Author's Note:
Hello all! Welcome to my first dip into this wonderful fandom, and the dark, twisted relationship of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. I tried to make this as much like the show as possible, so sit back, and watch the blood splatter!
^.^
In retrospect, Hannibal knew that Detective Will Graham would be the man to end his killing spree, and put him behind bars. He had known from the moment they met. It was inevitable, the man was gifted (or cursed, whichever was accurate at the time) and had the know how that the other detectives lacked. So it came as no surprise that his patient knocked peculiarly on his door late one night, face in a sick contourtion of horror. Of course, he might have just come from a crime scene, and needed help calming down. But there was something deeper flickering in his usually dead eyes.
"Will? Are you alright?" He offers a hand to help him in, but it is avoided, at a great length. He might just be suffering from another sleep induced stroll.
"I'm fine." His tone is harsh, and meant to slice through. Luckily, Hannibal was used to hatred.
They soon enter the kitchen, a tense fog overpowering the once friendly place. Definitely, something was amiss. Will is drenched in a slick sweat, and the doctor can smell the musk radiating from it. Normally, he would chastise the poor choice in deodorant, but keeps his tongue still, surveying every little motion the other man makes. They begin a crude dance around his kitchen counter, which ends abruptly with Will behind it.
For what seems like a long time, all is still. Then, with a quaking voice that drips with tears, the patient speaks.
"How many?"
Hannibal keeps up a clueless facade, perhaps he could convince Will like a time before, maybe he could stop this confrontation before it turns ugly.
"How many what, Will?"
It obviously angers the other man, sending his voice louder than ever, making him scream like he's holding a conversation with God.
"How many people have you killed?!"
With that declaration, all cards fall on the table, however unpleasant they may be. Hannibal was now considered a murderer, and Will foolishly believed himself to be a righteous being. Just as easy, the Chesapeake Ripper breaks his imaginary box, giving an answer that visibly turns Will green.
"If you must know, aside from the one's your unit discovered, ten."
"And what...what do you do with the organs?" His breathing is becoming labored, something Hannibal hadn't expected in the least, and he's almost certain that the detectives own heart would do him over, right there on the cutting board.
"My refrigerator is fully stocked. You really believed all those rabbit hearts were genuine?" His answer is Will emptying the remnants of his last two meals down the kitchen drain, never breaking eye contact. Smart. When he resurfaces, his eyes leak with sorrow, another puzzling reaction to Hannibal.
"You twisted bastard." The detective is broken, shivering with nausea, and to the point of no return. He knows he could die, and instead of running to 'Uncle Jack', he comes to the place of his ultimate demise.
"We were friends, you said so yourself!"
"My dear Will, we are still friends. I just indulged in a different pastime, which so happened to be the very thing you were trying to stop."
It's then that a knife gleams dangerously in Will's palm.
He swings it about, tears mucking his speech into a desperate babble.
"How could you! Manipulating people who trusted, and cared for you! All to get your next meal! Were those sessions even real to you? O-or were you just stirring my brain around, trying to get me to snap on someone else?"
"Manipulation only goes so far, William, and I'm positive that our weekly encounters were nothing short of the truth. I didn't want you to break, I wanted you well. I didn't intend for your brain to collapse in on itself. You did that." With those words no doubt ringing in Will's ears, he drops the blade, and looks with wet eyes up to Hannibal.
"Why though? Why begin a freindship with someone, show interest in there well being, when you knew I would figure it out eventually? It doesn't make any sense."
"Simple." Hannibal breathes out, a bit distraught at the forthcoming of emotion, so unexpected. "I was lonely."
His sobs become louder, more unbearable, and in turn make the murderer highly uncomfortable.
"How could you?! I trusted you, looked up to you, I..." His lips fall silent, and for the first time, his head turns away in a flushed shame. Hannibal makes quick time to take advantage, plucking the knife from the counter, slamming his soon to be victim against the nearby wall. He tips the blade to the others throat.
"You what, Will?" This wasn't anything like the reenactments he played out in his head. He expected a tricky game of cat and mouse, not for complete, and utter submission. The man had entered the kitchen knowing what Hannibal was! With such disappointing thoughts parading around in his head, the killer doesn't hear his victim clearly, only picking up on a murky murmur.
"Do speak up, Will, it's rude to whisper!" It was so close to time, finally he would be able to pry open his brain literally, and peek, perhaps taste the creative juices that flowed throughout...
"I loved you!" The three words, tiny but powerful, seem to numb Hannibals actions, his grip loosening on the knife, brow furrowing in complete confusion.
"You...loved me?" He had never gave much thought to the emotion, always revolted when he heard Jack make the notion that the Chesapeake Ripper, himself,perhaps molested, or loved his victims. How ridiculous the notion seemed, when he could barely manage an acquaintence. Will, of course, was always a bit different. He enjoyed the company they shared, and in someways, was rather fond of their appointments. He was the only other person who seemed to understand. But Will loving him?
Hannibal glances down, into the scared, wide eyes of the man, which flitter about in an exhilarating amount of fear. His cheeks are a tacky scarlet, and hair is in sweaty clumps. He dares look away, and confesses even deeper.
"I st-still do..." His knees quiver in fear and curiousity, and the vision of Hannibal grows evermore darker by the second. He can almost feel the blade slicing his throat, his insides being spilled out. Any horrible death would be better than having to squirm under his cool gaze. He feels the other exhale, long and fluidly.
Hannibal closes his eyes, and gives in.
The weapon hits the ground.
His lips meet Will Graham's.
Aha! Be sure to drop me a review on your way out, its much appreciated! (If I get some intrest, I'll continue the story!)
Thanks!
~Demon~