Dr. Lecter fancied himself above any customary standard of man, which was a part of what had sparked Will's acute fascination for him in the beginning. Graham himself possessed a brilliant peculiarity and an extraordinary mind, not unlike Hannibal's own, that roused Lecter's interest as well. Their shared and innate dominance for those around them granted the both of them seemingly limitless power and opportunity through means of manipulation and intimidation, and thus fashioned a curious, if somewhat loose, relationship that seemed more of a mutual understanding than a friendship.

Approximately thirty thousand feet in the air, Will Graham had never felt more grounded than when he sat in aisle seat 11c, near Dr. Hannibal Lecter with young Abigail Hobbs settled stiffly between them. Will had almost felt cruel, abandoning his old life and leaving everyone behind in a state of utter chaos and confusion to follow Hannibal out of the country, to surrender his sanity and morality to follow his once bitter enemy as he led Will along the plane of a newer, harsher, darker existence. But it was for the best, he decided numbly, it was for his best.

Besides, he couldn't deny that it felt good. It felt liberating, exploring a new piece of him most would find taboo.

"Champagne, monsieur?" a pretty-faced flight attendant offered, lowering her tray within arms reach. Will caught a lung-full of her delicious strawberry scent.

Will Graham hm'd and gingerly plucked an elegant glass from the selection, smiling a handsome smile as she inched her way across the narrow aisle and out of Graham's attention. With a flick of his wrist, the golden liquid sloshed up the walls of the glass like ocean waves beating up against rock, nearly spilling over the rim.

"Will?"

Will slowly turned his head toward the mousy brunette fidgeting anxiously in her seat. Her blue eyes were round and seemed to shimmer under the synthetic lighting of the plane. Her silky floral scarf bobbed around her throat as she swallowed. Behind her, Hannibal was peering over her smooth brown hair and directly at him, eyes fixed with curiosity. Will merely offered him a brief glance before blanketing his free hand over Abigail's, which lay on the arm rest, the tips of her fingers turning white as they pressed into the cold leather. Their eyes met, Graham's twinkling with a particular fondness, as Will nodded minutely in attempt to reassure her. This seemed to do the trick, however, as Abigail began to ever so slowly relax into her seat, never tearing her eyes from Will's.

"It's beautiful," Will mused with mild amusement on the steps of their shared designated mansion. On either side of him towered massive marble pillars, supporting the weight of an outstretched brick awning, of which's shadow he currently stood in. Before him were a pair of large twin doors, painted a dark brown and decorated with windows pieced together with stained glass, open and beckoning. Behind the threshold the mansion was dark, as if curtained in black.

"It's a beautiful country," added Hannibal beside him, hands folded elegantly behind his back. His model posture displayed a character of supermacy and knowing in comparison to his partners much laxer stance.

At the base of the steps, Abigail hung back, stagnant in the hustle of strangers moving back and forth from the entrance to the shiny white moving van humming quietly behind her, unloading the trio's luggage.

"Shall we make our way inside?" Hannibal began, showcasing a lovely amicable smile, "It's almost time for supper."

Will shifted, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "Of course," he said, nodding toward the entrance.

"Abigail," Hannibal called over his shoulder, "come." Hesitant, yet ever obedient, Abaigail jogged up the concrete steps to meet them.

The lot of them contributed in with the preparation of the meal, each in their own way. Abigail took to setting the table whilst Will collected ingredients and assisted Hannibal in the kitchen.

Tonight's meal was a quick and simple one. Quiche Lorraine, to celebrate the circumstance without excessive effort. Tomorrow's meal was sure to make up in extravagance.

"Will?" said Hannibal as he glided his table knife through the portion on his plate.

Will's eyes, noticeably clearer than they had been in weeks, flickered up to meet Hannibal's. "Pork," he stated simply before biting a piece from his fork.

"Pork," Hannibal parroted, something unintelligible twinkling in his mahogany eyes.

"Will?" he could feel the chill of Hannibal's hand on his shoulder through the fabric of his suit. The older man's eyes were squinted and questioning, scanning the profile of Will's face for any sign of reluctance. Will, however, was careful to maintain his mask of impassion.

"I'm alright," Will answered in a murmur, his voice sounding at an octave or two lower than per usual as he gazed through the open double doors and onto the crowd of men and women mingling carelessly among themselves, most dressed royally and with a drink in either hand. Will's hand was tight around his own glass of sweet red wine. Beside him, Hannibal briefly entertained the thought of Will crushing the glass in his hand. At least then he'd have an indication of how Will was feeling.

"You've done this before," Hannibal murmured encouragingly in his ear, like the devil on his shoulder. "You've nothing to lose."

He had a point, Will decided, in a way. Will had participated in the luring and slaughtering of ignorant civilians, all for the pleasure and satisfaction of his partner before. Will was a young, fresh face, at first glance benevolent and honest. He made for excellent bait. He made quick to reel them in, too, typically. He was a good fisherman after all. Experienced. But tonight was different. Tonight was the night that Hannibal would leave Will with the responsibility to kill his own catch. His first time on his own. And suddenly Will felt much like a child again as memories of his first fishing trip flashed cinematically through his head. A tiny hunting blade in hand. The whispers of encouragement from his father as he gazed unsure at the gasping fish at his feet.

Do it, son, his father whispered.

Shooting back a mouthful of wine, Will forced himself through the entrance to the party and into the ever moving crowd. He weaved his way passed men and women and toward his designated target, a beautiful young thing with curls a lusciously deep brown and eyes a watery blue, preselected by his partner.

Will could guess why Hannibal had set her specifically up for him, because as she smiled Alana's toothy smile at him, Will could feel the whole world shift around him.

"Hello," she greeted, nodding her head and stretching out her manicured hand. Will took it delicately in his and brought it to his lips, placing a small kiss and eliciting a giggle of appreciation.

"Good evening," he answered smoothly, doing well to hide the surge of adrenaline flooding his system. "My name is Will," he told her, still holding onto her hand, "Who might you be?"

"My name is Colette. I am a residence of the house," she said, betraying her French accent. She was a beauty, standing eye-level to Will with a delicate physique and adorning a wonderfully tailored, floor length navy blue dress that shimmered and rippled whenever she moved. If only Will hadn't felt his old friend in this woman.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Colette," he offered politely. "If I could, may I steal a dance?"

~H~

Hours flew by as Will glued himself to Colette's side, following her through the party like a shadow, striking up conversation and asking for dances. The woman never seemed to mind, genuinely appearing to fancy his company throughout the night. Will took careful attention to keep her glass full, encouraging her to drink at any opportunity he could. And by the near end of the night, the pair of them were enjoying a pleasantly warm buzz and friendly conversation on the front steps of the residence, relieved to be out of the heat of the crowd. From the opposite side of the cement steps, Hannibal stood chatting with an older man, feigning oblivion of the two of them.

"So you're new in town?" Colette asked Will, casually sipping her drink.

"I'm new to the France," he answered with a tiny smile.

Colette's shapely eyebrows lurched upward in obvious surprise. "Oh my," she breathed, "You're coming a long way? What brings you to France? Are you traveling alone?"

Will chuckled, nodding. "I'm here on business, really. Yes, I'm alone."

Colette tilted her head, a single curl falling loose and over her pretty face. She brushed it away. "I see."

Will sighed and shifted, and before taking another sip, added: "You know your way around, yes?"

"I do."

"How about showing me the town tonight? Just you and I."

Colette seemed surprised again. "Oh, wh-. Tonight?"

Will nodded, offering a reassuring smile.

Her gaze fell to her drink. "Oh, Will, I don't know about that. Tonight... I... Well. I don't know." Her beautiful blue eyes inched upward to meet his as an unsure smile tugged at her pinkish-red lips. "Sure?"

"Really?"

"Why not."

~H~

"Please! No! Oh my God, no!" screeched the pretty-faced Colette, wriggling helplessly in the arms of Will Graham, her back pinned to his chest by an arm around her shoulders. Her makeup was smeared, wet with tears.

Will's face was hard and unfeeling, though his heart beat had peeked and his stomach lurched with each cry that reached his ears. In his free hand, he held his knife, clean and poised at the ready. For the briefest of moments, his eyes flickered upward to meet the eyes of Hannibal Lecter, who seemed to be resonating pride as he stood off to the side, hands folded behind his back in his usual way.

"Help!" the girl pleaded, "Please! Somebody help me!"

Inside, Will was floored. His mind reeled. Hannibal. Colette. Alana. His father.

Do it, son.

A good fisherman.

At the speed of light, Will's blade sliced through the soft skin of Colette's throat, abruptly silencing her screams. Waves of crimson spurted from the slash in her neck as her knees gave out. Her weight dragged Will to his knees. Breathing hard as if he'd run a marathon, Will held the choking girl in and almost inexplicably intimate fashion until the last signs of life had left her eyes. Alana's blue eyes.

He'd killed two people at once tonight.

Author's Note: Alright, so this was kind of all over the place. No biggy. I mean, I didn't really have any direction getting into this. Inspiration struck and I ran with it.