal's mind is racing with possibilities, quite curious about the other man's intentions.

He doesn't speak until they enter a small side room. "Chilton has this whole place wired. Everywhere except here."

Hannibal quirks a brow. "If you were seeking anonymity, you shouldn't have taken me from my cell in full view of the security cameras."

Matthew looks pleased with himself. "Surveillance is having some...technical difficulties this evening. They should be back up soon."

"I see."

Matthew walks slowly around the room, eyes constantly moving as if searching for something.  "I'm a big fan of your work, Doctor," he confesses after a fashion. "I wanted a moment with you, away from prying eyes." He settles back in front of Hannibal at last, speaking quietly even though they aren't being recorded.

"If there's anything you need, anything...just say the word."

Hannibal weighs his options. He doesn't know this man, but he feels certain that Matthew is not being entirely forthcoming. Hannibal suspects he has a motive beyond admiration.

"I am not the man you believe me to be, Matthew."

Matthew grins. To anyone else, it may have been intimidating. "You're the Chesapeake Ripper," he says.

Hannibal tilts his head. He thinks of Will, tragic and unhinged as he begins his ascent toward the sun. If Hannibal could just remind Will of himself, then perhaps they could work together to fix this. He smiles and prepares to spin Matthew a golden thread. Hopefully once it's spun, Will can follow it all the way back to Hannibal.

"My Soul Mate is the Chesapeake Ripper," Hannibal corrects. "I was merely in the wrong place at the right time."

Matthew's eyebrows raise. "The Ripper has a soul mate?" he chuckles. "Now I've heard everything."

"He is human. Flesh and Bone, like you or I." He looks Matthew in the eye. "Would you like to meet him?"

The other man narrows his eyes. "What makes you think he'd want to?"

"As I'm sure you can imagine, The Ripper is quite displeased with my being here. He can be so possessive at times, having me so far out of reach is driving him mad." He pauses, sighs. "I'm beginning to fear that he'll hurt himself in my absence. That he will behave too recklessly and end up being apprehended, or worse. It may comfort him, to have a contact on the inside."

"I could tell him that I'm keeping an eye on you, that I'm not gonna let anybody lay a finger on you. He's got nothing to worry about."

Hannibal forces a smile, though he bristles somewhat at being patronized. It's the role he needs to play for now, though.

"If I tell you where to find him, could you send him a message for me?"

-
Will shuts the back door behind himself, making a beeline for his liquor cabinet. He'd hoped that a midnight walk would help coax himself back into his skin, but he was mainly just cold.

He sighs sharply, shaking his head as he pulls a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet. There's no point, this is how it's supposed to be.

It hadn't bothered him, at first. It should have, it really fucking should have, but his blooming relationship with Hannibal was so blinding. Hannibal made Will's whole world shimmer like sunlight on water, once he'd finally let the other man in. Nothing about it felt wrong.

But now Hannibal is gone and Will finally has enough distance from the sun to actually see the shadows.

The highest point in his life, the biggest thing he has to look forward to, is a murder.

Will has more or less made peace with his own darkness, but the idea still sat like a stone in his gut. No number of things Will put into the world would ever measure up to how he will remove someone from it. The kill would define him, permanently. Why?

Hobbs had been his first kill, the one that made him realize that he enjoyed bloodshed. Tier had been the tipping point, the one that made him feel like there was no turning back, or at least like he didn't want to turn back. Schaffer...Schaffer hadn't taught him anything he didn't already know. Will barely even felt guilty for her death, it almost felt like Hannibal was her killer by proxy.

Hannibal.

Will he still be around, when it's over?

Will takes a long swig from the bottle. His dogs are mostly asleep, but a couple are still awake. Zoe, of course, and Winston. Will feels his heart tighten as Winston comes to nose at his feet. He's Hannibal's favorite, he never even tried to hide it. Will is starting to suspect it's mutual, that Winston might like him better than Will.

Winston whines and Will's heart threatens to crumble. Will doesn't want to get lost in the shadows. He wants the sun. Please, please let me get closer to the sun. I don't care how much it burns. He kneels beside Winston, scratches him behind the ears.

"I know, buddy. It's okay. I miss him, too."

And then, sudden and violent as a gunshot, all seven of his dogs are up and barking. Will stands, poised to strike. There's something in the air. Someone is here.

He sees movement outside his window and grabs a knife from his desk drawer, clutching it tightly. He tries to put himself between his dogs and the front door, but they are insistent. It's okay, the front door is locked.

The back door is not.

Will spins to see the back door creaking open and readies his blade. He's already closing the space between himself and the intruder when he sees palms in the air.

"Relax, Mister Graham, I just want to talk."

Will slows his approach but doesn't stop. "Ten seconds," he says.

"My name is Matthew Brown. I work at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane." He smiles but it doesn't meet his eyes. "Hannibal Lecter sent me."

Will stops a few paces away from Matthew, knife still outstretched. "When Hannibal sends men into my path, it's usually so I can kill them."

Matthew tilts his head, still smirking. "I don't think he would appreciate that, Mister Graham. Not when he wants so badly to help you."

Will narrows his eyes suspiciously. "What did he tell you?"

"He said that his soul mate is the Chesapeake Ripper. I've been looking to offer The Ripper a helping hand, so he sent me your way."

Will seriously considers just cutting this man open and being done with it, but he gets the feeling that Hannibal has a new plan brewing. "I don't need any help."

Matthew shrugs, hands still in the air. "Your mate seems to think otherwise."

Will gives him an appraising look. His intruder is comfortable in the shadows. "Why did you want to meet The Ripper, Matthew?"

He looks at Will like the answer should be obvious. "You're a genius, I love your work. I'm something of a fledgling artist myself, but your stuff is the standard every killer in the last decade should hold themselves to."

Will is silent for a moment, thinking this over. He keeps his grip on the knife steady but lowers his arm. Matthew brings his hands down but keeps them in view. A truce, for now. "I know you're worried about Hannibal, Mister Graham. I'm watching him for you. Anything he needs to be comfortable in there, I'll make sure he's got it."

Will just nods, though he doubts Hannibal would ever need something that this man could provide. "Okay. Good."

"He had a message that he wanted me to deliver, too. To you."

That catches his interest. "What's the message?"

Matthew clears his throat, looking around the room but always centering back on Will. "In this world, there are only three types of creatures. Hunters, Fishermen, and Prey. Both Hunters and Fisherman can feed themselves, but only if they're true to their identities." He takes a step closer and Will eyes him warily. "A Fisherman won't have any luck trying to hunt, Mister Graham, any more than a Hunter would be able to fish. Are you a Hunter or a Fisherman?"

Will takes a breath. "Hannibal said that?"

Matthew nods. "He said that he thinks you're the best at what you do. He thinks very highly of you, you're a lucky man."

Will breathes out a weak chuckle. Hunter or Fisherman? The Ripper is a Hunter. He stalks his prey, takes them down swiftly and brutally, and feasts on their organs.

Will, on the other hand, has never been one for hunting. Hannibal is right, no one does it better than Will.

"Do you know what makes someone a truly great Fisherman, Matthew?"

Matthew shakes his head. 'I'm a Hunter, I think."

Will steps closer, speaking quietly like it's a secret. A smile comes to his face. Message received, loud and clear.

"A great Fisherman always knows which bait to use for his catch."

Chapter Text

The alarm blares through the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, harshly waking its patients for breakfast. Hannibal's eyes blink open and he rises, feeling a deep sense of anticipation. He hears footsteps approaching, greets the other man with a polite smile when he comes into view.

"Good morning, Matthew."

Matthew nods in greeting. "Doctor Lecter," He returns, pushing a plastic tray of heinous looking food through the slot.

-

Will is awake before his alarm clock, which isn't that uncommon. But today it's by choice rather than by circumstance. It wasn't the nightmares that had him rising before the sun.

He throws together a filling breakfast of eggs and sausage and downs two cups of black coffee, knowing he'll need his mind and body to be as ready as they can be. He feeds his dogs. It's a larger meal than usual. Each of them gets two treats and plenty of attention before he leaves. Winston whines when he's about to pass through the door, like he knows. Will kisses his forehead and promises that he'll be back, hoping beyond hope that it's a promise he'll keep.

-

"You sleep okay?"

Hannibal frowns around a spoonful of oatmeal, fighting the urge to grimace. He washes it down with lukewarm tap water. "As well as can be expected, given the circumstances. Thank you."

"Well, you're gonna need the rest. Big day today."

-

"Will, there you are."

Will nodded to Alana and Jack as he entered.

"You look better," Jack observed. "Finally sleeping again?"

Will nodded. "I managed to clear my head, it seems." He smiled. "I feel more focused than I have in a while."

Jack looked pleased. He gestured to the empty chair beside Alana. "Well in that case, I'm excited to hear your plan."

-

Matthew straps Hannibal into a straight jacket and face mask before securing him onto a rolling cart. He leans down as he begins to push Hannibal down the corridor, speaking low. "Nervous?"

The shake of Hannibal's head is barely perceptible. "Never."

-

"Either you've lost your mind or you think I've lost mine," Jack said.

Will shrugged. "We don't have a lot of options, Jack. This is our best shot to catch the Ripper."

"The Ripper might already be caught."

"Either way, there's a killer on the loose." He looked up at Jack. "More than one."

-

"You know," Matthew says, more casually, letting himself be heard. "That Ripper copycat killed two more people."

"Did he?"

"Well, that's what they're saying, anyway." His tone shifts to something much more conspiratory. "I've heard it's a different guy, though."

Hannibal smiles behind his mask. "Admirers garnering admirers." He glances up at Matthew in his periphery. "A copy of a copy."

-

"Edward Alexander and Veronica Child were both killed with a hunting knife, put on display with organs removed. Their faces were both cut off. Just like Alice Schaffer."

Will shook his head. "Their faces were swapped, Jack. Two killers. Both wearing masks. It's either the Ripper and a Copycat, or two Copycats both playing at being the Ripper."

He leaned closer, challenging. "Alice Schaffer's killer is bound to retaliate, Jack. Who's to say a third killer won't rise, add his own mask to the collection? We need to act now."

-

"I don't blame your friends in the FBI for being eager to nip this in the bud," Matthew says. "If it goes on any longer, it's gonna get messy."

"It will be messy regardless. The only thing they can hope to control now is whose blood ends up on whose hands."

-

"And your solution is to lure them into a trap?"

Will nodded. "Ripper or not, you'll net yourself two killers at once. All you need is the right bait."

He couldn't resist it. He smirked. "Do you know who the best bait would be?"

-

The cart comes to a stop inside a small room, usually used for visitors. Alana Bloom is there, and Jack Crawford. Hannibal doesn't spare either of them a glance.

-

"Hannibal would be the best bait."

-

"Hello, Will."

Will smiles. "Hello, Doctor Lecter."

And Hannibal is thankful for that dreadful mask, because he couldn't hope to hide his grin. Will looks so lucid, eyes still dark and sharp but clear and confident again. He looks so lovely, like something from Hannibal's dreams. "You look well. Feeling better than when we last spoke?"

Will nods. His eyes are sparkling. Eager. Excited. "Yes, thank you. So do you."

Hannibal tears his eyes away from Will, forcing himself to regard the others. "So, what's the plan?"

-

"To put it bluntly," Will says, "We're going to use you to lure out the Ripper- or his Copycats." He's done asserting that Hannibal is innocent, he has other priorities. Namely keeping Jack on his side, more or less.

"Using me as bait?" He asks. The words are teasing, naturally. "Dangling me in front of their faces, in the hopes that they'll pounce on me?" Will can tell he's immensely pleased. Of course, it's trademark Fisherman behavior.

Will nods. "If one of them is the Ripper, he'll have plenty of reasons to pursue you, and his Copycat. And if they aren't, well," A smile tugs at his lips. "Then they'll be very interested in meeting you."

-

Hannibal decides to play hard to get, partially to avoid suspicion but also because he's hardly had a chance to play with Will in ages. "You'll be putting my life at risk."

Will is trying so hard so remain serious, but the delight is dazzlingly clear in those pretty blue eyes. "They'll be much more interested in killing each other than in touching you, I'm sure. Still though, we'll have backup."

Hannibal nods. This is the part that actually matters. The trap is nothing but a farce, both Copycats and the true Ripper are standing in this very room. "What sort of backup?"

Alana pipes up, now. "You'll be transported in a BSHCI van to a predetermined location by a staff member." She nods to Matthew. "Mr. Brown here has been kind enough to volunteer, so he'll be driving. We'll have two officers in the van with you, as well as two other cars, in case of an ambush."

"And to keep an eye on you," Crawford tacks on. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty, Jack?

-

"I'll be keeping an eye on him," Will finds himself saying. It's risky, but he's playing to three different audiences here. Alana and Hannibal seem to find it charming. Jack does not. "I'll be tagging along, making sure everything goes according to plan."

Hannibal nods along. His brow furrows, thinking it over. Six cops. It's not ideal. Will would have tried to bargain for less, if he could've done so without appearing suspicious. Still, with their combined expertise, Matthew on their side, and the element of surprise, the odds aren't bad.

Well, they aren't terrible.

-

"And where will you be, Agent Crawford? Surely you aren't leaving this in anyone's hands but your own."

"I'll be at the rendezvous point. We'll have the whole place ready for the Copycats." Jack gives him a hard look. "Nobody is getting out of there."

"I don't imagine so," Hannibal replies. He isn't planning on being there to begin with.

He takes a breath, looks around at the others. "Very well. If it means there's a chance of apprehending the true Ripper, then let's waste no time."

-

The five of them head for the exit, preparing to load Hannibal into the van. Will is making a concentrated effort to keep from shaking. This is it. This could go so, so wrong, but if it doesn't. If it works...

Cuba. Florence. Everywhere, anywhere. For better or worse, til death do us part.

Will steels his nerves, calms his heart. No fairytale endings, Will. Not with Hannibal. Still, there may be room for a good ending, if not a perfect one. No Happily Ever After, but...a Reasonably Pleasant Until.

"Okay. Jack, you check Hannibal and Mr. Brown. I'll do Will."

Will freezes as Jack moves to give Matthew a pat-down.

"It's just procedure," Alana says to no one in particular as she checks Will's coat pockets. "Nothing prohibited by the Hospital can go in the van with you."

Will feels his heart hammering. It would be a simple thing to explain away, if Alana did check the concealed inner pocket of his coat. It's a pocket knife, you never know when it'll come in handy, maybe he didn't even realize it was in there. And realistically, he didn't necessarily need it for the plan to work. He's confident that he can incapacitate one cop unarmed, but he would really prefer to have the knife.

He doesn't look at Alana as she searches him. Wallet, cell phone, keys, spearmint chewing gum. He almost thinks he's in the clear when she opens his coat to check his breast pocket.

Her eyes flick to the pocket inside his coat and he swallows. She reaches in, closes her hand around the knife.

She looks at Will, eyes wide as she asks a wordless question. He asks it back.

What would you be willing to do, for your happy ending?

Jack breaks the silence. "See, this is why we have to do these checks."

Both Will and Alana look over to him. Alana drops the knife back into Will's pocket.

Jack is holding a pack of cigarettes, eyes narrowed at Matthew. "You're not supposed to have these in the facility, Mr. Brown."

Matthew ducks his head, smile not quite leaving his face. "Sorry, Agent Crawford. Must've slipped my mind."

Jack nods, sets the cigarettes aside. "They're clear. Alana?"

Alana gives Will one last look. They answer each other. Anything. I'd do anything.

She smooths down the front of his coat as she speaks. "Will's clear."

Will gives her a small smile. I won't forget this.

-

Matthew releases Hannibal from the cart as he's being loaded into the van. Quickly, subtly, he loosens the straps on the straight jacket. They were already secured with quite a bit of slack this morning, but now it would take very little effort to simply shrug out of it. He's placed in the back of the van, seated both next to and across from police officers. Will's seat is diagonal from him, and when their eyes meet across the vehicle he can see that his soul mate is pleasantly surprised about something.

"I'll see you at the rendezvous point," Jack says. "Be ready, the Tattlecrime article is already live and the anonymous tip could reach the Copycats by this afternoon."

Will nods sharply, though his head is clearly elsewhere. Naturally.

Alana comes close to the van. "Be careful out there," She says. She looks at Will, then to Hannibal. "Both of you."

Hannibal tilts his head. "Yes, of course," he replies after a moment. Doctor Bloom has always been kind to him, even during his incarceration. She was a close colleague, a long-time confidant.

His friend, in many ways.

"Thank you," Will says to her. He gives her an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

She smiles back, though a few tears are rising to her eyes. "Goodbye, Will. Hannibal."

-

For a while they just drive in silence. Will stares out the window, biding his time, carefully studying the scenery. He wants to wait until they're a good distance away from Baltimore, but he doesn't want to be too close to the rendezvous point, either. Ideally, he'd like to be preparing to leave Wolf Trap by the time Jack realizes he's been played. It's a small window to be aiming for, but Will is a good Fisherman. The best Fisherman.

He won't be letting the most important catch of his life slip off the hook.

-

Hannibal watches Will. He's silent, focused. Hannibal finds himself unwilling- or in truth, unable-  to dusturb the quiet in the van. This is a side of his mate that he's only seen glimpses of. It's similar to how he looks when he's working on a case, but colder, somehow. Calculating in a way that freezes his blood. Gone is the shaky man playing at being a Hunter, barely keeping it together. Here is the Fisherman Hannibal always saw in Will, carefully luring his prey.

Hannibal is captivated.

Ordinarily, he is an active participant in every endeavor. In this, for now, he is merely an observer.

You'll know what to do when the times comes. That was the message Will had sent back through Matthew. More details had come over time, of course, but that first message still echoes in his head.

And so, he watches Will. Observes, patiently.

He waits.

-

Will stretches his legs as much as he can. He can feel Hannibal looking at him, glances back every now and then. They're far from the city, now. Maybe a few minutes from Will's chosen timeframe. He looks out the window and sees a large, purple billboard. New England SoulCon, Two Weeks Away. Will rolls his eyes.

"Isn't that the most dystopian shit you've ever heard, Doctor Lecter?" He asks, and it's the first time anyone's spoken since the two of them said goodbye to Alana.

Hannibal furrows his brow. "Pardon?"

"SoulCon," He says, nodding toward the window even though the billboard has already passed them. "Bunch of lonely hearts paying to spend a weekend looking at each other." He frowns in disdain. "Something about it has always been unsettling to me."

Hannibal nods. "The commodification of human connection. Yes, I suppose it is quite eerie. Though I confess I never gave it much thought."

"Is it really that bad, though?" Matthew responds, eyes fixed on the road. "I mean, is it that different from, say, paying for an account on a dating website?"

Will shrugs. "On a dating site, you're at least expected to talk to the other people. You ever been to one of those conventions? They just sit you in front of as many people as they can. It's ghoulish. You're like a piece of meat."

Hannibal gives him a curious look. "You sound as though you're speaking from experience, Will."

Will chuckles. You're not jealous, are you? "Alana dragged me to one with her, a while back. I left after about forty-five minutes of forced eye contact."

"Eyes are distracting," Hannibal says, and his gaze is unabashedly adoring. "You see too much, you don't see enough."

Will turns his gaze back out the window, puts a hand to his face to hide the fact that he's grinning like a fool. After a moment, he looks to the cop across from him. Both of the officers in the van seem uncomfortable with his and Hannibal's familiarity, that Will is being so conversational with an alleged criminal.

"You meet your soul mate yet?"

He shakes his head after hesitating for a moment. He looks younger than Will. Inexperienced. "I'm looking, though. I've been to a couple of SoulCons myself."

"Traditionalist?"

Another head shake. "Just looking to find out what my Peak is. If something else comes out of it, I'll take it."

Will nods, looks to the other officer sitting beside him. "You?"

In lieu of an answer, he holds up a hand to show a simple gold ring.

"Good for you. Lucky guy. How long have you two been together?"

He sighs. He's older. Weary. Neither of them will put up much of a fight. "Coming up on thirty years."

Will whistles low. "Wow. Sounds like you've got it all figured out." His attention turns toward the front of the van. "What about you, Matthew? You don't strike me as the type to get tied down."

Matthew chuckles. "Nope. Not interested." He looks into the rearview mirror, meets Will's eye. There's something hostile in them, just for a moment. "I already know what I'm capable of."

Will nods. "Probably for the best, you know. They say that falling in love can drive a man crazy."

Matthew smirks. "Are you crazy, Mister Graham?"

"Me?" He shakes his head, fixes his eyes on Hannibal's with a grin. "No, I've never been more sane."

-

The time has come.

Hannibal knows what to do.

He works his muscles, jerking his arms in such a way that the restraints fall free. Will pulls a knife from inside of his coat and Hannibal raises his eyebrows. Alana Bloom, you immoral vixen. I'm impressed. Hannibal snaps the neck of the officer beside him with ease. The one next to Will makes a grab for the gun at his hip but Will is like quicksilver as he severs the carotid artery. Hannibal feels his heart skip as blood coats his lover's hands, warm and righteous. Beautiful.

There is still the matter of the police cars in front of and behind them, but for now they are in the eye of the storm. The other four officers are not aware that anything is amiss. A strange calm falls over the van, one that can only be ended through violence.

It occurs to him, then, that he is finally able to speak to Will without worrying about incriminating either of them. They are not alone, Matthew is listening more closely than he's letting on, but there is no longer a need to veil his affections.

"Will," He says, and it's the call of a starving, broken creature.

His mate is already lunging across the van.

-

Will knows that the plan is the highest priority right now. That time is of the essence, that they need to dispose of the other cops before they get too much closer to Jack.

But oh, those eyes. Those deep, dark eyes.

"Will," He says, and it's all Will needs to hear.

He's falling into Hannibal's lap in an instant, reaching up to unfasten the mask on his face.

"Hey, baby," Will says, and it feels like lightning in his veins. Yes, God yes. "Miss me?"

Hannibal grips Will's shirt, and the moment that awful mask falls free, Hannibal is pulling him in for a claiming kiss. Will blindly tosses the mask aside, cups his face with both blood stained hands.

Warm skin under his palms. Strong grip on his shirt, tugging him closer with so much urgency that Will thinks Hannibal won't be satisfied until they collapse into each other like a dying star. Will's never felt more right than he does when he's kissing Hannibal, like their lips were made to touch. It's a conversation, yet another way the two of them can communicate without talking.

Will tears himself away, though it feels like their parting happens at least a few millennia too soon. He would like to just live in this moment forever, scent of blood on the air and Hannibal Lecter warm and wonderful beneath him, but he needs to stay focused. There will be time for sex and death later. So much time. He leans over, grabs a gun from the younger cop's holster and places it in Hannibal's hand.

-

Will arches a brow. "You...you do know how to use one of these, right?"

Hannibal tries to feign offense. It doesn't help that he's all but swimming in euphoria. Will is stunning, he's glowing in the sunlight and his body is so perfect against his own. Hannibal has to fight the impulse to growl and pull him back when Will leaves his lap, retrieving the gun from the other fallen officer. "I do know how to shoot a gun, Will. I simply prefer not to."

Will nods, smile tugging at his lips. Hannibal wants to kiss it away. "Not intimate enough?"

"There's a lack of control, as well. I'd rather know that any injuries were personally planned and calculated."

Will sits, opening the window. Hannibal does the same. "Be ready to swerve, Matthew. This is about to get messy."

-

The getaway car is hidden on a dead-end road, partially obscured by trees. Will parked it here last night, stocked it with first aid supplies in case things went South. He's honestly still in shock that they didn't go South. Not that he didn't have confidence in the plan, or in Hannibal- but his luck wasn't very good, historically.

He and Hannibal leave the van, the vehicle much worse for wear after their escape. Matthew stays behind the wheel, ready to use it for his own getaway.

Will nods at Matthew in acknowledgment. "Thanks for the help. That would've been impossible without you."

Matthew lowers his head in a slight bow, grinning. "It's an honor."

"So, what's your plan from here?"

A glint of danger flashes in his eyes. "You two have inspired me, you know. I've got some big plans for the future, believe me."

Will nods. He's ready to just get the hell out of here and put the whole experience behind them.

"Can I ask you something?"

Will sighs. "Sure."

Matthew gives them both an appraising look. "Which one of you is the Chesapeake Ripper?"

Will and Hannibal almost never talk over one another, if only because Hannibal likely thinks it to be rude, but they both speak at the same time.

"Will is the Ripper."
"Hannibal is the Ripper."

Will furrows his brows, looks to Hannibal with amused confusion. "Hannibal Lecter is an artist beyond compare," Will says honestly, more to Hannibal than to Matthew. "He'll be remembered for centuries to come."

Hannibal nods, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "And Will Graham is an Archangel. He brings mercy or retribution however he sees fit. Regardless, whatever he brings forth is singularly divine."

Will looks back at Matthew then. His eyes are narrowed, still trying to deduce the truth.

Hannibal elaborates as he opens the driver's side door of the getaway car. "We think of one another when we kill. We are bound in soul, body, and mind. Every crime of mine is one Will can assume credit for, as I can for his." Hannibal smiles at Will, the adoration and love in his eyes is overwhelming.  "We are both the Chesapeake Ripper."

Will simply stares back at Hannibal for a moment, made speechless. He knew Hannibal as the Ripper before he knew him as Hannibal Lecter, long before. It was his identity as the Ripper that drew Will in to begin with.

It's an incredibly meaningful declaration. Will knows how important that title is to Hannibal, and now he's being offered a chance to share it. It feels almost like a proposal, and Will feels a lump forming in his throat.

"Yes. Both of us," He says, and gets into the car.

Chapter Text

Hannibal's hands flex on the steering wheel, eyes darting from the empty, pothole-ridden backroad to observe the trees whizzing past. He hadn't been paying as much attention as he should have on the way here, but Will is giving him directions back to Wolf Trap as necessary. It doesn't escape his notice that Will is not relying on a map or GPS. He must have practiced this route, many times. Making absolutely sure that nothing went awry.

He glances over to the man across from him and feels a rush of emotion so strong that he has to force his gaze forward again. This is how it was always meant to be. Hannibal, free and uncaged. Will Graham by his side, bloodied and resplendent. Exactly as it should be.

"Hey, pull over."

Hannibal frowns. They've only been driving for about fifteen minutes. "Why?"

"Just do it," he says, and it doesn't sound like a request.

Hannibal obliges with a sigh, pulling onto the side of the road. He's scarcely put the car in park when he hears the unbuckling of a seat belt. Another fraction of a moment, and Will is on him. He leans over the center console awkwardly, turning Hannibal's jaw to meet him. He kisses Hannibal like he's been starving, like their brief reconnection in the van wasn't anywhere nearing enough. Will clutches at him desperately, groaning into his mouth when their tongues brush.

"Will," He half-moans when he pulls himself away, trying with all his strength to maintain some sense under his mate's ravenous touch. He wants to fall into this. He wants to drag Will into the back seat and take him right here. Lord, he wants to. "Mylimasis, we haven't the time."

Will is not so easily deterred. He latches onto Hannibal's neck, sucking gracelessly and licking at the mark he's raised. "We can make time. I'll be quick." He nuzzles into Hannibal's neck, nosing at him and making his pulse soar. "Fuck, I missed you. I missed us."

Hannibal's eyes slip closed in ecstasy at the other man's words. He groans low in his throat as Will bites him again. "You're being unfair," He says when he finds his voice.

Will chuckles against him. "I know you too well, it's hard to resist taking advantage."

He sighs. Gently, reluctantly, he pushes Will back by his shoulder. "You know as well as I do that we need to be in and out of Wolf Trap as quickly as possible, love. Should I have brought that ghastly little mask from the van with us?"

Will laughs again and the sound etches itself into Hannibal's ribs, carved into the bone that shields his heart from the world. He lets Hannibal push him away, looks up at him with blushing cheeks and dilated pupils. Lovely, so lovely.

"I'll behave," He says, teasingly petulant. "Let's get on with it, then. I'm hoping Jack won't think we're stupid enough to go back there, though."

Hannibal can't smother the smile on his face as he starts to drive again. "I do intend on making it worth the wait, Will. You know me well enough to be certain of that." He looks over at his mate, cocks a brow. "Don't you?"

Will rolls his eyes, but the deepening blush that has crept to his ears betrays him. "Just drive, Doctor."

He laughs, realizes he hasn't felt this purely happy in quite a while. "Still, I'd prefer to be well on our way to our next destination before Jack Crawford can arrive in Wolf Trap."

"Next destination?"

Hannibal nods. "We'll need to make another stop at one of my properties on the coast. Luckily, I was wise enough to keep anything I would need in the event of an escape there, instead of in Baltimore. It's further away, though, I didn't want to risk Jack securing your home before we were done there."

"I'll pack a bag, top off the dogs' food bowls. Leave a note for Alana, so she can make sure they're okay and that they find good homes, and then we'll be gone." Will turns his gaze out the window. "I'll say goodbye, and we'll be gone."

Hannibal can feel his lover's melancholy like a fog on the air, and it doesn't suit him. He sighs, resigns himself. He'd known for months that he would be making this concession. Never had a chance of avoiding it.

"While I don't believe we could flee with seven animals in tow and avoid suspicion," He begins, fully aware that he is digging his own grave. "I do think that we could bring...two, perhaps, without drawing too much unwanted attention."

Will looks back at him with wide eyes, stunned. "Y-you're serious?"

Goodbye, pristine couches. Farewell, clothing that isn't covered in hair. Au revoir, silent home.

Hello Will Graham, looking like a child on Christmas morning.

"Just two, yes. The rest you must trust Alana to watch over. Choose wisely."

A delighted smile comes to Will's face and Hannibal is reminded why he's been so prepared for this. He would give Will Graham anything, without so much as a second thought.

"You want me to pick Winston," He says.

Hannibal makes no attempt to deny it. "Naturally. Of all your pets, it's plain to see that Winston is superior."

Will laughs again, sadness tempered for now. "Okay, I know he's your favorite. We can bring Winston." He blows out a long breath, thinking. "Buster and Jericho are both getting pretty old, I'd feel bad making them adjust to a whole new place...I don't know, are you sure we couldn't get away with three?"

He shakes his head fondly. Adorable. You're so Adorable, my darling dove. "If I may make a suggestion, most of my homes abroad are quite secluded. There will be plenty of land for them to explore, so perhaps a dog more suited to such activities would be a better choice."

"Yeah, okay. Like Zoe."

Hannibal grimaces. "Or like Juniper," he counters. He still dislikes Zoe- she's loud, and prone to jumping, and has made an attempt to steal food from his plate on more than one occasion. Certainly not Zoe.

"No, you've made a really good point. Zoe needs a lot of attention and exercise, she'd be difficult to find a good home for. We should probably just bring her with us. And Zoe and Winston get along really well, too."

Hannibal opens his mouth to object, but when he looks over to the passenger's seat, Will is smiling like the sun and the words seem to burn away.

Couches are replaceable. Lint rollers are inexpensive and readily available. Hannibal's had enough silence to last a lifetime.

"Very well, love. If that's your choice, then we shall bring Zoe and Winston along and leave the rest in the capable hands of Doctor Bloom."

The conversation falls away somewhat, replaced with comfortable quiet and soft sentiments finding homes despite the anticipatory charge in the air. Hannibal drives quickly, and watches out for other cars, and keeps an eye on the time.

When they at last arrive at the white house in Wolf Trap, Hannibal feels a pang of bittersweetness. They'd made some wonderful memories here- sunbathed afternoons and whiskey-warmed evenings that bled without their permission into kiss-saturated mornings. Walking through the woods near Will's home and watching the dogs run through the foliage, finding heated embraces on his couch before one of them finally pulls the other into Will's bed for more, simply sitting together on his porch and watching the sunset as they spoke of very little.

He looks to his mate and can see a similar sentiment written across his features. It occurs to Hannibal that neither of them would ever see his home in Baltimore again, never dine in his kitchen or read in his sitting room, or lie in bed until the sun was too high in the sky to ignore any longer.

He sighs and feels Will's fingers threading with his own. As if reading his very thoughts, Will smiles and says "We can make new memories, together."

Hannibal lifts their joined hands and kisses Will's knuckles. "I will cherish these ones, all the same."

He's surprised by his own joy when the door opens and seven sets of paws come skittering down the porch steps. They nose at Will as they exit, pleased to see him after his brief absence. Will sinks to his knees there in front of the door, hugging Jericho close and stroking his fur. He lowers his head, face pressed into his fur to murmur iterations of "Hey buddy" and "Good boy". When he pulls away, Hannibal notes that his eyes are glossed over with as yet unshed tears.

Zoe barks when she notices Hannibal, and before he can do much to brace himself they're all pawing at him, a mess of wagging tails and slobbering tongues. Will laughs, tears slipping down his cheeks. "They missed you," He says. "Winston was a mess, I was worried he was going to stop eating over it."

"Is that so?" Hannibal asks, bending down to scratch Winston behind his ears. Winston sniffs at Hannibal for a moment before barking, evidently displeased with the scent of the BSHCI. "Hello, sweet boy. Did you take good care of your father while I was gone?"

"Shut up," Will says, though he's grinning through his tears. "I'll get my bag and write a note for Alana, can you make sure they all have food and chase them around the yard a little for me? I want Winston and Zoe good and tired, it'll make the drive easier."

"Do be quick, darling."

Will just hums his assent as he closes the front door.

They're at the house for a bit longer than Hannibal would've liked, but luck seems to be on their side today, because no one appears. It's a surprisingly painless process, getting Winston and Zoe into the backseat of the getaway car. He'd been expecting to have much more trouble, especially on his own, but Winston is obedient and Zoe seems more interested in a car ride than in tormenting Hannibal further.

Will emerges a minute or two later, tossing his bag into the trunk and falling wordlessly into the passenger's seat. He roughly wipes his face on his sleeve, face red and stained. Hannibal says nothing.

Eventually, Will turns in his seat to pet Zoe where she lies in the back seat.

"Crack the window."

Hannibal obliges without a word. Will smiles fondly as Zoe brings he face to the small opening, eagerly sniffing at the outside world.

"They're gonna be okay," Will says softly.

Hannibal isn't sure whether he's referring to the dogs in the car or the ones back in Wolf Trap. "Of course, you would settle for nothing else."

He nods, still twisted around to watch the dogs. "How long will we be at your other house?"

"Not long, I have everything we'll need to take with us ready. I'd like to change out of this awful jumpsuit, though, and wash the blood from your hands."

Will frowns, looks down at his hands as if noticing the bloodstains for the first time. "Oh, yeah. I guess that should be a priority."

Hannibal hesitates for a beat before he speaks.

"Did you enjoy killing Alice Schaffer, mylimasis?"

Will shrugs. "It was okay. I was just doing it to get it done, though. Didn't feel as good as Tier. Or Hobbs."

"You were prepared to do it again, though."

Will just nods. The quiet in the car feels uncomfortable, now. Hannibal focuses on driving, glances at the dogs in the back seat. Winston whines and Will cranes in his seat even more to reach out to him.

"I didn't have faith," He says after a while.

Hannibal doesn't look away from the road. "I know."

"I couldn't just wait for you. I felt like I needed to do something."

"I understand."

"I fucked everything up."

At this, Hannibal looks over to him. Will is still facing the dogs, his hand idle on the center console. Hannibal takes it in his own. "You've done no such thing."

Will turns to look back at him. "It was my fault that you got caught in the first place. I shouldn't have asked to go with you for Kore."

Hannibal squeezes his hand. "Dearest," He sighs. Will squeezes back. "Is that why you were so hellbent on freeing me, even at your own risk?"

Will doesn't answer right away. Hannibal is patient. "Partially," he answers at last. "A part of me felt responsible, like I needed to make it right." His other hand goes to tug awkwardly at his curls. He swallows. "Do you ever feel...possessive over me, Hannibal?"

Hannibal almost laughs. "Constantly. Since the moment we met, I've felt the urge to keep you near."

Will nods. "I've been feeling possessive over you, too. Violently so."

His eyes are dark, even as his body language portrays anxiety. It would be thrilling if it didn't seem to weigh on him so heavily. "I see."

Will barks out a sudden laugh, and it feels slightly unsettling. "It was driving me insane, having you locked out of reach. I wanted to throw myself at the bars of your cell until something broke. I don't think I cared if the thing breaking was the cell or me, I just felt like something needed to be broken."

Hannibal glances around. They are surrounded by trees on either side of the road. They haven't passed another car in miles. He stops the car.

"Come here."

Will doesn't require anything more than his permission. He sinks into Hannibal's embrace, waist pressed into the center console uncomfortably. He falls against Hannibal's chest, breathing him in. Hannibal fold his arms around him, pressing a loving kiss to his curls.

"You did well, my love. Very well."

Will's answering sigh is heartbreaking- heavy with relief and guilt in equal measure.

"Your lure was excellent. You are truly the greatest Fisherman the world has known."

Will's fingers curl into a fist around the front of Hannibal's jumpsuit. My beloved angel, you've been through a terrible experience, haven't you? The world has not been on your shoulders, but you've felt like it was, all this time. You must be so exhausted, my sweet Atlas.

Hannibal kisses his temple once, twice.

"I am so proud of you, Will."

Will breathes in a shuddering gasp, and Hannibal feels a slight dampness where his mate's face is hidden.

"I'm just glad you're okay," He whispers, and Hannibal truly feels that his heart may burst.

"Of course I am. You've made sure of that, just as you have for your dogs. You're more of a Provider than you give yourself credit for."

Will pulls away from him, though their hands rejoin in the center. He sniffs sharply, clearly trying to hide that he was once more driven to tears. Hannibal doesn't comment on it this time either, though Will cries very rarely under normal circumstances. The poor thing must be under so much stress.

"Come on, you old sap," Will says, deflecting. "We need to keep moving."

Hannibal relents, resuming their previous pace. Will relaxes in to his seat, and after a fashion, Hannibal hears him yawn.

"How long did you say it would take to get there?"

A smile tugs at his lips. "It's on the coast, so we have a few hours yet. Plenty of time to rest."

Will laughs softly. "The Adrenaline is wearing off, that's all. I know I can't let my guard down yet, though."

Hannibal shrugs. "I think we'll be alright for now. No one is aware that this house is in my name, there is no reason for Jack Crawford to look for us there." He smiles sidelong at Will, already trying to make himself some form of comfortable in the seat. "I will keep my guard up, mylimasis. Rest for now, so that you can be alert once again at the airport."

Will lifts a brow at him. "You got a plan for that, Doctor?"

"I have some new passports for us, at the house."

"You...you made a passport for me?"

Hannibal nods. "Naturally. I had one made for you as soon as you returned my affections, ready for you to use at a moment's notice." He smiles at Will, adoring. "As I said, you aren't the only one who feels possessive of our bond. Leaving without you was never a possibility in my eyes."

Will smiles in return, glancing down to their joined hands. "Would you do something for me, Hannibal?"

Anything. Anything at all, my love, you need only ever ask. I shall give you heaven and hell in either hand, if that's what you desire.

"What is it?"

"Talk to me in Lithuanian. Just until I fall asleep."

Hannibal feels as though he might leave the earth and simply float away, but his desire to remain near Will Graham holds him in place. "Would you like me to recite 'Sailing' for you, dearest?"

Will nods, eyes falling shut. Hannibal still remembers the first time he'd read this poem to Will, the morning after their first time making love. Will had been so beautiful, curled up and vulnerable in his lap, Hannibal's clothes hanging loose and comforting on his sleeping body. Since then, he'd read it until he had it memorized. His native language was soothing to his mate, and while he could simply recount his stream of consciousness when Will needed to hear it, the familiar lines felt much more meaningful.

He took a deep breath and began, mother tongue comforting to both of them as it left his lips.

"After having loved, we lie close together-
and at the same time with distance between us,
like two sailing ships..."

Zoe, seemingly dissatisfied with remaining in the backseat, wriggles her way over the console and into Will's lap, pulling a low 'oof' from the other man as she makes herself comfortable in her new place. Hannibal starts to scold her, but Will simply laughs off her misbehavior, and pets lazily at her side. Zoe looks to Hannibal, tongue hanging out of her mouth in happiness. He simply sighs and continues.

"– without one of them ever trying
to outsail the other,
and without the distance between them
lessening or growing at all.

But there are other nights, where we drift
like two brightly illuminated luxury liners
lying side by side
with the engines shut off, under a strange constellation..."

Will sighs in contentment, eyes still closed. Zoe is settling in his lap, and if she's squishing Will, then he is too accustomed to it to mind. Hannibal looks in the rearview mirror and sees Winston sitting against the cracked window, eyes closed as he puts as much of his face as he can into the wind.

"And the sea is full of old tired ships,
which we have sunk in our attempt to reach one another."

Chapter Text

Will wakes to the sound of waves crashing nearby. He sighs, nuzzling his cheek into the headrest, and listens. There is something so soothing about the ocean. Will has always felt deeply connected to it- like the sea understands him more intimately than he understands himself. He can't quite articulate it, but he feels it all the same.

Hannibal's safehouse is gorgeous. It's small, but it boasts floor-to-ceiling windows and a breathtaking view of the bluff. The sun is hanging low in the sky by the time they arrive, and the ocean breeze is like a soothing balm to Will's worn nerves. The last few weeks have been unbearably taxing. He's relieved that their escape plan had gone so smoothly, because he isn't sure if he would've survived much more. At least not with his sanity intact.

After a quick shower where he and Hannibal once again test each other's patience- he can't possibly walk around wrapped in only a towel and expect me not to get handsy, seriously- Will brings the dogs outside to sniff around the grounds. He isn't sure how long it will be until they can all rest, but the dogs need to get some exercise and do their business before they leave for the airport.

He sighs, breathing in the salt on the night air. How long will it be? Before they can settle wherever they're going? Before they can stop worrying about who's on their tails? Before they can just have a glass of wine and watch their dogs run around in the backyard and actually relax for a while?

No happy endings. No picket fence. It could be Never. Hannibal told me as much. We'll be hiding for the rest of our lives, now. Maybe we'll never relax.

Hannibal opens the back door and the dogs run inside. He beckons for Will to follow. He must be ready to leave. Will finds himself smiling.

I knew who I was choosing. I knew, from the moment we locked eyes. Too late to back out now, even if I wanted to.

Will starts for the house before he freezes. Something feels off. He can't quite place it. He looks up to the full moon, basking him in its glow, as if she will explain.

Behind him, he hears the distinct clicking of a readied handgun.

"Hands where I can see 'em, Mister Graham."

Will lifts his hands, casting a confused look at Hannibal. He's still leaning against the back door, shut behind him.

"I was wondering when you'd join us, Matthew," Hannibal says, not at all surprised.

"You too, Lecter. Hands up or I shoot him."

Hannibal practically rolls his eyes. Will feels cold metal press to the back of his head.

"Now."

At that, Hannibal finally raises his hands. Will hopes the incredulous look he sends to the other man reaches him through the darkness.

"So this was your 'big plan', then?" Will asks. "What, are you going to rob the house? Go ahead."

Matthew laughs behind him. "Oh no, I'm not here for that. I told you, Mister Graham, I'm a big fan of the Chesapeake Ripper."

"You know, they say to never meet your heroes," Will replies.

"I thought that after you two left, I could take up the mantle. That I would be the new Ripper. That was my plan."

"But you realized that you would have two doppelgangers, overseas," Hannibal finishes, still calm as he watches. "Sharing can be difficult, can't it?"

Will smirks at Hannibal. "Two's company, three's a crowd."

"I thought it would be much simpler to just kill the Ripper myself. Eliminate any room for confusion."

Will chuckles darkly, cocky despite his position. "You really think you can take both of us?"

Matthew adjust his grip on the gun, presses it into the base of his skull. "Oh, I don't need to kill both of you." His voice drops low, like he's sharing a secret. "Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Mister Graham. You're just his Copycat."

"So I'm meant to be bait?" Will asks. He laughs again. "You were right, Matthew. You are not a Fisherman."

"Maybe not, but I might still catch something. Isn't that right, Doctor Lecter?"

Hannibal looks amused. "Oh yes, you certainly will. Will's life in exchange for my submission- is that your bargain?"

A tense silence emerges for a beat, and Will assumes that Matthew nods. Hannibal leans casually against the doorframe. No intentions of moving. Biding his time.

"Our friend Matthew would like to defeat the Ripper, mylimasis," He says, and the moonlight catches Hannibal's teeth as they appear in a wicked grin. "After all the assistance he provided, it would only be polite to indulge him, don't you think?"

Will takes a deep breath in. Time seems to slow. He watches as Hannibal lowers his hands, moving towards his pockets. In response to his movement, Matthew moves the gun away from Will's skull and points it in Hannibal's direction. Will grabs his arm and snaps it, kicking the gun away from them when Matthew releases it.

Not personal enough. No control.

Matthew pulls a knife from his pocket, slices into Will's arm as he spins to face his attacker. At last, the two Copycats are at each other's throats. How ironic, that the lie he'd sold to Jack Crawford held truth after all.

Only one of us is a false prophet, a pretender to the throne. Only one of us dines at the Ripper's Right Hand. Only one of us can share the title.

Will snarls, lunges forward and brings Matthew to the ground. He gets a blade in his neck for his trouble, but the cut is shallow and poorly aimed due to the lack of balance. Will pins him. He breathes in and smells blood, and sea salt, and clean air. He feels alive, christ he's never felt so alive. He feels primal, animal. Other.

A part of him, the part of him that still recognizes the name Will Graham, knows that Hannibal is still on the back porch, just observing. It sends a thrill down his back. This   is what that vicious, howling animal in Will's chest has been craving all along. A chance to show Hannibal that Will can fight for them. That he will fight for them, tooth and nail. He'll tear the whole world to shreds, he'll kill anyone- everyone. It's territorial, possessive, righteous.

Will barely knows himself when he sinks his teeth into Matthew's face, ripping a large piece of his cheek away and spitting blood into his eyes.

Not a Hunter. Not a Copycat. Something else. Something Untamed.

Matthew wriggles out of Will's grip enough to stab deep into his shoulder, leaving the knife there. Will howls into the wind, feels warm blood trickling down his back. Matthew manages to flip their position, and Will finds himself face-down, cheek pressed into the gravel and dirt. Matthew's knee bears down on his spine and he wheezes, grabbing blindly for the knife still lodged in his shoulder. Matthew pulls it free before Will can, grabbing Will by his hair and pulling him upwards just enough to hold the blade to his throat.

Will looks out at the sea. The water is calm, the clear night leaving it like a beautiful onyx pool, undisturbed safe for the moonlight dancing on the water. Will can just barely make out the shape of a boat in the distance. Hannibal still isn't intervening, which must mean he's confident Will can still eliminate this Copycat. He can.

Matthew leans close, until his face is right behind Will's head.

"Do you know what the difference between us is, Mister Graham?"

Will tries to catch a glimpse of his face in his periphery, but Matthew is directly behind him.

"Yes," Will grits out.

He jerks his head backwards with as much force as their position will allow. The blade bites deep into his jawline, and it hurts like a bitch, but more importantly Will can feel the crunch of Matthew's nose against his skull. Matthew cries out in pain, and Will thrashes until he manages to wrestle himself free from the hold. He rolls onto his back,  gasping for air as his opponent is still briefly stunned by his freshly broken nose.

"You're a pig. That's the difference."

Matthew growls, and when he rises Will is ready. He punches Matthew in the face once, twice, three times. The two of them claw at each other in the dirt for what must be moments but feels like hours. Will is exhausted. He's bleeding, he's been through hell and back today already. When Matthew manages to wrap his hands around Will's throat, a part of him considers just succumbing. Hannibal won't let him die, he'll step in. Will could just rest.

He claws weakly at Matthew's hands as they squeeze the life from him. Will lets out a rattling imitation of a breath, his vision going dark at the edges.

The moon stares down at him. The sea is singing him to sleep, waves crashing nearby.

Something shifts inside the Chrysalis.

He kicks in the dirt, using all of his remaining strength to struggle.

Light comes in through a new opening, the walls of the cocoon suddenly breeched.

Will looks up at Matthew Brown, an arrogant fool who'd tried to destroy his cage and only succeeded in opening the door, and smiles with bloody teeth.

Will Graham is not a pig. He's not a man. He's something new.

Growing up in the South, Will's been well-acquainted with religion since he left the womb. He's been dragged to hundreds of church services and Bible studies, he knows how to pray with the best of them. But he never believed in God. Not in the traditional sense, at least. But if there is a God.

If there's a God out there, and if he's listening, go ahead and damn me. Damn me, forsake me, send me straight to hell. I deserve it.

But Lord, you'd better rain blessings down like a fucking tsunami on Doctor Alana Bloom.

Will fishes his trusty knife from his pocket, clutches it tightly. He plunges it upwards into Matthew's abdomen, gutting him like a fish. His blood runs down onto Will, warming his body with life-giving water. Will sucks in a deep breath the moment Matthew's hands leave to grab for the knife, his entire body lighting up with oxygen and adrenaline and righteous fury. He slashes the blade across Matthew's throat, sending a spray down into Will's face.

When Matthew's body finally goes limp, Will pushes him over into the dirt and fights his way to his feet without casting him another glance. He collapses on the back porch, sitting at Hannibal's feet as he waits for his breathing to return to normal.

"Enjoy the show?" He asks at last, between heavy gasps.

It takes his mate a while to respond, stunned into silence.

"...Immensely."

Hannibal is deeply reverent when he speaks, and it occurs to Will that Hannibal's never seen him truly kill before. He saw the aftermath, with Hobbs and Tier. And he'd seen Will quickly dispose of the cops during their escape. But it's never been like this.

Never like this.

"He could've killed me," Will says, anger at the edges of his words.

"I had faith in you."

Will lets out a bitter laugh. "I would've preferred if you didn't."

"I don't believe that for a moment. You enjoyed him as much as I did, if not more. You always do."

"Immensely," he echoes, grin returning to his face.

Hannibal's fingers stroke through Will's wild curls and he leans into the touch, sighing.

"Let me tend to your wounds, mylimasis."

"I'm fine."

"You only feel that way now because your survival instincts are protecting you from the pain."

Will looks at Matthew's body, unmoving in a growing puddle of blood.

"It's kind of sad, isn't it?"

"Pardon?"

Will gestures toward the body, looking up at Hannibal in the moonlight. "Well, that's the Chesapeake Ripper's last victim. They'll call us something else, next time."

"...I suppose so."

"It's just a little...anticlimactic."

Hannibal tilts his head. "What are you suggesting?"

Will smiles up at him. "Would you think I was crazy if I suggested leaving a prettier scene for them to find?"

"Yes," He says. "Absolutely mad. I have a few ideas."

Will stands, grunting with the effort. "It's your vision, babe. Just tell me how to help."

Hannibal moves to collect the body. "There's a spool of red thread in the hallway closet. Grab that and a carving knife from my kitchen."

Will freezes. "Red thread?"

"Yes, my love."

His mouth goes dry. "Okay. Yeah. One sec."

He's shaking as he retrieves it. It could just be a coincidence. It really could.

"This display will be quick. Simple, yet evocative."

Will nods, barely listening. "Simple," he says, though it feels anything but.

He watches in awe as it comes to life before him- horrible and elaborate and fully realized.

It's clever. It's very clever. Matthew's body, separated and splayed about, connected by long strings of bright red thread. Reminiscent of the Red String of Fate, which binds us each to our destinies. Symbolic of a Soul Mate Bond, of their own fates and how they intertwine. The arrangement, too, is meant to evoke the image of an evidence board. Little clues, fragments of proof, for Jack Crawford to follow from piece to useless piece. Look all you want, we're already gone. It was before such an evidence board, of course, that Will and Hannibal had exchanged their first words.

'Do you have trouble with taste?'

Will watches Hannibal assemble the evidence board with his heart in his throat, committing every single second to memory like he's worried it'll slip away.

'My thoughts are often not tasty.'

Hannibal's focus keeps getting pulled from the display, staring up at Will as he goes. Will is reminded of Kore, but it hardly matters now if his mate gets distracted. It's romantic, in their own admittedly sick way. He keeps casting him such adoring glances, like Will has never looked more beautiful to him. He probably hasn't, drenched in blood and frenzied from the fight and bathed in the light of the full moon.

'Not fond of eye contact, are you?'

It's better than the vision. He recalled it often, of course. Guiltily, in the dead of night. Pretending it was out of horror or morbid curiosity. It was out of admiration, truly. Always out of admiration, fascination, fondness.

Love.

'Eyes are distracting.'

When Hannibal is finished, the two of them step back to admire his handiwork. They stand near the cliff's edge, the sea air hitting their backs as they take it all in.

The Tableau is gruesome. Artistic, clean, and absolutely brutal. Organs strewn about in an intricate pattern.

Just like he'd seen in those deep brown eyes, the day they'd met.

"It's beautiful," Will confesses.

Hannibal takes his hand, threads their fingers together. "A fitting send-off for the Chesapeake Ripper." He smiles to himself. "Or Rippers, as it were."

Will studies his mate. There's a look of quiet satisfaction on Hannibal's face as he observes the display. Pride. Contentment. Like he's sated, at least for this one moment.

"Do you feel different?"

Hannibal is silent for a moment, simply absorbing the scene. "Yes," He admits after a while. He turns to face Will again. "Do you?"

Will frowns. "I feel like I'm...outside of my body," he says slowly, piecing it together. "I have since I started fighting Matthew. Like I'm a few steps ahead, and I'm just waiting for the world to catch up."

Hannibal smiles gently, cupping Will's cheek. "You're glorious, my love. Truly beyond compare."

Hannibal's gaze is different than Will is used to, now. Still warm, still adoring, but with an added spark of awe.

Worshipful.

He exhales sharply, like the air has been knocked from his body.

"That was it, wasn't it?"

Hannibal strokes his cheek, utterly besotted. "I was certain that you would emerge victorious. Your Becoming...if I live another thousand years, I shall never see something so entirely perfect."

"Yes," he breathes. He looks back at the Tableau. "Never..."

Will is exhausted. The high of their Peaks is already fading. Already, already leaving him.

He can kill again. He can slaughter innocent people by the dozens, it will never compare. He's going to be chasing this for the rest of his life. They both will.

Hannibal and Will are both creatures of desire. All they feel is hunger, need, craving for more. There isn't any more to be found. The Peak has passed, now. There won't be another night like this.

His wounds are making themselves known, now. He wonders how long this life, this desire, can be sustained. Not just by virtue of not getting caught again, though Will is acutely aware that this isn't they only time they'll be fleeing a country. How long can he go, without rest? A rest that Hannibal won't, can't promise him?

Isn't it better this way? For two untamed, vicious creatures to love so fiercely that they burn out like a star? To reach your apex and share that with your soul mate and settle for nothing less? To simply refuse to feel the hunger for more, ever again?

Isn't this better?

"Hannibal..."

"Yes, Will?"

Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's neck, staring into his eyes with a fond smile. Above them, the Moon smiles back, full and white and perfect as she caresses their bloodied bodies. Below, the sea breathes out a reassuring rhythm, its heartbeat soothing him as the waves crash against the bluff.

"I love you."

Hannibal folds his arms around Will's back, completing their embrace. Will presses his lips to his mate's, a kiss like gunpowder. And Hannibal, a lit match.

His hold is not so tight that Hannibal could not slip away, and yet the kiss scarcely breaks as Will shifts them and sends them both, weightless, for their flames to be extinguished by the sea.

Chapter Text

For a moment that seems to stretch out indefinitely, they are suspended. The sea awaits them with welcoming arms, the moon casting them in a heavenly glow. The wind rushes past them, and Hannibal is given a small infinity to reflect.

I love you.

Would those be the last words he ever heard? A part of him would have it no other way. If he had to die, then dying by the hands of Will Graham would be his preferred method without question. There is a certain tragic beauty in the moment that Hannibal is able to appreciate. There is nothing else. Only Will, and himself, and gravity guiding them downward. It would be peaceful, to surrender here. It almost feels right.

Unfortunately, Hannibal has never been one to accept defeat gracefully.

The sea feels oddly warm against the cool night air. Hannibal tries to orient their bodies so that he absorbs the bulk of the impact, but the violent crashing as he hits the water rips Will from his grasp despite his white-knuckled hold on his mate's back.

The moonlight, merciful and pure, guides him back to the surface. He reorients himself, takes in a deep breath when he rises, and dives deep, searching for Will. He squints through the salty murk, ignoring the screaming pain that is blooming across his back. He'll be black and purple with mottled bruises, but his priorities could not be further away. He swims further down, praying, praying.

Will is unconscious, drifting with the current when Hannibal locates him. His lungs are burning with the need to resurface. He reaches out. His fingers brush the fabric of Will's shirt. His vision is going dark at the edges. He pushes himself further down, manages to gather a fistful of white material.

Will is heavy, a limp weight as Hannibal hauls him back to the surface. It is only his animal desperation to survive that keeps him moving toward the light. A primal strength, fueled by adrenaline and millennia of careful evolution, brings him up for a blessed breath of clean air.

Hannibal gasps for it, great lungfuls that make him feel deliriously alive. He holds Will in his arms, looks down at his beautiful face.

He's unconscious, he can't swim on his own. They aren't far from the shore.

His survival instincts vow to carry Hannibal further. He drapes Will across his shoulders, and makes for the beach.

Every muscle in his body is begging him to stop, but he refuses to listen. He's always been stubborn, it is simply in his nature. When they draw nearer to the shore, the waves start to assist, pushing them closer to the sand.

It feels like it takes another lifetime, but at last Hannibal's tired body finds land. He lays Will gently on the beach.

Will is not breathing.

In a fraction of a second, his animal mind is replaced. His vision is sharp, focused. He tilts Will's head back, opening his airway. Hannibal places his hands over Will's heart, delivering strong, even compressions.

"Will. Will. Breathe, Darling," He says, though he knows his beloved cannot hear. A cold, helpless fear is creeping up his spine. His body is sore but he doesn't slow his rhythm.

"Wake up, Will!"

After thirty compressions, he pinches Will's nose closed, bringing their lips together. He breathes two slow breaths into his mate, feeling his chest rise at Hannibal's insistence.

Panic is building like bile in his throat as he resumes the compressions. Dying in Will Graham's arms would have been beautiful, if bittersweet. The inverse is an unspeakable thing. His mind physically rejects it. It will not, can not come to pass.

"Don't leave me, mylimasis. I love you. I love you, breathe, damn it."

Two more breaths. Will's lips are cold. He longs to see them curve into that lazy grin, the one that blooms for Hannibal alone. His eyes are closed, and Hannibal doesn't know what he'll do if they don't open again.

He loosens the grip on his self-control, even as he continues the process, maintaining the pattern. He thinks of Mischa.

Hannibal Lecter doesn't beg. It is beneath him. But he can't stop the words from falling from his lips, drifting down to land on Will's peaceful expression.

"Please. Please, please, Will. Don't go, I'll never recover. I never recovered last time. Please."

He falls silent, focused, desperate. Begging in his mind as he counts. Thirty, then two. Thirty, then two. Please, Lord, take me instead. Take the whole world instead. If Will's soul is worth a thousand others, then strike a thousand down. Not Will Graham. Please, anyone but Will.

The sound of his waterlogged cough is like a symphony on the air. Will splutters, seawater rising from his lungs. Hannibal sobs with relief. He brings his hands to Will's face, stroking his cheeks and his wet curls as he gasps for air.

"It's alright, my love. That's it, just breathe. You're alright."

Will looks up at him, and Hannibal sobs again, so elated that his mate is alive.

"Hannibal..." Will rasps, voice ruined by the saltwater.

Hannibal shushes him gently. "Just rest, Will. Don't strain yourself."

Will swallows, grimaces at the pain. "You...You're crying."

Hannibal almost laughs, watery smile rising to his face. "Of course I'm crying, mylimasis. I thought I'd lost you."

"Never seen you cry before," He croaks. His brow furrows. "Don't like it."

Will reaches up with a heavy hand. He wipes away the tears, though he mainly just succeeds in rubbing sand and ocean water on Hannibal's cheek. The sentiment is enough to make Hannibal crumble, all the same.

He sighs, leaning down to press their foreheads together. "I'll try not to make a habit of it," he says softly, heart rate finally beginning to calm.

They're silent for a moment, the crashing waves accompanying the sound of their breath. Hannibal decides that there is no better sound to be heard than Will Graham, alive and breathing.

"It's over," Will says at last. "We're done."

Hannibal presses a kiss to Will's temple. "No. You and I have many miles to go."

Will shakes his head weakly. "Our Peaks have passed, Hannibal. There's nothing...nothing left."

Hannibal frowns. He helps Will into a sitting position, once again running his fingers through dark locks.

"Do you know what the most fulfilling moment of my life has been, so far?" He nods up to the cliff above them, the light from the house still warm and waiting. "It wasn't up there. Would you like to hazard a guess?"

Will shrugs. "No idea."

He twists a curl around his finger, fond smile coming to his face. "It was the morning after we first made love. I have very keen senses, but I almost didn't notice you coming down the stairs." He chuckles, heart warming at the memory. "You'd masked your scent. You smelled like my clothes, like the products in my shower."

He looks Will in the eye, soft and sincere. Will is listening closely, a light flush rising to his cheeks. "I spent decades being committed to solitude, Will. I'd accepted that no one could ever truly know me. That I could never feel safe with another person without hiding from them. And then I met you, and you felt so comfortable with me- with the real me- that you stole my clothes and used my soap without a second thought. I can't remember ever feeling so happy, like you'd given me something I'd truly given up hope for."

Will sighs, rests his head on Hannibal's shoulder. He finds Hannibal's hand, threads their fingers together.

"For me it was the first time you had dinner at my house," Will says quietly. Hannibal smiles down at him. "I looked up at you, and you and Winston were on the couch and you looked so...comfortable." He coughs and Hannibal runs a thumb across his knuckles. "I've always thought of myself as being at war. I have this animal in my gut that only relaxes when it can smell blood. It needs death to survive. But I'm more than that, you know? I want the calm, too. I want the quiet. I thought I had to choose, that by choosing you I was choosing the dark. A part of me still feels that way, sometimes."

He leans away from Hannibal just enough to look up at him. "But that day, I felt like I didn't have to choose. That you could give me the calm and the thrill. The storm and the silence that follows." He gives Hannibal a small smile. "I don't have great luck, historically. I'm not used to getting exactly what I want."

Hannibal kisses Will's forehead, resting his nose against wet curls for just a moment.

"Winston is waiting for us, just up the hill. He and Zoe are likely getting restless. I'll tend to our wounds, and the four of us can leave. Together."

Will makes a low sound in his throat, a soft agreement. Hannibal stands, holds out a hand for Will to take. Will groans in pain as he stands, gritting his teeth. Hannibal drapes Will's arm across his shoulders once again, supporting his weight across his bruised back without complaint.

"It's alright, love. It isn't far, just up the hill. Then I'll give you something for the pain. You can sleep on the plane."

Another sound of assent. They begin to limp up the beach.

"Cuba or Florence, Will?" He asks, shoes crunching in the sand.

Will swallows. He thinks it over for just a moment. "Florence first," He says.

Hannibal nods. "Good. I was hoping that would be your choice."

"Greece after, then France, if only for the food. The scenery is beautiful in New Zealand, too. And I've never heard a soul complain about their experience on a trip to Japan."

Hannibal laughs despite the searing pain of his muscles. "Are you avoiding Cuba for a reason, my heart?"

"I want to retire in Cuba," Will says. "Spend our golden years soaking up the sun and deep-sea fishing." He looks over at Hannibal, smiles as he takes another awkward step. It's a lazy, easy smile, though it twists slightly with their combined effort. "But burn down the world with me, first."

Hannibal grins, nodding. "Florence, then. And onto the rest of the world."

The walk to the cliff house is slow, agonizing. They trudge along in silence for a few minutes before Will speaks again.

"I died for a minute down there, didn't I?"

Hannibal huffs. He'd stopped breathing, to say he'd died was a bit melodramatic. Still, he can practically hear the cogs in his mate's mind, ticking away. So he humors him.

"In a manner of speaking. Though I would have sooner marched down to Hades myself and demand Thanatos release your soul than let you go without a fight."

Will breathes out a soft laugh. "This is a new life, then. I might have a new Peak."

"And a new Soul Mate, to go along with it?"

Will shakes his head. "No. There's nobody else for me. Just you."

Hannibal smiles, feeling light despite the heaviness in his bones. "Well, if I am still your mate, then I can describe this new Peak for you. Let me see it."

They stop walking and Will looks to Hannibal. Their eyes meet, and in that lovely gaze Hannibal sees a lifetime. He sees Will's hands soaked in blood a hundred times over, the frenzied look in his eyes as he rips a man to shreds. He sees Will in fetching tailored suits, sipping wine at the table, laughing by the pool. Sees dogs, and fish, and plane tickets. They move from country to country, yet always feel at home. Hannibal looks closer and finds warm embraces, and soft touches, and ardent kisses. Late mornings, easy afternoons, firelit nights, all cast in perfect crystal blue.

"Well?" Will asks after a moment. "Do you see anything?"

Hannibal presses a loving kiss to his lips, feeling unmistakably like paradise rests within his arms. When they part, Will is like a vision- blissful and bathed in moonlight.

"Yes. Yes, of course I see it, Will. It's beautiful."

Chapter Text

Jack Crawford settles into bed, still wearing the suit jacket and slacks he wore to work. His shoes have been discarded by the door, and without a word he rests his forehead against his mate's shoulder. Bella lifts a slender hand, gently caressing his head.

"That bad?" She asks.

He sighs sharply. "I'm starting to think it's time for me to retire."

She gives him a weak chuckle. "You'd go mad. You'll be working until you can't anymore."

"I could pivot," Jack says. "Get a job in some stuffy cubicle. Start selling used cars. Open a lemonade stand, hell, anything would be better than this."

Bella's quiet for a beat. He shifts to look at her. She's stunning. Every day, always.

"Do you think it would help? The distance?"

Her eyes are worried, sympathetic, searching.

"I don't think I'll ever stop blaming myself for what happened to Will."

She rolls to face him. "You couldn't have known, baby. He never told you."

Jack frowns. He hasn't been able to stop replaying moments from the past few months in his mind. Little ones, that seemed so inconsequential at the time. They all get under his skin, but the one that haunts him most happened near the beginning. While they were still working on the Shrike case.

Will Graham, his Will, from before Hannibal. Nervous and pale and sweaty. He'd just chalked it up to social anxiety. He'd explained it all away.

'Please, Jack. Please don't leave me alone with him.'

"I could have protected him. I could have kept their...relationship from progressing. Will wanted me to. At least at first."

"That's not how it works, Jack. Lecter would've found a way. It's a force of nature, you were just trying to do your job."

He'd felt like he might faint when he found out. The plan went up in flames before his eyes, Will and Hannibal Lecter were long gone. They'd gone to search Will's house and found that two of his dogs were missing, and his closet had been ransacked like he'd packed in a hurry. The food bowls were still almost full. He'd been there recently.

Will had left a note addressed to Alana Bloom, thanking her for her friendship and asking her to care for the dogs and find them good homes. It was mainly instructions on proper pet care- Juniper is at risk for canine arthritis so don't let her run around too much, Jericho is afraid of thunderstorms but he just needs to be held and he'll calm down, so on and so forth. Toward the end, though, was something that made his blood run cold. A few simple lines.

'We're gone by now. Don't bother looking, we won't get caught a second time.

Don't worry about us, we'll be just fine.
- Will'

It set off alarms in his head. He still hadn't fully understood what it all meant, why Will had done this. But he had a nauseating suspicion.

'We. Us.'

He'd questioned everyone in the department, trying to make sense of it. He'd been played. They'd all been played, and now one of his own agents had freed the Chesapeake Ripper from prison, right under his nose.

'You were friends with both of them, weren't you?'

'Yes. But I never knew that Hannibal was...that either of them were capable of something like this,' Alana said.

He'd narrowed his eyes. He could tell she was hiding something. 'There's a piece to this that I'm missing, Doctor Bloom. If there's anything you know, I'm asking you to tell me.'

She tensed, shifted in her seat for a moment.

'They're mates,' she whispered.

He balked. 'Excuse me?'

'Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter are...soul mates.'

It hit him like a truck. The wind was knocked from him as every awful piece clicked into place. Yes, he'd definitely been played. 'And you didn't think I needed to know that?'

'It didn't seem relevant at the time.'

'Didn't seem relevant?! I had him in charge of the Ripper investigation! You didn't think his soul mate being a prime suspect was relevant?'

'I didn't think he'd go this far!' She shouted. Her eyes were quickly welling with tears. 'I didn't think Will would...that he killed Alice Schaffer. That he would kill Matthew Brown. I just thought...'

'You had reason to believe he would try to break Hannibal out.'

Alana breathed out a shaky sigh, tear slipping down her face. '...Hannibal told me that they wanted to run away together. Just put it all behind them and move on.'

'And you believed that?'

She looked up at him, expression hardening. 'I believed that neither of them would stop, either way. I could see it in their faces.'

She stood to leave. 'I can accept that certain fires are better left to burn themselves out, Jack. Can you?'

Evidently, he couldn't.

"I don't know which option makes me sicker," he says. "The idea that Lecter made a good man go that bad that quickly, or that Will was always a killer in the making and I was so blind that I never saw it."

Bella takes his hand. "Well, you're the Behavioral Expert, between the two of us. But I don't think people just 'go bad'. I don't think he was hiding all along, either."

Jack brings their joined hands to his lips, kisses the back of her hand. "What do you think?"

She sighs. She's tired. "I think Will Graham was a man with something bad in his head, trying like hell to be good anyway. And I think that when Hannibal Lecter met him, he did what all good soul mates do." She cracked a small, bitter smile. "He saw something, an achievement in potentia. And he gave it what it needed to grow."

He shakes his head. "I keep thinking of past cases. Killers I've caught. The vicious, sadistic ones that make me feel like humanity might not even be worth the effort in the first place. And I think- 'Those people all had mates'. Did they know, like Will did? Did they run, were they killed? How many of them tried to protect their mates?"

Bella curls closer to him. He breathes her in, kisses the top of her head. She's like a firefly on a summer night- glowing in the darkness. Her light is fading. He isn't ready.

"A fucked up little piece of me thinks I'd do the same thing, if someone tried to take you away from me."

She chuckles. "We can't all have that luxury."

He wraps a protective arm around her. "I would, though. I try to be a good man, Bella, but I would kill for you."

She lifts her head to look at him, gives him a tired smile. "Maybe you should retire, if you're saying things like that." She kisses him once, twice. "Go take a shower and come to bed, Jack."

"Hey, I love you. You know that, don't you?"

"I love you, too."

-

"Hey, can I buy you a drink?"

The eye-catching stranger looks up at Beverly. They lock eyes with her for a moment. Green. Cute. Their face falls when neither of them see anything, but Beverly doesn't care. They shrug.

"Sure, why not?"

Bev grins, sitting next to them. They've got a great build, strong shoulders and a long elegant neck, accentuated by dangling earrings. "Sex on the Beach," they say when they catch the bartender's attention.

Bev orders a Screwdriver, pulling some cash from her wallet.

"You don't...actually have to pay for it," The stranger says. "I don't like taking advantage of people."

She smirks. "I'm trying to make a good impression. Tell you what, you can get the next one, okay?"

They smile back. "Okay. I guess that's fine."

"I'm Beverly, by the way."

"Ace."

"That's a cool name."

Ace chuckles. "Thanks, I picked it out myself."

The bartender sets their drinks on the bar and Bev thanks him. Ace seems a little on edge.

"So clue me in on something. What's someone as gorgeous as you doing drinking alone on a Friday night?"

Ace blushes slightly at the compliment, taking a sip of their drink. "I was actually out with some friends, but I kind of...bailed on them."

Bev nods.

"They were being assholes. It's fine, though."

"Well," Beverly says. "Lucky for you, I'm certifiably not an asshole."

Ace laughs, looks Bev up and down. "What about you? Why are you here by yourself?"

"I was looking for a cute person to flirt with, obviously. Mission accomplished."

Ace swallows, looks down at their drink. "Listen, I'm really flattered, but I just got out of a relationship."

Beverly nods politely, more than a little disappointed. "Well, that's okay. We can just talk, if you want."

They don't reply.

"I'm sorry, about your ex and everything."

"It's fine. He was...kind of an asshole, too." Ace laughs. "My friends are trying to talk me into going Traditionalist. They wanna sign me up for one of those meetups. Help me find my mate."

Beverly grimaces, takes a long drink. "That whole 'soul mate' thing is bullshit, anyway."

Ace cocks a brow. "You think so?"

"You know there's like, zero scientific evidence that there's a correlation between successful relationships and Peak visions? The divorce rates for mated and unmated couples are virtually the same."

"Yeah, I think I've heard that before. But the sample sizes are super disproportionate, too. Most people marry their mates, historically speaking."

Beverly shrugs. "I think there's a reason that it's falling out of fashion, though. Traditionalism- it's right there in the name, you know? It's all so antiquated. Just Nuclear Family style stuff with no actual societal benefit."

Ace snorts. "Yeah, it's kind of fucked up, really. Did you hear that news story about the pair of serial killer Soul Mates a while back? It's that obsession with codependency the mate system fosters- makes people feel like their bond is more important than people's lives. It's scary."

Bev coughs. Her heart twists a little. She'd felt so betrayed, when she found out. Like she never even knew Will. They two of them were never close, but they'd been colleagues. She wanted to be his friend.

Will Graham had killed at least five people, then disappeared with the Chesapeake Ripper without a trace. He'd known that Hannibal Lecter was a killer from the moment they met, and he'd thrown everything away for him, all the same.

Beverly sighs. "I try not to think about Soul Mates in general. I just try to live in the moment, you know? Not worry about the future."

Ace looks at Beverly. A constellation of little freckles dust their cheeks, creeping up the bridge of their nose. "So, you don't care about finding your Peak? Like, at all?"

She smiles. "It's gonna happen either way, right? That's the whole point. Why spoil the surprise?"

Ace opens their mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the buzzing of their phone. They frown down at the screen. "It's one of my friends. She wants to talk." They sigh, push a hand through their hair. Their eyes flick back up to Beverly.

"It can wait, though. I'll text her later."

-

Molly looks out the window, waiting for her coffee to brew. She props her elbows on the counter and watches two squirrels chase each other through the front yard.

"Mom? Can I stay home from school today? I don't...feel good."

She turns when he speaks. Walter is standing in the kitchen doorway, still in his pajamas.

"What's wrong?"

He looks down at the floor. "My stomach hurts. I think I might throw up."

She smiles. He's still not old enough to be a good liar. "Maybe if you tell me what's actually wrong, I can help," she offers.

Walter crosses his arms, still staring at his feet. "I just don't want to go, alright? I don't want to talk to anybody."

"So don't talk to anybody. Just focus on your classes and read a book at lunch. You're not obligated to talk to the other kids if you don't want to."

He sighs, leaning on the counter. He fiddles with the salt shaker, mumbling out his words. "Some of the girls in my class started a rumor that Hannah Ashford is my soul mate."

Molly straightens her posture. "Is she?"

"No!" He says, a bit more aggressively than she'd expected. "She's just a girl. We're not even friends. But everybody keeps making fun of us because of it."

She lifts her chin, looks down at him. "You don't usually care about what people think about you, Wally."

"I don't care...that much. It's just..." He frowns, brows furrowed as he slides the salt shaker back and forth across the countertop. "They're only doing it because everyone thinks Hannah is weird. I don't want her to think it bothers me because nobody likes her. She's nice, I wish people didn't bully her so much. Maybe if I'm not there, no one will bother her about it."

Molly nods. She thinks it over. For the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time, she wishes Walter's Father was here. He would know what to say.

"You're a good kid, you know that?" She says at last. "But you don't have to ignore them just to spare her feelings. Just tell them that you aren't mates. And if they keep teasing her about it, just sock 'em in the face."

He looks up at her. "Really?"

"No!"

Wally laughs. He tilts his head, still thinking. "...Were you and dad soul mates?"

She nods.

"What's your Peak?"

Molly turns to pour herself a cup of coffee, smiling to herself. "I'm gonna be the first female president," she deadpans.

"I'm serious. I wanna know."

She stirs two spoonfuls of sugar in, watching as the liquid swirls. "Your dad and I met at the bank," She says. "I was just trying to cash a check, but the machines were down. And the lady behind the counter was being a real pain in the neck about it, too. Like it's my fault that the system crashed. So she's mouthing off at me and everything, and she walks away to ask her manager about something. I turn around to the guy behind me in line and I look at him like 'Can you believe this?' And...there he was."

She laughs. "The second we looked at each other, he blurts out 'Don't tell me!' And I was so confused. I'd never heard of someone reacting like that. He told me that he didn't want to know what was coming, but he'd tell me if I wanted to know. I told him to take me out to lunch first."

The coffee is still a little too hot to comfortably drink, but she takes a small sip anyway. "At the end of our first date, I told him that if he didn't want to know, then I didn't either. Two years later, you were born."

She looks across the room at Walter. He's watching her, a thoughtful look on his face. "So what was dad's Peak?"

Molly smiles fondly. "Did I ever tell you about that really bad fever you got when you were four?"

Wally nods. "You said you had to rush me to the hospital in the middle of a snowstorm."

She takes another sip of her coffee, glancing out the window. "The car broke down, on the way there. I thought I was gonna lose you." She swallows, tears rising to her eyes. "He uh- he carried you, about a mile through the storm. He was so worried about you, but he got you to the doctors in time. By the end of the week, you were right as rain. That's what I saw, standing in line at the bank. I knew right away that I...I would do anything for that man."

Wally rounds the counter, wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a tight hug. He's getting tall. Growing too fast.

"You're gonna be late for school at this point, even if you went in your pajamas," She says, voice wavering a little. "Let's play hooky, just this once."

-

"Coming!"

Alana makes her way down the stairs, almost tripping over Buster on the way. She pulls on a dark blue robe, wrapping it around herself to cover her nightgown. It's early, and it's her day off- she'd barely even woken before she heard the doorbell. Luna and Jericho are both barking at her as soon as she enters the living room, excited at the prospect of breakfast. She shushes them, hurriedly opening the door halfway.

The woman at her doorstep is beautiful. Long brown hair spilling over her shoulders in elegant waves, plump, full lips and meticulously sculpted brows. Alana wastes no time, looks directly into this stranger's big doe eyes. Green. Vibrant, breathtaking green. She doesn't have a vision, and her disappointment is almost palpable, but she feels herself blushing all the same.

"Hello," She says, a little airy. "Um, can I help you?"

"Are you Doctor Alana Bloom?" The woman asks, and the sound of her voice has Alana's heart thumping. Smoky, like a fog over water.

Alana nods. "Yes, that's me."

She smiles, red-painted lips quirking upwards. "My name is Margot Verger, I'm a former patient of Doctor Hannibal Lecter's."

"Oh." She falters slightly, stomach twisting. Her heart goes out to this woman- to all of Hannibal's patients. They all put their mental wellbeing into his hands, trusting that he would help them to the best of his ability. Now they all knew that they'd been receiving psychiatric advice from a serial killer. "I see."

"Doctor Lecter's treatment was actually rather effective, in my experience. It's unfortunate that his practice is gone, his...proclivities notwithstanding."

Alana nods solemnly. "Hannibal was my mentor. He's a monster, but I'm well aware of his expertise."

"Well, as you can imagine, recent events have left me in need of a new psychiatrist." She steps closer to the door. "And as you said, you and Doctor Lecter worked together for quite some time. I thought that if I was looking for someone to replace him, you might be a good place to start."

Alana stammers for a moment, searching for her words. "Well, I'm... flattered that you would reach out to me, but my psychiatric work is mainly through the FBI. I don't typically take unaffiliated patients."

She quirks a brow. "Not typically? Is there any way that I could persuade you to make an exception?"

Alana blushes, cheeks burning. "M-Miss Verger-"

Juniper noses her way through the partially-open door, knocking Alana off-balance as she does. Once the door is open, Luna, Daisy and Buster don't hesitate to come scampering through.

Juniper immediately barks at Margot, sniffing her excitedly. "I'm so sorry, I-"

Margot chuckles. "Well, that's quite the herd you have there, Doctor Bloom." She watches as Luna and Daisy both dart across the front yard, running in circles around each other. "I think my brother has you beat, but four is still impressive."

Alana smiles bashfully. "Five, actually." She leans inside and whistles. "Come on out, Jericho! Might as well go ahead and get some exercise."

After a moment, Jericho comes lumbering through the door and Alana shuts it behind him. She realizes that she's now in her nightgown, outside on her front porch, with the most gorgeous woman she's ever seen. She crosses her arms self-consciously.

Margot looks amused. "You have five dogs?"

"Yes. Sort of. They aren't technically mine."

"Your husband's?"

"No," she blurts out immediately. She laughs nervously at herself. "Um, no. They're...they were Will Graham's."

Margot's face falls. "Oh."

She's heard the story. Everyone has, it was on the front page of every news site for weeks. She could hardly blame them, it was sensational- a wives tale come to life. A man driven to madness by the influence of his deranged, murderous soul mate. And Alana-

Well, Alana just hopes they're satisfied. That they get what they deserve, whatever that is.

She pets Jericho when he comes back to the porch, nosing at her bare leg.

"I'll probably end up keeping a couple of them, though."

Margot regards Juniper, sizing her up. "This one is good stock," she says. "You could probably get a pretty penny for her. I'd almost be inclined to take her myself, but I don't think my home would be a good environment for her."

"Oh, I'm not selling them. I just want to make sure they go to people who will take good care of them."

Margot smiles at Alana. "That's compassionate of you, Doctor Bloom."

"Please, call me Alana."

"Is that your polite way of denying my request?"

She nods. "I'm afraid so. Though I admire your tenacity. Most people would have just called me."

Margot smirks and it makes Alana's pulse quicken. "I'm not most people."

Alana swallows. She looks into Margot's eyes. No vision, but definitely something there. Something that Alana can't help feeling drawn to.

"I could help you find someone, though," she offers before Margot can take her leave. "I can give you a referral, at least. Come in. You can give me the basics of what you're looking for."

Margot Verger grins. "I'd like that."

-

Zoe tugs insistently at her leash, begging him to walk faster, just a little bit faster. Will ignores it, firmly gripping her lead and making it clear that he is setting the pace. Poor little Chrysanthemum is barely keeping up as is. She's still just a puppy, and though Will is completely confident that she will grow into those huge paws of hers soon enough, she's clumsy this evening as she clambers along the street.

He smiles, watching her trip over her own feet. It's been a while since Will's had a puppy. Most of the strays he'd found in America were already grown. It had been a very welcome surprise, coming home after a long day to find her lying on the living room rug, chewing happily on a terrycloth rope. She was a rescue from a local shelter, and she's a handful but Will is no stranger to that. Zoe and Winston were good to her, too, easily welcoming her into the family.

'Two Dog Limit', he'd said, like it was law. How long had that lasted?  Two months? Maybe three? What a pushover. With my impulse control and his obsessive need to spoil me, we'll have ten before we know it.

Winston pauses to sniff at a tree, and Will takes in the scenery.

Soft, ashen locks. He's growing them out, fringe falling in his face. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days, stubble giving him a less-polished appearance. Strong, skilled fingers- one set holding Winston's leash, the others laced with Will's own. He turns to look at Will, dazzles him with a flash of sharp white teeth when he catches Will staring.

"Something the matter, my love?" Hannibal teases.

Will shakes his head, eyes fixed on that smile. "Just enjoying the view, that's all."

Hannibal leans close, whispers low in Will's ear and makes him shiver.

"The view is on your left, Darling."

He breathes out a laugh, turning to look out at the waterway. Florence really is a gorgeous city, he completely understands why Hannibal loves it so much. There had been a brief period of culture shock wherein Will barely wanted to leave their- admittedly very lovely- home, but after a few weeks he'd acclimated to the change. The dogs had experienced something similar, but now they all seem perfectly comfortable here. At least, Will hopes they're all comfortable.

The sun is setting. It's breathtaking. Shades of warm orange and pink kissing the city and dancing on the surface of the water. Hannibal is basked in its golden glow, and Will feels his anxiety spike.

He's been waiting for this. Ever since he got Hannibal back from prison, he's been waiting for the right moment. And here it is, just fallen into his lap.

"I was worried we wouldn't be able to do this, you know," Will says, squeezing his hand and watching the dying sun sparkle across the waterway.

"Do what?"

He swallows. "Relax. Rest again. I was scared that I'd be on edge forever. But...I don't think I've ever been happier."

"The storm, and the calm that follows," Hannibal says as he joins him against the railing.

"Yeah."

Will turns to Hannibal, heart in his mouth. "I can't even imagine a future without you in it, anymore. What I would've done if we never met." He lifts Hannibal's hand where it tangles with his own and kisses his knuckles. "You're a constant to me now. Like my North Star, guiding me to where I'm supposed to be."

Hannibal smiles softly, presses an answering kiss to Will's cheek. "I feel the same about you, Will. My universe has reoriented at your insistence. I now revolve around your axis."

Will's pulse is racing. He clears his throat, forces himself to keep talking. "I- I guess what I'm saying is, I don't want to worry about a future without you. I don't want to learn what that looks like."

He drifts to kiss below Will's ear, clouding his already jumbled thoughts and pulling a light gasp from his lips. "Then you needn't worry. The only thing that could pull me from you now is you sending me away, and even then I'm not sure if I could obey it. You would likely have to kill me yourself to entirely separate from me. I would ask you to, even- rather than suffering on my own after becoming so accustomed to your radiance."

Will blushes, feeling entirely unmoored. "Hannibal..."

It's now or never.

He reaches into his inner coat pocket. Alongside his lucky pocket knife, he's been hiding another treasure. He'd bought it just days after arriving in Florence, making sure he'd be ready when the right time arrived. He considered planning some grand orchestrated gesture, but it didn't seem quite right. The two of them had a love guided by destiny- they'd both walked willingly into it, their eyes open and unafraid, but it never stopped feeling inevitable. Will knew the perfect moment would find them on its own, if he had faith.

And yes, it had.

Zoe has taken Winston's place, sniffing at the tree. Winson is resting in its shade. Chrysanthemum is sitting at Will's feet, happy as a lark. And Hannibal- perfect, unbelievable Hannibal- is watching Will with a fervent intensity. Like Will is the only thing that exists.

Will pulls the small box from his pocket. Hannibal tracks the movement, eyes widening when he sees the hidden treasure.

"I, uh-" He takes a deep breath, more nervous than he's been in ages. "I'm not just doing this because we're mates. I think I would always want this. If we lived a thousand new lives in a thousand different realities, I would still want to end up right here. With you." Will stares down at the box, feeling himself lose his nerve. "I just feel like we were meant to be together, beyond any Peaks or visions. And-"

He looks back up and locks onto dark brown eyes, glistening with tears.

"Hey! Stop, don't do that," Will says, teasing even as he immediately feels a lump forming in his throat. "You know you're not allowed to cry, it fucks me up."

Hannibal laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. "You can't expect me to maintain my composure, darling," He says, his gaze openly besotted.

Will smiles, his own eyes starting to swim with emotion. A couple of old saps, that's what we've been reduced to. What would the media say, if they found out that the Chesapeake Rippers were both crying over a little golden circle?

"I just- I love you, Hannibal. I love you like crazy, and I want to be with you for as long as you'll have me."

Will opens the box. The ring is simple but elegant, black carbon etched with gold filigree, a golden lining inside. Hannibal looks overcome.

"I know it's just symbolic, since we can't exactly-"

"Yes."

Will's heart hammers in his chest, face breaking into a wide grin. "Yes?"

Hannibal leans close, cups his face with the hand that isn't holding Winston's leash. He kisses Will like it's the only thing he's ever wanted.

"Yes, mylimasis, of course. Yes."

Will feels like he could fly. He pulls the ring from the box, slides it onto Hannibal's finger with a shaking hand.

"I'll have to select one for you, as well," Hannibal muses, smiling down at the ring. Will is struck by an overwhelming rightness, looking at it on his mate's finger.

"Yes," Will agrees. "I'll wear it every day. I love you. So much."

Hannibal kisses him again, deeper this time. "I love you, Will," he whispers when they part.

Will's face is starting to hurt from smiling. He's had worse, without a doubt.

Zoe barks impatiently, tugging at her lead and garnering the attention of Winston and Chrysanthemum. Hannibal chuckles, kissing Will once more before threading their fingers together and resuming their original pace. Will feels the metal of Hannibal's ring pressing against his hand, can't wait to feel a ring of his own on his skin.

"You know," Will says, dragging a fingertip over the carbon finish. "I seem to recall you saying that I wouldn't find a fairytale with you." He looks up at Hannibal, perfect in the glow of early twilight. "No Happy Endings."

"And I believe you said that you weren't interested in fairytales to begin with, yet here you are. Building one around us."

Will laughs. "Maybe I didn't realize how well happiness could suit me."

Hannibal hums. "It does. You're flourishing here, my heart."

"Realizing my potential?" He asks.

"Arriving at a higher apex with each passing day."

He smiles at Hannibal, his soul mate. He looks more content than Will's ever seen.

"So are you."

They walk together along the waterway, eventually making their way back to their home. Night has fully overtaken Florence by then, streetlamps illuminating the city. Will and Hannibal let their dogs inside, Will pulling Hannibal close for a kiss as they pass through their threshold.

'No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love, we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.' - Hannibal Lecter

Chapter Text

Hannibal wakes to a wet nose nudging at his jaw and a soft whine above him. He grumbles, clinging stubbornly to sleep even as disproportionately large paws step on his chest. He cracks one eye open, peering through the soft early morning light at the little dark creature pestering him.

Chrysanthemum yips, and Hannibal shushes her with as much tenderness as he can muster immediately after waking.

"Good morning, Chrysanthemum," He says softly, reaching up to scratch her behind the ear. She wags her tail, darting forward to lick his cheek. Hannibal grimaces, wiping his face and gently rising so as not to send her tumbling over.

He looks to the side, smiling to himself when he sees a mess of dark curls still spilling over the pillow beside him. Good, he's still asleep.

"I suppose you're ready for breakfast?" He asks the pup, and he takes her eager pawing at his leg as an affirmative answer. Hannibal chuckles, stretching and releasing a slight groan of satisfaction. The hardwood is chilly underfoot, their home almost begging for a fire to be lit. He'll do so, soon.

Chrysanthemum jumps down from their bed and onto the floor, eagerly herding him toward the door. Breakfast first.

He pads out into the hall, Chrysanthemum hot on his heels, and stops to peer into the library.

As if sensing his presence, Winston perks up. He rises from his bed, nestled in the corner near the reading nook, and trots over to greet him.

"Hello, sweet boy," Hannibal coos, ruffling the fur on the back of Winston's neck with a soft smile. "Come along, it's time for breakfast."

Poor little Chrysanthemum is a bit over-eager as she descends the stairs, tripping over her paws and skittering down the last few steps. She's alright, but it is rather pitiful. Much of her is pitiful- the sweet pup has to wear a sweater when she goes out for walks. Soon, she will grow into a fine pet, like her companions. For now, though, Hannibal chides her for being so uncoordinated and assures her that someday she will have better control over those extremities.

Through the windows, Hannibal can see that the sky is grey, cloudy. An early morning fog has overtaken the block, casting their neighborhood with a pale sort of majesty. A bright red ribbon is tied round the street lamp outside, done in a large bow.

Behind him, the branches of the large tree in their living room rustle, accompanied by the light sound of ornaments knocking into one another. The frantic scuttle of claws on the floor warns him to brace himself before a large white body nearly knocks him off his feet.

"Ah, the Beast has awoken," He deadpans, though he smiles down at Zoe all the same. "Hello, Beast."

Zoe woofs at him, sending the other two into a tizzy. Hannibal merely shakes his head in forced annoyance as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Hungry, I presume?"

She barks again and he chuckles. "Famished, yes, I suspected as much."

He pulls the container of homemade dog food from their fridge, feeding Zoe first with a bowl set on the opposite side of the kitchen from the others. In theory it prevents her from stealing from Winston and Chrysanthemum. In practice it is only marginally successful.

Once they are taken care of, Hannibal finds himself glancing at the stairs. Today promises to be quite taxing. Rewarding, of course, but with no shortage of stress. He can only hope the chaos is a controlled one. By all metrics, the smart thing to do would be to start a fire, fix a quick breakfast for the non-canine members of his family, make sure the house is neat and tidy, and begin preparations for the evening straight away.

And yet, he creeps up the steps, peeking into their bedroom with a soft smile. Still sleeping like a rock, despite the barking downstairs. He always sleeps quite heavily, now. Catching up on the hours lost to nightmares. It feels good, knowing that he rests easily in this life.

Hannibal crawls beneath their duvet, curling an arm around the other man's waist. He pulls close, nosing at the back of his neck. Will is warm, nestled in the comfort of their bed and soothed by a good night's sleep. Hannibal kisses his nape, gently moving until he meets the collar of his T-shirt.

The other man sighs, melting closer into his hold. Hannibal smiles against his neck, his palm dragging up Will's stomach to caress his chest. His kisses turn from gentle pecks to loose, open-mouthed presses, and Will tips his head back to grant Hannibal more access to the pale column of his throat.

Will hums, a lazy smile rising on his face. He's so stunning it almost hurts to look at him. Hannibal takes the torture eagerly.

"Good morning," he purrs, voice deep and rough from sleep. There's an edge of teasing humor to it, and he arches his spine to press closer. Hannibal sighs when Will's ass rubs against his hardening cock. He kisses Will's neck again, searching for the thrum of an elevated pulse against his lips.

"Merry Christmas, Will," he murmurs, and Will breathes out a laugh.

"Not unless you let me sleep through the day, it isn't," he says. Hannibal nips at his throat and Will's breath hitches, reaching to grip Hannibal's arm.

"Mmm, I think you'd be grateful if I did, darling."

"You think so?"

"Sleeping through tonight's festivities? The ones I know you've been dreading for weeks now? Yes, I should think you'd be pleased."

Will huffs. "I wouldn't say I'm dreading them," he argues, and as he does he rolls onto his back. He looks up at Hannibal, blue eyes narrow in the early morning light. He can't help but reach out, gently pushing a stray curl from his face.

Hannibal lifts a brow and Will rolls his eyes. "I'm not exactly keen on it, but I hardly think I can be blamed for that. The main appeals of a dinner party are good food and good conversation- I already eat better than any man in the country, and the only person I have any interest in making conversation with will be here long after the last guest leaves. What is there for me to look forward to?"

Hannibal laughs, leaning down to kiss his husband. "I appreciate you making an appearance, regardless," he mutters, already resuming his journey down Will's jaw and toward his collarbones.

"You'd sulk for days if I didn't," he says with a soft sigh.

He nips at the shell of Will's ear, delighting in the gasp it pulls from his lips. "Only because I would be bereft of your radiance, my love," he whispers, and the other man shudders. "Who would light up the room, if you chose to hide away in your workshop all night?"

Will catches him in a kiss, then. Arms curl around his neck, and Hannibal sighs. He settles atop his beloved, groaning into his mouth when their cocks brush through layers of fabric. Will parts his lips eagerly, and takes the opportunity to tug at Hannibal's hair. Hannibal accepts the invitation, delivering a quick bite to the other man's lower lip as he goes. He smiles into their kiss when Will pulls harder in response. The lovely thing makes it no secret that he enjoys how Hannibal's let his hair grow long. He rolls his hips, grinding against Will and feasting on the moan that falls from him. He craves more of that, no matter how much Will gives him.

Too stubborn to pull away, Hannibal pushes Will's T-shirt up his body, palms skating up the wonderful warm skin hidden beneath.

Will flinches, pulling back enough to make a soft noise of complaint.

"You're freezing," he whines, half-heartedly pushing Hannibal's hand away.

Hannibal simply smirks, drifting higher despite his husband's protests. Will yelps when Hannibal thumbs at his nipples, the sharp sound of surprise melting away into another rough groan when Hannibal rolls one between his fingers.

"I'll warm up soon, I'm sure," he says, his voice dipping low as he makes his way down Will's chest. The other man arches into it when Hannibal licks his other nipple, wrapping his lips around it just to savor how Will gasps his name and grips at his hair again. The sound of his name on those lips never fails to stop him in his tracks- it makes him dizzy for a moment, makes him lose sight of where he is.

The hand not tugging at Will's nipple quests lower, shoving its way beneath the waistband of cotton boxers to palm at his husband's hard cock. His body jerks- away from the touch initially, the cold of Hannibal's hand amplified on heated, sensitive skin, then into the pressure it provides.

Will reconnects their mouths, arching into the sensation for a moment before taking Hannibal by the hips and effortlessly flipping their positions. Hannibal goes willingly, every bit as in love with his mate's dominant streak as he was when he first become acquainted with it. One of Will's bare thighs finds its place between Hannibal's legs, and he grinds against the granted friction as Will yanks off his T-shirt.

"Lube," He growls, thumbs hooking into the waistband of Hannibal's pajamas. Too eager to even consider disobedience, Hannibal fishes the bottle from his bedside drawer. He lifts his hips, letting his husband strip him.

Will pours the lube onto his fingers, immediately moving to slip one inside of Hannibal. Hannibal hisses, clenching around the intrusion. Will lifts a brow, though his curiosity is feigned. What a precocious creature.

"It's cold," Hannibal grits, willing himself to relax around his husband's finger regardless. The awful boy hadn't warmed it at all before entering him.

The other man looks down on him with mocking sympathy. "You'll warm up, right?" he teases, tossing his words back at him with a curl of his finger. Hannibal catches Will by the jaw, kissing him fiercely and sinking his teeth into Will's lower lip for his trouble. Will moans into their kiss, quickly inserting another finger. Their connection only breaks when Will finally nudges his prostate, and Hannibal tips his head back into their pillows with an obscenely satisfied sigh. Will takes the opportunity to travel lower, nipping and sucking bruises wherever he roams. He's mainly courteous- leaving the more glaring marks on his collarbones, chest, the meaty slopes of his waist- but Hannibal groans his mate's name in protest rather than pleasure when Will leaves a rather large red mark quite high on his throat.

Will chuckles at his displeasure. "What?" he purrs. "The color suits you. Seasonally appropriate."

Before Hannibal can remind his husband that he doesn't need help accessorizing, Will noses at his ear, speaking in a low whisper that sends a shiver rolling up his spine.

"Besides, why is it so unsightly? Don't you want everyone to see that you're mine?"

Hannibal moans and Will takes the opportunity to stretch him with a third finger, filling and spreading him in a way that is at once lovely and lacking. He wants more, more of his mate, more of Will.

"You'll wear it proudly, won't you? Show everyone who you belong to?"

"God, Will- yes. Whatever you say, darling, just- ah! Just take me, I'm ready for you."

Will sucks on the lobe of Hannibal's ear for a moment, clearly enjoying how he shudders and squirms at every touch far too much for his own good.

"Ask nicely," he growls, once again brushing his prostate.

Hannibal chokes on a moan, rolling his hips back into the touch. "Will-"

"I'm listening."

What a tease. What a horrible, insufferable, cocky boy. He should be ashamed of himself.

"...Please?"

He barely has time to whine when Will's fingers leave before the wet head of his husband's cock is resting insistently against his rim.

"There, was that so hard?"

Will takes one of Hannibal's legs and hoists it over his shoulder. His eyes fall shut when Will finally sinks in, a low moan pouring from his lips. Their position has the head of Will's cock pushing deep, pressing on Hannibal's prostate again and again when he immediately begins to thrust.

"Fuck, I love it when you're good for me, baby."

Hannibal bites his lip, clutching at a fistful of soft grey sheets. Will is fucking him hard and fast, so intense that he can almost feel his mind leaking from his ears. His cock twitches, neglected, and he wouldn't dare touch himself when Will is like this but fuck he wants to.

"You wanna know why?"

He glances up at the other man, his heart thudding violently into his rib cage. Will is flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow, his knuckles white where they grip Hannibal's leg. He whimpers softly. Will lets his leg fall from his shoulder, only to press both of his knees to his chest, folding Hannibal in half and making him feel near mad with pleasure. A salacious sound escapes before Hannibal has any say in the matter, his body clenching and squirming as Will looms over him protectively.

"It's because you wouldn't do this for anybody else," he growls, the snap of his hips almost cruel.

A sharp exhale leaves Hannibal, though whether it could be called a laugh in this state is highly debatable. "You'd never-" he cuts himself off with a moan, struggling to even speak through the waves of pleasure he's being bombarded with. "Never l-let someone else find out."

Will's nails dig into his thighs. "You like that, don't you?" He grunts, his hips starting to falter. "Fuck, you like that I don't want anybody to think they can come near you."

"Yes," he confesses, too blissful by miles to lie. His husband's possessiveness is nothing short of divine, the most beautiful thing he's ever bore witness to.

As a reward for his honestly, one of Will's hands falls from Hannibal's thigh and wraps around his cock. Almost immediately, Hannibal feels his abdomen tightening. His hips buck, encouraging stimulation wherever he can possibly get it.

"That's it, baby. Let me come in you, yeah?"

Hannibal nods frantically, whining for more.

Will pounds him into the mattress, but beneath the roughness is an undercurrent of undying devotion, as always.

"Mine," he snarls, and Hannibal breaks.

He comes with a broken call of his husband's name, staining his stomach and Will's hand. His head feels filled with cotton, so far from their home and yet fixed on this moment.

Will loses all grace, pounding into him so urgently that Hannibal will certainly be sore the whole night through. From wherever his mind is currently residing, Hannibal imagines that this is by design. The sonnet of bruises and aches scrawled across his body to be read and reread throughout the upcoming party.

He presses his sweat-soaked forehead to Hannibal's shoulder when he comes, releasing his legs and going nearly boneless against him. His breath is hot against Hannibal's collarbones as he gasps for air, completely sated.

"Shower?" Hannibal offers after a fashion, and Will lets out a sound of displeasure.

"Breakfast," he grumbles.

Hannibal laughs, his system flooded with dopamine and his body held to earth solely by Will's body, warm and alive above him. "Alright. At least allow me to clean myself a bit before I cook, then."

Will pulls away at that, frowning down at him for a moment before speaking. "No, I've got it. Go take a shower, I'll make breakfast."

"You're sure?"

He smiles softly, and Hannibal's heart feels warm. "You're gonna be in that damn kitchen all day as it is, babe. Let me make breakfast for you."

Hannibal nods, stretching as the ache begins to set in.

"Fed the dogs?"

"Yes."

"Let 'em out?"

"Not yet."

His brows furrow as he pads over to the dresser. "I can tell you didn't start a fire."

"I was distracted by a different pursuit of warmth."

He snorts, fishing a fresh pair of boxers, some lounge pants, and a suspiciously familiar burgundy sweater from their drawers.

"Stealing my clothes, are you?" he prods, watching as his husband dresses. The sleeves of the sweater hang loose on his body, partially covering his hands and making him look deceptively fragile.

Will smiles up at him and Hannibal is reminded for what must be the millionth time that he loves this man more than anything on earth. "Consider it payment for breakfast. Fair?"

Hannibal smiles back. "Fair."

-

Will's prediction was correct, for the most part. Hannibal spends the bulk of his day in the kitchen, tirelessly preparing every offering until their counters and refrigerator are piled high with the fruits of his labor. Will mainly stays out of his way, offering to taste things and wash dishes here and there. After being quiet for a near suspicious amount of time, his husband reappears looking entirely delectable, dressed in midnight blue and charcoal grey with his curls artfully framing his face. Hannibal has half a mind to carry that boy back upstairs and undo all of his hard work. He abstains, but only just.

"You're breathtaking, mylimasis."

Will smiles, helping himself to a glass of steaming apple cider from a large pot on the stove. "You're not so bad yourself," he says. He brings the cider close to his face and inhales, eyes slipping shut at the fragrance before he takes a sip. A deep noise of approval rises from his chest. "We don't have to serve this, right? I can just hide it away and keep it all for myself?"

Hannibal chuckles, his attention focused on arranging a large platter of hors d'oeuvres. "We must teach you to share, at some point."

"You'll get to it one of these days," Will says, and he leans closer to press a warm kiss on Hannibal's cheek. "You really do look great, you know."

Hannibal straightens his posture, preening under Will's praise. "I still need to freshen up before the guests begin to arrive. Would you be willing to set the table for me?"

Will turns him by the jaw, kissing his lips this time. "Sure thing."

-

It never stops feeling fantastic- Entertaining. Hannibal adores putting on a show, even more so with Will by his side. His inner Provider is more content than ever, with his husband and their pets soothing his need to care for someone on a daily basis, but it still flourishes under opportunities like this one. Still soars when it sees their social circle- admittedly smaller than it was in Baltimore but no less pleasant for light company- warm and joyous and fed at Hannibal's hands. There are few greater joys than the noticeable silence once dinner is served, the way the chatter of idle conversation dies away as each guest becomes entirely preoccupied with the meal. Beautiful.

Sufficed to say that Hannibal is nearly beaming with pride by the time the party has relocated to the parlor. Will and Hannibal's acquaintances dot the room, drinking spiced cider and mulled wine and eggnog. There's a noticeable cluster near the fire, basking in its glow, as well as a smaller group gathered near the piano. His heart melts.

The opening notes of 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas' sound through the parlor, Will's long skilled fingers softly coaxing them from the keys of their piano. Hannibal leans against the wall, admiring him. He filters through the sound of the party until he hears Will's voice, smooth as honey as he speaks in awkwardly accented Italian. 'Very beloved in America,' He's explaining over the notes. 'Forgive me, I don't know any European Christmas Carols, yet.'

Hannibal feels helpless, drawn to him like a moth. Will shines in the light, always has. He shies away from it, all the same- the attention. But he's wonderful, when he allows himself to be.

Will glances up from the keys and, sensing Hannibal's watchful eye, immediately meets his gaze from across the room. So very wonderful.

"I can practically hear you purring from the foyer."

Hannibal is pulled from his reverie by a voice over his shoulder. He smiles politely at her. An art curator he'd met not long after he and Will moved to Florence.

"Alessandra," he says. He nods down to the little boy clinging to her leg, next, his tie miserably askew. "And Paolo, hello. Are the two of you enjoying the party?"

"I am, thank you. And it's clear that you are, as well," she teases, sending a pointed glance Will's way.

Hannibal shrugs. "I love to entertain. It's always an honor to cook for my friends."

Alessandra gives him a look that heavily implies she thinks it may be more than that, but she leaves the comment for now. "Paolo would like to ask you something," she says, nodding down to her son. "Go ahead, sweetie."

Paolo fidgets, looking resolutely at his shoes. "Um, is it okay if I go play with your dogs outside?"

Hannibal takes a moment to look around the room, scanning the parlor. All seems well. He smiles down at Paolo. "I don't see why not, providing your mother is alright with it. They love to play."

"I'll keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't get too rough."

Hannibal laughs. "If anything, I'm worried Zoe may be too rough with him. I'll join you, the night air may serve to lessen my post-meal drowsiness."

"If you're sure, I won't say no to the company."

Hannibal fetches Chrysanthemum, predictably delighted for an opportunity to go out into the yard and play. Winston and Zoe are already outside- it would be a cold day in hell when Hannibal trusted Zoe to behave in the presence of a crowd. When he joins Alessandra and Paolo on the back porch, warm cider in hand to curb the chill, Alessandra is watching Paolo play tug with Winston, a pale blue rope between them and Winston's tail swishing happily from side to side as he pulls.

"It's meant to snow tonight," Alessandra tells him, eyes fixed on her son.

"Is it?"

She nods. For a minute or two, they simply watch together. Zoe finds something to roll in, and Hannibal can't even bring himself to be annoyed when he sees her tongue lolling from her mouth in glee.

"How are things with Max?"

Hannibal looks at her from the corner of his eye. "Splendid, as always, thank you." When she isn't forthcoming with a response, he feels compelled to elaborate. "He's insistent that one is meant to open a gift on Christmas Eve, as a tradition. I haven't bent to his will just yet, but I may lose my conviction by the end of the night."

"I think I've heard of that before."

Zoe, Chrysanthemum and Paolo chase each other in circles, nipping at one another's heels. When Zoe gets a bit over-excited he scolds her, reminding her that Chrysanthemum is too small to play roughly. He also spares a moment to remind Paolo to be careful, lest he fall and scrape a knee.

Alessandra laughs. "You're good with them, you know."

He lifts a brow. "Children?"

"Dogs."

Hannibal nods. "I admit I was never overly fond of animals. It was Max who warmed me to the idea. Now I can hardly imagine our lives without them."

"You two are good together."

"We bring out the best in one another," he agrees.

"That's what mates are meant to do, isn't it?"

He hesitates. "Max and I are not soul mates," he corrects with feigned discomfort. A clever element of their cover, entirely Will's idea. More adaptable with considerably less effort.

Alessandra falters. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"I just assumed."

"I understand."

"They say that mates look at each other differently than other couples, that's all."

That gains the attention of Hannibal's pride. "Do they?"

She nods. "There's some extra glimmer there. Fate showing itself, maybe. Recognition."

Privately, he enjoys the idea that any observer could see their bond. Outwardly, he sighs. "Max and I know each other perfectly well, I assure you. I need no vision to see his potential."

"I can tell," Alessandra says. She looks out to the yard then, smiling softly at her son.

"Have you two ever thought of adopting?"

He freezes. Studies her face. "Dogs?"

"Children."

It takes him a moment to respond. "It's not something we've discussed, no," he says. In truth it isn't something he'd spent much time considering, starting a family with Will beyond an ever-expanding collection of hounds. Now, he finds himself imagining what joys that may hold.

She nods. It doesn't escape him that she suddenly seems quite tense. "Probably for the best."

"What makes you say that?"

She sniffs, trying to force casualty. "Just that they can get in the way of things, I guess. I quit painting for nearly a decade when I had Gabi."

"She couldn't come home for Christmas this year?" he prods, trying to divine if this is the source for her discomfort. The feeling leaving her is not sadness, though. It's fear.

She shakes her head. "No, she's working tomorrow, I'm afraid. Another seasonal fluff piece or something, I don't know. She's always researching the strangest stuff for those people."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Alessandra forces a weak laugh. "They, um. They had her looking into all this True Crime stuff a few weeks ago. She was telling me all about it. Sending me all these grizzly details. Speculation." She swallows. "Pictures."

Her eyes flick away from Paolo, meeting Hannibal's for just a moment. Pure terror. "Kept me up at night, I guess. Made me paranoid. You never know, you know? What could be lurking in the dark corners of your life."

He tilts his head. "Best to keep your mind well-lit, then."

Alessandra stiffens, taking a breath. "I think Paolo and I are about to head out. Maybe I'll let him open a present early, try your husband's tradition for myself. Thank you again, for having us, Anton. It's been lovely."

He watches as she straightens her bag with shaking hands, calling out to her son. Hannibal beckons Chrysanthemum, preparing to slip back into the house.

"Merry Christmas, Paolo," He says warmly.

"Merry Christmas Doctor Velks!"

Hannibal looks up at Alessandra. Smiles at her for just a moment, not quite bothering to let it meet his eyes, and then they're off into the night.

He weaves easily through the steadily thinning crowd, smiling and checking in with guests until he finds Will. He's chatting with a few of his coworkers, and Hannibal feels no guilt when he interrupts, his husband's pained smile speaking for itself.

"Darling, may I speak with you in the kitchen?"

"Sure, everything good?"

"Of course," He lies, "but I'd rather discuss it in private."

Will raises his brows, following him to the kitchen. His mask slips away once they're alone, revealing Will in all of his slightly-weary sharpness.

"Bad news?" he asks, clearly seeing the fresh displeasure in Hannibal's features.

"Good news, for you."

Will frowns.

"It seems you'll be able to escape this party early, after all."

"...What do you mean?"

Hannibal looks around for a moment, though he knows they are alone. "Alessandra Bernardi knows."

Will's face goes pale in an instant. "You're sure?"

"She's suspicious, at least. I don't think she's planning to do anything rash, but I'd rather not risk our holiday being ruined."

He nods, already forming a plan in his head. "I'll sneak out the back in just a..." he freezes. "Shit. Her kid."

Of course, the two of them may be killers but certain things are still beyond them. "It would be best, I think, to allow miss Bernardi to return home first," Hannibal agrees. "Lure her out once Paolo is safe."

"Right. Any requests?"

He thinks it over. "Heart, perhaps."

Will nods again, quickly darting in to peck Hannibal's cheek. "I'll take care of it, love. Enjoy your party, I'll see you later tonight."

"Be careful."

He smiles, kisses him again. "I will be, don't worry. I love you."

"I love you too, darling."

-

The last guest has left by the time Will returns, tired and bloody but unharmed, with a delicious-looking heart in tow. Hannibal tries to inquire about the state Alessandra's body shall be found in, come Christmas morning. 'You said you didn't want to open gifts early,' Will had said with a smirk. 'You'll have to wait until Christmas.'

They've settled down since then, fresh meat carefully stored away, blood washed from beneath Will's nails. They're curled up on the sofa, Will halfway in Hannibal's lap as he nurses the last of the apple cider.

"We'll have to move again soon," Will muses, watching the fire crackle away in their hearth.

"I suppose that would be wise, yes. I'll be sad to leave Florence, but I'd rather not chance becoming suspects in miss Bernardi's murder."

"I wanted to spend Valentine's Day here."

"We could go to France, next," Hannibal offers. "Have a Parisian holiday together."

Will laughs softly. He sounds tired, if Hannibal isn't careful he's liable to fall asleep in his lap. "A bit cliche, don't you think?"

"Merely a suggestion."

He nods, taking another sip from his mug. "We'll figure it out."

Hannibal watches him. The soft light from the fire dances over Will's angelic features. He's never seen someone so entirely perfect. He reaches up, cards his fingers into Will's hair. The other man sighs, eyes slipping closed. He's back in that stolen sweater, comfortable and content. Domestic, in a way Hannibal never dreamed of being able to witness.

"Do you want children, Will?"

His eyes snap open again at that. He chokes. "I- I haven't really thought about it," he stammers.

Hannibal narrows his eyes. "You're lying."

Will huffs. "I'm not."

He lets the silence hang for just another moment, and Will collapses like a house of cards. "Things are just...different, now."

"I'm listening."

Will scrubs at his face, curling closer to Hannibal. "I did want kids. Before, I wanted kids. Now, I'm not sure. Maybe someday. If we ever decide to stop..." Will trails off. Sighs. "If we ever stop, I might want them."

"I agree with you."

Will looks visibly relieved.

"Bringing a child into our current lifestyle would be more than irresponsible. Unfair. Harmful, even. For all of us. But if you do eventually want to settle down, I'd consider it an honor to start a family with you."

He frowns up at Hannibal. "We have a family already. You and me- that's our family. Us and the Pack."

He nods toward the large tree in the corner of the room. Chrysanthemum is curled up beneath it, her dark fur glowing in the twinkling lights. Zoe is sprawled out before the fire, belly-up on the rug. Hannibal cranes his neck and spies Winston, fast asleep in his usual armchair.

"Someday I might want more. For now, though, that's more than enough for me. More than I thought I'd ever get." He lifts his chin, kissing Hannibal's jaw. "I'm happy like this."

Hannibal cups Will's cheek, quietly regarding him. That blue. He could fill books with endless words about that lovely, wonderful blue.

Will gives him a sweet lopsided smile, fond and amused at once.

"Are you ever going to stop looking at me like that?" He asks.

Hannibal strokes the curve of Will's cheek with the pad of his thumb. There has never been a man so in love as he is with Will Lecter-Graham.

"If I saw you every day, forever, Will- I would always look at you just like this."

His smile widens, and Hannibal sees shimmering tears gathering in his husband's eyes.

"Good," he says, voice wavering with the effort of maintaining composure. "Then that's all I need."

Hannibal brings him closer, his kiss long and lingering. When they part, he notices a flurry of snow outside their living room window.

"It appears we may have the proverbial White Christmas after all," he says, gesturing toward the window.

Will brightens. "Oh yeah, it's after midnight, isn't it?"

Hannibal grins. "Does that mean I'm allowed to say it, now?"

"If you'd like."

Hannibal kisses him again, Will's touch bringing with it warmth and safety the likes of which he never imagined.

"Merry Christmas, Hannibal," Will murmurs when they part.

Hannibal presses his forehead to Will's, collapsing his world down to the space they share.

"Merry Christmas, Will."