Hannibal hated Will, and he loved Will. But most of all, he envied him.
It was a puerile hate, that visceral kind that comes from the gut. It was a reflexive response, borne from offense and a bit of insolence. Hannibal knew why Will was upset, of course: the initial shock of all that had happened was sure to have overwhelmed the poor man's marred mind. But to be so dismissive-and downright rude-when Hannibal offered to help him-why, it was appalling. After all he had done. He had not only saved Will's life, but rescued Will from the dark and overwhelming hole that he was so close to falling into. This was in addition to teaching him, to opening his mind and broadening his senses to all the wonderful and glorious experiences that would have otherwise been out of reach. Will never offered so much as a smile of gratitude.
Of course, Hannibal couldn't continue hating the man. There was too much good about him to hate. Hannibal had always known Will was gifted in more than one sense-but Hannibal had greatly underestimated Will's intelligence. Standing before him, seeing the wheels turning in Will's mind, the abstractions and images coming together, forming effortless connections-it was surprising and beautifully captivating.
Even more captivating was the gift that Crawford had used until it broke him: that empathy of Will's, that incredible ability to understand. After being in his shoes Hannibal appreciated it even more. He could help, solve crimes and find murderers, but not in the way Will could. It was clunky and messy, a series of guesses backed by what behaviors he knew of-but there were blind spots, always. Were it not for planning and luck, he would have had no success. Will always did. His extrapolations were intuitive, his conclusions an inevitability of natural understanding. It was an astounding ability, and the potentials that arose from it were even more astounding.
Will was afraid. He was afraid of judgement and death, both of which were possibilities now. It was only natural for him to lash out and withdraw. It hurt, but Hannibal knew it was not personal. Hannibal would press on.