Chapter Text
IX
“I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened!” Jack’s voice ripped through the air. He stood with his hands on his hips, gripping his waist tightly, as if physically restraining himself from punching Will.
Will anticipated the aggression. He had never expected Jack to entertain the idea of seeking Hannibal’s help, let alone agree to it. As loud and jarring as Jack could be, Will couldn’t blame him in this case. The Chesapeake Ripper had been a target for years, and just when he was being transported to a high-security prison, he had killed the officers in the vehicle and escaped. Of all the elusive, vexing criminals Jack had ever encountered, Hannibal Lecter took the cake. If given the opportunity, Jack would shoot him on sight. Will was walking a fine line, but since he had suggested the idea, he had already committed halfway. He might as well go all the way.
“Look,” he said. “We know something about the killer, but not everything. Do you see the murders? The way they’re presented. They’re a taunt. Not for us, but for Hannibal. The killer is trying to lure him out.”
“Good,” Jack said tersely. “We have our work cut out for us then.”
Will sighed in frustration. “That’s not the point, Jack.” For a brief second, he realized he needed to convince Jack in Jack's own language. Something he couldn't refuse. So, he switched tactics. “We can achieve two goals with one strategy.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
There it was.
“This killer isn’t new,” Will added. “It’s Tobias Budge. He was suspected of murder in an old case that went cold. We have no way of catching him if he doesn’t want to be found. So, we give him what he wants. Hannibal.”
“You want to use Hannibal as bait?” Jack raised a brow.
“Before you point out the obvious, that it’s an outrageous idea, I want to ask if you have a better plan. Because we can either stretch this case out, or cut it short. If you want Hannibal, this is the only way.”
Jack tore his gaze away, shaking his head. His instincts were probably at war with each other, but his unmistakable need and desperation to catch Hannibal would eventually prevail. This, Will knew for certain.
When Jack looked at him again, his shoulders went lax slightly, as if in consideration. “Do you have a plan?”
“Freddie Lounds,” Will replied. “We can use her to our advantage. Let me handle it.”
“Fine.” Jack jabbed a finger in his direction. “But you better know what you’re doing, Graham.”
Once he left, Will exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Convincing Jack was probably the easiest part, because Will was essentially putting Hannibal in the line of fire. He didn’t know for sure if he could keep Hannibal from being arrested, but he feared the FBI shooting Hannibal on sight even more. Hannibal needed to know what he was stepping into.
First, Will needed to deal with Freddie Lounds.
***
X
“Alright, I’ll do it,” Freddie replied, almost too readily.
Will’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Just like that?” He knew she would never act out of altruism.
“You know me,” her red lips stretched to a smirk, coupled with bold eyes that didn’t flinch even in front of a Prime Alpha. “Nothing excites me more than an exclusive. I get an exclusive on the Chesapeake Ripper in exchange for helping you with your mission.”
“Fine,” Will replied, not in the mood to argue. He knew the stakes. “But you need to ensure whatever you publish on your website draws Hannibal out.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Agent Graham.” She stood, smoothing her red pencil skirt. “It’s what I excel at. Crafting stories.” She grabbed her bag and left.
As she passed, Will’s keen sense of smell caught a hint of her perfume, and his eyebrows knitted together. He recognized the scent. Same one that lingered in the air when he had come home to Hannibal. He wasn’t naive. Something was amiss if that was all it took to convince Freddie to help him. Of course, she would demand an exclusive, but as far as he knew her, negotiations were never this straightforward. And certainly never this swift. He began to wonder if she had another agenda. He needed to keep a close eye.
Taking out his phone, he texted Hannibal:
W: ‘Are you at home?’
It took less than a minute for Hannibal to respond:
H: ‘Where else would I be, dear boy?’
It was a foolish question, but then… Hannibal was a formidable omega. He was capable of anything with his intellect and strength combined.
W: ‘Just checking.’
H: ‘Are you concerned about me, or are you suspicious?’
Will paused. Perhaps both.
W: ‘I’m on my way home.’
There was another pause, this time from Hannibal.
H: ‘I will wait for you.’
Will pocketed his phone as he approached his car. The unease he always felt around Hannibal never faded even for a moment. His trust in Hannibal hung on a frayed thread, never knowing when it would snap and Will would find himself trapped in treacherous waters. It wouldn’t shock him if Hannibal betrayed him. It would disappoint him. Which was why he needed to stay vigilant, regardless.
The drive home felt interminable this time. Too long. Too taxing. Will gripped the steering wheel, wondering what Hannibal might be doing at home. The inevitable question lingered: had he made a mistake by sheltering Hannibal in his home? He had saved Hannibal’s life on impulse, thinking he could keep him in check, all without considering the repercussions. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He turned onto the lonely road leading to his home. Throughout the drive, the singular question that haunted his mind was, ‘Why hadn’t Hannibal tried to escape?’
To entertain the possibility that Hannibal felt nothing for him beyond desire and benefit stung Will like a thorn, but he had to consider that possibility if he was to evaluate all aspects of the situation. Hannibal was the omega who defied conventions. He didn’t need an alpha. Will could possibly be just a piece in a larger game.
Disposable.
Will’s car came to a halt in front of his farmhouse, the warm lights from the windows contrasting sharply with the unforgiving, dreary winter night. Gravel crunched under the tires as he turned off the engine and stepped out. Facing the house, his mindset shifted entirely. His mind raced with analyses and worst-case scenarios. The Prime Alpha who had never cared about anyone would have followed his logical reasoning and eliminated any suspicious person from his life.
But now, even as his mind worked relentlessly, his heart resisted. The worst-case scenarios he imagined were plausible for Hannibal, but he didn’t want them to be true. Perhaps because, despite his efforts to remain indifferent, it mattered. It mattered because Will knew exactly how it would affect him.
Yet, he couldn’t lower his guard, not even for a moment. He approached the house as if it were a courtroom and he was about to face judgment. Stepping through the doors, time seemed to slow.
Hannibal appeared, and Will froze. The man had cut his hair short, returning to his usual style with that side-parted hair and fastidious grooming. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, likely a gift from his “contacts.” He held a napkin, most likely having prepared dinner.
“Welcome home, Will,” he said, wiping his hand with the napkin.
But Will didn’t register the words. He kept his facade, wanting to uncover the truth before things escalated.
“Was Freddie Lounds here?”
Hannibal's face shifted imperceptibly, but Will couldn't be certain. “No, not in your absence.”
“I meant while I was called away to the crime scene,” Will clarified, his eyes darkening. “I came home with Tobias’ case file. Asked about the perfume.”
Hannibal glanced down, folding the napkin neatly and placing it on a nearby table. Will noticed the slightest hesitation, and that was enough.
“Don’t bother lying,” he growled.
“Yes,” Hannibal admitted, standing tall and meeting Will’s gaze. “She was here.”
Will swallowed, drawing a logical conclusion from the perfume he had smelled on Hannibal. “Did you two—”
“Yes.”
Will didn’t know what enraged him more. Hannibal’s liaison with Freddie or his shameless admission. He let out a bitter laugh.
“It was necessary,” Hannibal explained.
“Of course it was,” Will retorted, unsure why he was so angry. He should punish Hannibal, make him pay for his actions, but that was the Prime Alpha’s way. He hated giving Hannibal the satisfaction of seeing how much this affected him. “I bet it was.”
“Will.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Will shook his head and walked past Hannibal.
Hannibal followed. “Will…”
Will couldn’t control the sudden surge of anger that gripped him. He spun around, grabbed Hannibal by the throat, and slammed him against the wall. His fingers dug into Hannibal’s flesh, and Hannibal squirmed, closing his eyes without attempting to free himself.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you have any control here,” Will snarled. “I promise you, the second you let your guard down, I’ll be there to rip your heart out.”
“I would never make such mistakes…” Hannibal managed to say, his voice strained. “But you must listen to what I have to say.”
Will clenched his teeth, his mind urging him to stop letting his emotions dictate his actions. Reluctantly, he released Hannibal with a harsh shove.
Hannibal adjusted his collar, taking a few deep breaths, voice rasping a bit. “It is true that Ms. Lounds was here, but to justify our meeting, no matter how inappropriate, you need to answer a question. Were you able to convince Ms. Lounds to write an article for you without issue?”
Will’s breath came in heavy gasps, his fury barely contained. He didn’t owe Hannibal an answer, but his curiosity won out. “Yes.”
“How do you think that happened?”
The answer was clear now that Hannibal had mentioned it. Of course, Hannibal could use his charm to make people do his bidding. Will wanted to believe Hannibal had made his task easier, because he had, but his mind wandered to the uncertainties.
“You know how Ms. Lounds tends to be,” Hannibal added. “She required a special kind of persuasion.”
Will took a deep breath to bring back any semblance of composure, though it did little to quell his anger. The lingering burn of jealousy persisted, taunting him. He removed his jacket, hanging it on a coat rack, before sinking onto the sofa. He leaned back, still wanting to punish Hannibal for his actions behind his back. A longer exhale escaped his lips as he eyed the doctor like he was assessing a suspect.
“Kneel,” he commanded.
Hannibal tilted his head. “Now?”
“Yes. Kneel.”
Hannibal showed no sign of anger. Instead, he seemed aroused. His chin lifted slightly with pride before he lowered his head and got on all fours. Even without explicit instructions, he knew what was expected and complied willingly. He crawled toward Will and knelt by his legs.
“What should I do with you?” Will purred, his eyes glowing with a distinct need. He pinched Hannibal’s chin and lifted it. “Perhaps tie you up in the guest room bed and deny you gratification? Maybe buy you a leash and a muzzle?”
Hannibal swallowed, his pupils dilating at Will’s sensual threats. His body responded immediately, with the unmistakable bulge in his trousers. Will caught that but refused to give him the satisfaction. He dismissed Hannibal’s needs as if they were insignificant, and in a way, that was a punishment in itself, even if not as severe.
“Jack agreed to the plan,” he said, languidly stroking Hannibal’s hair. “On one condition. You realize that if this goes through, you might be arrested. It was the only way I could convince him.”
“Yes, I understand,” Hannibal replied.
That was the truth, mostly, but a small part was omitted because Will wanted to see how this played out. He wanted to know if what he felt so far was mere infatuation or something deeper. For all he knew, he could be naive and immature. And that wasn’t how the Prime Alpha should be. Hannibal had distracted him for too long, but not anymore.
As he looked at the sharply dressed man curled at his feet like an obedient dog, he wondered what thoughts raced through Hannibal’s mind. Despite the power dynamics, both Will and Hannibal had their own agendas. Will couldn’t read him, and that always worked against him. His fingers tugged Hannibal’s hair just a bit—just enough for Hannibal to feel it—while his mind whispered, ‘What are you thinking?’
***
XI
The setting was a church, almost poetically fitting. Will had proposed it as the ideal place to lure the Chesapeake Ripper. At least, that was the argument he had presented to Jack.
'He’ll come to me,' Will had insisted, and Jack had responded with a look that was part suspicion, part resignation. He had no other choice but to agree. It wasn’t trust, but it was enough for now.
Baiting Tobias and setting Hannibal on him was a risky task, and Freddie Lounds had been the one to throw the first stone. She did, and oh boy, she did it so well
The bold, red headline on TattleCrime was designed to grab attention:
Murder in C Minor: A New Artist Paints in Blood
Followed by:
Has the Ripper Found His Match?
Will sat on a pew, his gaze fixed on the rows of candles and the large crucifix beyond. He wasn’t particularly religious, but the church’s supposed serenity felt unsettling. Perhaps it was the bedlam in his heart or the uncertainty of what was to come. He didn’t need to think far to know that this encounter might likely end in bloodshed.
The question was: Whose side was he truly on?
Hannibal couldn’t be fully trusted, and that gnawed at him, but Jack Crawford wasn’t a saint either. Crawford’s motives were clear: he wanted Hannibal either behind glass at BSHCI or six feet under. If Will tried to protect Hannibal, he’d risk everything. His freedom, above all. Besides, there was no guarantee the FBI would care about Hannibal’s safety. On the other hand, there was no assurance Hannibal would follow Will’s instructions. The man was a master of deception. In fact, he'd been the one to suggest this plan in the first place. If it turned out to be another one of his agendas, it would make Will look stupid.
Will’s brows furrowed. Hannibal knew the risks. He wasn’t foolish. He had to know there was no escape from this, and he would likely end up back to the place from where he tried to flee. The Alpha felt a prickling sensation across his body, and not the good kind. The kind he got when something seemed off. For a moment, he even wondered if Hannibal would show up. And Tobias? Tobias wasn’t stupid. He was an Alpha too. He’d sense a trap from miles away.
Hannibal’s footsteps echoed softly against the floor. “Churches are intriguing places, don’t you think?” he said. “Built to invite peace, yet often steeped in blood. Confession, sacrifice, betrayal. They’ve never truly been sanctuaries. Only stages for the soul.”
He appeared in an off-white plaid suit, unbuttoning the single button holding it together before sitting next to Will. He gazed up at the crucifix, tilting his head as if appraising a sculpture rather than a symbol of salvation.
“Fitting, isn’t it?” he added softly. “That we should meet here, where the righteous come to cleanse their hands, and the damned sit quietly in the back, plotting their next move.”
Of course, they had to pretend they hadn’t seen each other since Hannibal’s escape. Whatever Hannibal was doing, he did it well.
“The damned won’t stay quiet for long,” Will replied. “Especially when they crave an audience.”
“You speak of the damned as if you’re not one of them,” Hannibal then paused a bit. “You play a risky and dangerous game. One could almost mistake it for loyalty. But to whom?”
Will’s interlocked hands tightened slightly. If anyone else had uttered those words, Will would have dismissed them, knowing they were attempting to mess with his head. Hannibal, however, had a way of getting under his skin. Even yet, Will couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that, so he maintained a veil of indifference.
“To the outcome,” he replied. “That’s all any of us are loyal to, in the end.”
Hannibal glanced at him, tilting his head slightly. “Do you truly believe that?”
Will avoided Hannibal’s gaze, knowing that eye contact could reveal too much. “It’s all I can afford to believe.”
A fleeting expression crossed Hannibal’s face, a blend of admiration and caution. “Then we shall see how far that belief carries us.”
Will finally met Hannibal’s gaze, and it felt like they were pieces on a chessboard, each unsure of the other’s next move. This game of chess was laden with the weight of every unspoken word and unacknowledged feeling, marred by distrust.
It didn’t matter who won the game. They’d both lose something in the process.