Disclaimer: I do not own 'Hannibal' or 'Charlie Countryman'. Lyrics belong to Finger Eleven.
NB: This story can be found AO3 including images that cannot be loaded on FF. Also, Chapter 3, which contains NC 17 slash content, will be loaded censored on here but will be uploaded in full on AO3.
- This begun as something simple and turned into something long. It was meant to be a one shot but when it ended at 80 pages I decided to break it up. It will be 3 parts and an epilogue.
- While this is a crossover, it's still mostly Hannibal based.
- I have other Hannibal story ideas, but I'll see how this one goes first.
- Sensitive readers, tread lightly.
- If anyone reading this is waiting on BFS Part 3, please don't be mad at me. I had to get this out of my system.
I burn and melt and stick and fade
Your temporary arms invade…
It had been a year…a year and almost a month, twelve days short of a month actually…so a year and eighteen days. Honestly, Will could have calculated it down to the hours, probably even the minutes, but he was preoccupied at that moment, distracted from his usual thoughts of why and how and what and if.
Because right then, in that moment, all Will could think about was here and now and there…right there …
A year and eighteen days; the first weeks of which were spent recovering from two stab wounds –right cheek and right shoulder- and healing a broken, previously dislocated, arm –from the impact to the water after taking a plunge into the unforgiving strip of the Atlantic ocean, which had been battering the foot of the cliff on the night he'd participated in the transcendent murder of The Great Red Dragon. Days lying in a sterile hospital room with policemen posted outside his door and a handcuff on his wrist, innocent until proven guilty but still untrusted by anyone who'd assumed they'd known him before.
Then weeks into months in and out of court; until Will was decidedly free from any charges due to the insufficient evidence to lock him up and a successful self-defense plea that he'd sold like an academy award winning actor and had somehow managed to pull off, despite his previous questionable transgressions. He was a free man again, considered a survivor of two prolific serial killers and also the media's wet dream idea of an exclusive story.
But he wouldn't sell the story of The Chesapeake Ripper and The Red Dragon's final showdown. Not ever.
To Will…it was priceless.
Still, his pictures made it into every local –and a few non local or even national- newspapers and magazines and even onto television. He no longer had stitches in his face but the scar was nicely visible on his intentionally clean shaven face in every single photograph or clip of courthouse footage. He wasn't going to hide it from anyone, he found he didn't care what anyone thought of believed, whatever conclusions they drew.
Will felt dead to world, removed from it, and he got by with only one purpose in mind throughout the trial proceedings and his –expected- divorce proceedings…
…he had someone he needed to find, and he had to be a free man to do so.
So when it was finally over, when he was no longer under any kind of police surveillance and was able to ditch the media surveillance too, Will left Baltimore, also abandoning his life in Virginia and he never looked back.
And in the minutes, hours, days, weeks and months that followed his acquittal, he began and spent all of his time searching. It was all he had left to do, all he had left to need and want and miss and regret, all he could think about…
One of many last warnings
Cannot wipe the conscience clean…
Hannibal Lecter had made sure Will survived falling off the cliff –by some fucking miracle- and then he had waited, the pair of them washed up on a strip of beach a mile down from the cliff side, injured and cold, until Will had been just conscious enough to be aware. Once Will had acknowledged him with a pained and cold, teeth chattering exhale of his name, Hannibal had knelt beside him and told Will a quiet, rasped goodbye. His hand had been just slightly warm against the uninjured side of Will's face, as he'd stared up at a bleary outline of Hannibal Lecter. Will had frowned and breathed out a quiet 'no' just when he'd felt the brief touch of a kiss to the corner of his blue-hued mouth, and he'd tried so hard not to, but Will hadn't been able to keep the blackness from overtaking him, he'd passed out…
…and woken up two days later in a hospital in Prince William County.
He'd obviously been in physical pain once he'd been conscious again, but he'd also suffered concealed emotional wounds…because he didn't know why Hannibal had left him behind, but he had, and it hurt. And he'd not even left Will for dead apparently, because Will later learned that the authorities had received an untraceable call which had told them exactly where to find Will Graham.
For that reason, Hannibal Lecter had not been presumed dead, but had disappeared without a trace all the same.
Will considered it a wonder how he managed to get away so easily, honestly, it was just so damn efficient, but his disappearance was still too fresh and Will was still too angry about it to be impressed. Even though Hannibal had ruined his own chances of being a closed 'deceased' case, no longer hunted, in order to save Will's life, and even though if he'd killed Will, or just let the Atlantic have him, it would have made more sense…even with that, Will was still angry at him for just leaving.
Will had also felt betrayed in those first few days after waking…but then regret and longing had set in when he'd actually admitted to himself that he'd tried to kill them both off the edge of that cliff, and so he knew he had no right to be angry at Hannibal in any way, for leaving him behind.
After all, how many times could one man, and a man like Hannibal Lecter especially, accept rejection after rejection from someone like Will Graham –broken and volatile- before he decided to cut his losses, and amazingly, not Will's throat.
Will was truly surprised he'd stuck around and endured as long as he had.
In the end though, even though it had hurt, the fact that he'd been left behind had been an eye opener for him, because nothing reaffirmed for him, more than realizing what he'd lost now that it was gone, how much he needed what he'd discovered he had with Hannibal that night on the cliff, when they'd murdered Dolarhyde together. Will couldn't even consider returning to his former life.
He'd felt the opposite of relief or joy in waking up to the realization that Hannibal had cast him aside, there'd been no good feelings in him at the sight of Molly when she'd come to see him in hospital, no inclination to tell Jack Crawford that he needed to find Hannibal, that the Chesapeake Ripper was definitely not dead, and no desire to return home to the quiet of Wolf Trap…not even any particular feelings of interest in seeing his dogs again.
Will Graham as he'd been, had died in the ocean and Will Graham as Hannibal evolved him, now existed.
And he wanted a life with Hannibal.
But he hadn't been coherent enough that night, half dead and barely conscious, to tell that to Hannibal before the man had left him there, bleeding into the sand.
And so it was, that Will had been left to wait, to bide his time while turning away Molly and the false peace she'd once offered him, turning away Jack's continued interest in his killer-catching mind, turning away Freddy Lounds and every other journalist or reporter looking for an exclusive interview or a book deal…turning away every person and anything that threatened to get in the way of his search…
The strain wears in, you whore me in again…
But Hannibal was a man near impossible to find.
Will had found him once of course, tucked away in Europe, but only because Hannibal had led him there in that way of his, that intimate way, that he'd led Will with all along. Hannibal would use cleverly timed and persuasively spoken words, bits of information laced with ominous and intriguing meanings and secrets, hidden inside obscure and varied conversations they'd had over the course of their bizarre 'friendship'.
This time however, Hannibal had left him with nothing, not even an old clue as to where he'd be.
This time…it seemed he hadn't wanted Will to know where he could find him.
But Will wasn't about to give up.
He set his sights on Europe first and foremost, because regardless of Hannibal being unable to return to Florence, or even Italy on the whole, the man's tastes were so distinctly old European, that the idea of him choosing to live somewhere else just seemed unlikely. And Europe was far bigger than just Italy.
So, after doing some research about Europe, sorting out his finances and allocating his life savings entirely for his travel budget, Will set off and he went only where he thought Hannibal might go to start a new life.
He looked in the most likely places, the beautiful places, small or large cities suiting Hannibal's particular tastes, but also places that had healthy tourist populations, so as to suit his unique appetite, and also, Will looked vigilantly for any murders resembling Hannibal's cannibalistic M.O, missing organs or body parts, checking news feeds all over Europe every day that he travelled.
He started in Spain, searching Salamanca, Seville, Jerez, Burgos, Pamplona and Zaragoza, then moved on to France, Nice, Bordeaux, Marseille, Toulouse and Lyon. From Antwerp, Mons and Namur in Belgium he travelled to Dresden, Baden Baden, Hanover, Augsburg, Bayreuth and Bremen in Germany and then to Vienna, Graz and Linz in Austria. Each time he'd book a cheap hotel and stay for a week or more, depending on the size of the respective city, as well as a rental car, and he drove around every day, all over, looking and looking.
Will hadn't wanted to acknowledge the frivolity of trying to search a continent for a single man, he tried his best not to think of the fact that he could have missed Hannibal in the many cities he didn't search, or even worse, in one of the cities he had tried to search.
But when there was nothing after so many cities and countries, he began to feel lost and hopeless, edgy and angry.
All alone and completely afraid of it.
Cannot connect the smirking world
The poison flower comes uncurled
If I believe I'm dreaming
And if they find you lost again
What will you tell them then?
By the time Will was in Prague for four days, his first stop in Czech, he'd been travelling for six months already, give or take a few days. Six months since he'd abandoned his home in Virginia, six months since he'd started using on his life savings so that he had the financial resources to find Hannibal…and still, there was nothing.
Not a trace of him in person or in the news.
A thought had come to him six days prior to where he currently found himself sleeping in Prague, he'd been half drunk and nowhere near sleep, lying on a shabby bed in a cheap motel in Linz. It had been hot and he'd felt sick, constant weather changes and jet lag not helping, and it had made him shake with anger and fear, the thought that maybe Hannibal hadn't survived after all, maybe he'd left Will there and died afterward, maybe his death should have been presumed and was just differently dated.
Maybe Will was truly alone…by no fault other than his own.
He hadn't slept that night and the following evening he'd booked himself a flight to his next –but nowhere near last- destination on his list, Prague. Although, since his funds were dwindling, he knew he'd have to prioritize and amend his budget and list before travelling any further. Next on his list had been Brno and Mikulov in Czech, before he'd planned to travel to Hungary and its cities matching his 'Hannibal Criteria' list, but it wasn't looking very good in terms of money.
There had been a hollowness in his gut at that point and every moment since, the feeling of a distinct inevitability that even if Hannibal was alive, Will didn't have enough money to search every corner of Europe for him and even if he managed that feat, there was always the possibility that Hannibal wasn't even in Europe at all.
Presently, he felt like screaming and ripping his hair –or someone else's throat - out as he stared up at the flight board, standing in a busy queue of the Václav Havel airport to purchase a ticket to Brno. He was a mess in creased clothes, hung over, un-showered, his curly hair unruly, eyes half lidded, glossy, shadowed, his jaw as well with the growth of his unkempt beard, his teeth weren't even brushed…
…and yet, regardless of how pathetic and unsightly he knew he looked at that point, when he heard that voice in the moving crowd of people somewhere behind him, somewhere at a short distance, that distinctive accent that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and a warm welcome shock travel down his spine, Will would have run to it immediately, appearance be damned. He would have pushed through anyone and everyone, made a commotion to bring attention to himself, he would have done anything to let Hannibal know he was there.
They were in the same place finally and completely by chance, maybe even by some perverse sort of fate.
And Will knew it because Hannibal's accent was as unique as the man himself.
He'd instantly turned around in the queue, ignoring the stink looks he received from the other people when he started moving out of the line hastily, bumping into people with his luggage trolley and trying to see Hannibal over their heads. But he wasn't able to spot the man in the bustle of people, not even the shape of him, though Will looked for him, a smooth brown and ash blonde head of hair with highlights of natural gray, broad shoulders with perfect posture, a long and lean body…
He was breathing heavily suddenly and he felt too warm, the heat in Prague wasn't so bad and the airport was ventilated well enough, but the heat under his skin was stifling, the panic rising at the thought of losing Hannibal when he'd only just found him by complete fluke, was making him dizzy. He felt sweat drip down his forehead from his hairline, his glasses slipping down on his nose, droplets rolled down his torso beneath his thin T-shirt as he moved and turned and stood on his toes inside the moving crowd, desperately trying to spot Hannibal, pushing his luggage trolley ahead of him, which was slowing him down.
He knew he couldn't lose Hannibal in that airport, he knew he'd never find him again if he did.
"No…n-no, no, no, no, no…" he was muttering to himself as he did another 360 after walking further down into the airport, far past the ticket counter, he'd been going in the direction he thought he'd heard the voice but…
…Will stopped breathing and turned sharply, an abrupt ninety degrees, when he heard it again. Pure, pure fucking luck on his side right then when he heard Hannibal talking again in all the noise and he quickly bobbed up on his toes and just in time, because he managed to spot a tall man –right hair, right build- in a small crowd of moving people, with a cell phone to his ear and his back to Will. It was only for a moment though, before he disappeared into the boarding terminal and out of Will's sight.
For a split second Will nearly lost his composure, he nearly yelled out Hannibal's name to get his attention, but he bit it back and nearly choked on air before he could give into that terrible and dangerous impulse and instead he rudely started pushing through the people blocking his way to the terminal Hannibal had gone into.
A minute later, sweating and irritable, he was at the boarding gate that Hannibal had walked into but the attendant there had closed off the gate and she gave Will a false apologetic half smile,
"Je mi líto, pane, tento let je na odchodu. Budete muset získat další jeden k dispozici." (I'm sorry, sir, this flight is leaving. You'll have to get another one available.) she said evenly, in the voice they probably trained her to use, firm but still nice enough.
And Will barely understood her, but her tone broached no room for argument and even so, Will wasn't fluent enough in Czech, German or Russian to argue or insist otherwise. He didn't want to waste any time anyway, so instead he just took note of the flight destination and headed directly to the ticket counters to book the next flight going to Bucharest.
The idea of Hannibal going to Bucharest for any reason other than to just pass through, maybe eat a few people whilst doing so, seemed unlike the man Will had known. Bucharest was not exactly the kind of place someone like Hannibal Lecter would visit or live in, unless he was forced to for some reason, or at least that was as far as Will assumed. It wasn't very attractive architecturally and it certainly didn't have a history of art or culture or expensive tastes usually associated with Hannibal, in fact, Will was certain there were other places in Romania Hannibal would have been more likely to live in.
Sibiu, Târgu-Mureș, Iași and Suceava had been on his 'Hannibal Criteria' list for Romania.
Still, the flight had been going to Bucharest and Will made sure to check with the airport help desk to find out if any of the Bucharest flights from Prague were meant to be connecting, and going anywhere else.
But it turned out none were, which meant for the moment, Hannibal would be in Bucharest…maybe.
The fact that Will only had an accent and a glance of a quickly disappearing male form to cling to, made him second guess himself. But that second guess was the best he had to go on, and so Will took the chance and booked the next flight available to Bucharest, which left Václav Haval airport two and half hours after the flight Hannibal had left on.
Of course, having followed Hannibal's flight did not mean he'd be able to follow the man and so he arrived in Bucharest at almost the same point he'd been at in every other city so far…with no idea of how to find the man he was looking for.
But at least he had that glance…
Will was exhausted by the time he landed at Henri Coandă airport, even more so from the brief shock of relief he'd felt at thinking his search was over, and then from the stress and anticipation that followed over whether he was right or wrong about having seen or heard Hannibal in the Prague airport at all.
He hated that even though he no longer had hallucinations –not really anyway- he did still have his very overactive imagination, and it made things unclear sometimes.
He picked up his luggage from the baggage carousel, and deciding he could do no more right then, since it was nightfall, Will rented a car and drove to Bucharest's city center with a map he'd purchased at the airport to guide him. Since Bucharest hadn't been on his list of places to visit, he hadn't read up on it at all. He'd also purchased a Tourists Guide booklet and managed to find a decently priced hotel with its help, and that's where he checked himself in.
He was going to sleep off the run of emotions he'd had in the last twelve hours –if he could- and then he'd start fresh in the morning. He had some hope now as well, which made a difference, even if was just a hope that he was at least close to being close.
He managed a few hours of sleep that night with the aid of Vodka ordered from room service.
Collapsing in again you found what makes it sore…
The following day Will started early, it was just before eight AM when he left his room. He'd showered, he was washed up, his beard trimmed neatly and he was wide awake and ready to go after eating a fair amount of food from the hotel breakfast buffet, along with two cups of strong coffee. It was just enough to sustain him for the morning, until lunch time at least.
When he was done, he headed out into the relative heat of Bucharest with new confidence, but without a destination in mind.
It frustrated Will for the first hour that he spent driving around in his cheap white Skoda Citigo rental, the streets of Bucharest were oddly uninviting, the people he saw weren't smiling, the roads were littered, the buildings were unremarkable, in bad condition and all similarly colored and bland. It made his search that much drearier, but it still didn't slow him down. He drove and drove, the morning dragging on as he followed his map until eventually he came across a place from which he could purchase a local upcoming events newspaper and also an English to Romanian dictionary. Almost instantly, he felt a bit less lost.
Will sat down at a café soon after that, just before lunch, he ordered 'Cafea neagra tare, fără adaos de zahăr', forgot to order food, and asked for a pen with further haltingly pronounced Romanian. But as it turned out, he didn't need to because the young woman who served him spoke more English than he could fumble for Romanian in his dictionary and she spared him some trouble with an amused smile, bringing him a pen with a cup of strong black, sugarless coffee.
Will settled in there for a further hour, going through two more cups of coffee as he looked through the events newspaper and circled off all the places Hannibal –as he'd known the man once- was likely to visit, frequent or take an interest in.
Museums, art galleries, operas, high end social venues, the orchestra, wine tastings and other similar things.
When he was done with that, he paid his bill, thanked the girl with an awkward –mostly sincere- smile and then left, walking the busy sidewalk back to his car distractedly as he looked around for the street he'd have to take to be on his way to his first destination, which was a museum hosting an art show.
It didn't sound like something Hannibal would attend, but then, Will felt he had to exhaust every option.
By the time the sun was setting and the city of Bucharest was just a bit cooler and washed out in an overcast early evening glow, Will was at the end of his patience already. He'd had some foolish, subconscious hope that he'd find Hannibal on his first day there, he had been thinking he'd get lucky, maybe catch a break for once in his life, but it turned out he was still as destined for hardship now as he'd ever been.
Presently, he'd parked off and was walking along a wide boulevard, on his way to the Bucharest Opera House, which was the next nearest place on his half completed list of potential event places Hannibal might go to.
The day had been so long and his emotions had been so fluctuating, that Will was regretting more now than ever that he hadn't taken Hannibal up on his offer to elope that first time, sitting in the man's dining room, where Hannibal had been in touching distance.
He seemed so impossibly far away now.
But back then, Will could have reached out to Hannibal physically and Abigail would have been a living breathing gift for him…before he'd betrayed Hannibal's trust, his affections, before the blood and scars and every wrong thing they'd said and done to one another. Back before Will had explicitly known Hannibal was probably 'in love' with him but he had still been drawn to him all the same.
Back when it had been simpler somehow, even under all of the lies and darkness and murder.
Back before all of the stupid things Will had done to fuck things up.
Back, back, before and before and woulda'-shoulda'-coulda', useless-
Will's thoughts were interrupted and he looked over from where he'd stopped walking when he heard the sound of English being spoken. He'd been standing and looking up at the front of the large orchestra house, and after a day of listening to everyone speak in Romanian, hearing the American accent just up ahead caught his attention.
There wasn't anything interesting to look at really, it'd been more the surprise of hearing an American English speaking person after the long day he'd had that had made him look. And there, rushing down the wide stairs of the orchestra house, was a young, skinny, unkempt, Caucasian American boy. He was following anxiously and in a hurry after an older man who looked local and who also looked annoyed at being followed, like he was trying to shoo away a puppy who kept yipping at his heels.
Will didn't spare the pair further notice, even as he got a tangible vibe of impending trouble clinging to the young man with a fretting expression on his narrow face. Instead Will made his way toward the orchestra house intent on finding out about whether they had any big performances coming up, and all the while, he kept looking for anyone resembling Hannibal, someone posture perfect and dressed immaculately.
Dangerous and handsome and otherworldly.
Will saw no one like that and with anger burning through him all night, he didn't get to sleep very much.
You triggered off the feelings that you felt before…
He was exhausted from his lack of sleep the previous night, and so when morning came he was feeling far less enthusiastic, his hope emptying out of him just as his blood once had when Hannibal cut a smile into him.
He felt morbid and miserable and he took his time getting ready that morning.
Will decided, as he showered, washed up and trimmed his beard, well after nine AM, that Bucharest would be his final stop. He'd use up his resources there searching for Hannibal and then he'd just live day by day, maybe he'd manage to survive, maybe he'd bump into Hannibal someday…or maybe he'd get deported.
He was too tired to care right then.
Will wasn't even really sure that he had it in him to continue to live beyond the point of not finding Hannibal. Because now he could barely exist trapped inside the person suit he'd worn for so many years. Since he'd had a taste of his real needs and desires, the soaring feeling in his veins that he'd experienced when taking The Red Dragon's life and the ache in his chest he'd felt at seeing the lust for him in Hannibal's black eyes, having been held in all of his bloody glory in the arms of Hannibal 'The Cannibal' Lecter… Will couldn't go back.
No…time did not reverse.
But even with the weight of reality on his shoulders, Will was prepared to head out that day, in spite of his sense of dread and the feeling of inevitable disappointment and failure and also a lot of anger toward himself, he still wanted to try, he wasn't going to give up altogether.
Hearing and seeing a person similar to Hannibal and knowing they'd come to Bucharest was the only lead he'd had in months and he was going to pursue it until he ran out of money or gumption, whichever came first. He was putting aside his misplaced eagerness though, deciding to tackle the task with as clear a mind as he could manage, prepared for any outcome as it were.
So he dressed as he hadn't in a while, not since losing Hannibal that night after the Atlantic. It wasn't 'tie and waistcoat' formal as Hannibal had always dressed, because that had never been in Will's comfort zone, but he wore his clothes that were more tasteful, far tidier, nicer, pricier and coordinated than everything else he owned, clothes he'd purchased so long ago he felt almost nostalgic when removing them from their garment bags. He felt closer to Hannibal somehow, when he dressed in the way the man had so appreciated on him, far more than the plaid and worn clothes the likes of which Will used to wear.
The suit he chose that day though, was a suit he'd never worn before, but had purchased with Hannibal in mind.
The weather was moderate that morning, so Will wore a matching slim-fit black suit jacket and formal pants with white windowpane patterning and satin piping. Beneath the jacket he wore a satin-cotton white button down shirt, open at the neck, and finally a pair of black leather oxfords. He'd long since taken to loosely styling his hair back and instead of wearing his glasses, he opted for his contact lenses. And when he surveyed himself in the mirror before leaving, aside from his recent minimal stress weight loss, Will approved of how he looked, while considering the way Hannibal had used to look at him –secretly- with appreciation for dressing better in those months before Hannibal Lecter had revealed himself to be The Chesapeake Ripper.
Stolen glances…Will hadn't appreciated them then, but he missed them now.
He smiled to himself at the thought of Hannibal's quiet approval, wondering what Hannibal might think of the suit he wore right then, far nicer and more expensive than most of what he owned. Will ran his hand over the front of his smooth shirt, frowning slightly at all of the bad memories that came along with the good ones, but while he couldn't be fond of every memory, they served to remind him of his first glimpses into just how much he affected Hannibal.
For instance, there was the memory of the day when Hannibal had come to see him in the privacy room at the BSHCI. Hannibal had started out pretending, but then, when Will hadn't given him an inch, he'd taken a moment to consider it first, but he'd been genuinely honest with Will for the first time, he'd even allowed his mask to slip for a second when he'd admitted to Will that he didn't want him in there. At the time, Will had been too driven by anger and his perceived hatred for the man, for him to take note of how much that brief flicker of 'emotion' and regret meant in terms of Hannibal's feelings for him.
It had left Will a little shaken later that same day when he'd played their conversation back over in his mind and he realized it, realized that he had that kind of affect, that he was under Hannibal's skin to some degree. He'd chosen to use that small bit of power to take advantage of Hannibal, because that had been their dynamic back then, they wanted to hurt one another, tit for tat. But once the moral fog in his mind had cleared, it became different for Will when he'd think about it while lying in bed beside Molly at night. To have seen Hannibal look at him for the briefest moment without his guard, without his person suit…it made him feel ardent toward Hannibal.
And so now, and in fact, every day since Hannibal had been locked away from him, out of sight but never out of mind, Will had felt that same feeling, awake or asleep…he'd craved the sight and sound and presence of Hannibal, his strength and darkness, the smooth and sharp edges of him.
Will had hidden it well enough from Molly, but some days she'd looked at him differently, curious and suspicious, sometimes wary, and he'd known in those moments that his ugliness was peeking through, as if he had wide cracks in his skin with crooked antlers protruding, tearing through as his black blood seeped out.
On those days, he'd usually gone out fishing for hours just to avoid her seeing anymore of who he truly was.
But with Hannibal, every second he'd ever stood before or with the man, he'd never had to hide.
And when Bedelia had told Will, not out right, but close enough, that Hannibal was in love with him, innumerable feelings and thoughts he'd had since knowing Hannibal, had all fallen neatly into place with sharp clicks he'd felt like needles under his skin.
Because yes, Will did ache for Hannibal and even though that ache had had many faces and feelings and meanings, ultimately, it was capable of being anything and everything Hannibal wanted or needed from him. It was capable of evolving, it wanted to become more, to merge, it had tried to…and that's what Will felt himself –consciously- wanting as well, almost instantly after she'd brought it up.
Especially having comprehended then that Hannibal had wanted and needed him all along, which meant he was already all he'd ever needed to be in the older man's eyes.
Not Alana, not Bedelia, not Chiyoh…not even Abigail, had meant enough to Hannibal for him to change.
No, it was only Will Graham for Hannibal Lecter.
And Will felt a pain in his chest and lump in his throat when the pang of loss and regret ran through his body again, because while he'd acted on that ache, having orchestrated Hannibal's escape, Will had gone on to change his mind a hundred times over, second guessing himself silently about his reasons for doing so and about what he wanted as the outcome. Dead Dragon for certain…but…dead Ripper?
And then, pathetically, when it had come to that final moment, when he'd felt so amazing and so sinful in the Devil's embrace, Will had been afraid of it, and he'd traded Hannibal's arms for those of Death.
He'd regretted that decision before they'd even hit the water…
Will swallowed down the lump in his throat as he averted his gaze from the mirror in his small hotel room, trying to shake off the unsettling memory, because those feelings of doubt were long gone now.
As far as he was concerned anymore, there was only Hannibal Lecter for Will Graham.
Pressing his fingers into his eyes briefly, Will cleared his throat and tugged at the hem of his expensive designer jacket absently before he grabbed his wallet and his city map and left the room with a cleared head.
I come crawling up again, I need to eat, I need a friend
Someone with me…
Just after noon, found Will sitting down at a café in Lipscani.
The establishment had a long name, Cafeneaua Egipteană something-something, and it was the larger one of many cafés lining the side of a semi-busy and narrow walkway. Will was settled near the back, where it was less crowded since people seemed to prefer window or outside seats. He'd exhausted all of the places nearby in his search for Hannibal, so now all of the other places would require longer drives and maybe even a few entry fees and tickets to be admitted at the venues.
Good thing he'd worn his suit after all…
He sighed as he leaned back into the short-back wooden chair, which was not particularly comfortable, and his tired gaze settled on the small glass dish on his table containing the packets of sugar and sweetener. Next to it was a small vase with fresh flowers and flat on the table was the café menu that Will couldn't understand properly and hadn't brought his dictionary with to translate. It didn't matter though because he wasn't hungry, he was just drained and needed a pick-me-up, so he'd just ordered his usual strong coffee.
That had been a half hour ago and presently he was on his second cup, rubbing at his warm neck and trying to ease the tension in his muscles, thinking over where he had to drive to next…
…and Will would never have expected to actually catch that break he'd been thinking about, but when every hair on his neck and arms stood up again, body turning hot from shock instantly, Will could almost not believe it when his senses were wondrously assaulted by Hannibal Lecter's unique accent by complete coincidence a second time.
He caught the tail end of Hannibal's voice speaking,
"-what, you thought what?" he sounded irritable and unusually hostile.
Still, his voice was far closer than it had been in the airport and it was steady, not affected by movement or distance. Will focused his eyes as he glanced around trying to locate the owner of the familiar voice, because it sounded close enough that Hannibal may have been within feet of him. Will stood up from his table, feeling panicked and hot with anticipation.
"That a runty cunt such as you are ever stood a chance? Come on, son, this is reality when you don't fucking register." Hannibal's voice.
"I register fine, you greasy fuck."
Will frowned first and then his eyebrows shot up when he heard the response.
He recognized Hannibal's accent clearly but the words being spokensounded all wrong. Hannibal Lecter did not speak so uncouthly. And who was he talking to like that anyway? Obviously someone with a death wish considering how they'd replied. There was a frustrating amount of noise around Will and he strained to hear anything more of the conversation, but the brief raised voice was gone now and the normal murmurs of the people inside the café covered anything else up. Still…the voice had been so close...
Will looked at the dark brown tinted windows of the café when it occurred to him that Hannibal may just be right outside and without hesitating, he walked toward the doors quickly, vaguely aware of the young man who'd served him his coffee quickly coming around the counter, probably thinking Will was trying to leave without paying.
But Will wasn't leaving, if he'd finally found Hannibal, he'd never leave the man's side again.
And when Will came to stop near the open café doorway, he lost his breath…because it was Hannibal…
No better feeling than escape, avoid the feeling so you're…
…collapsing in again you found what makes it sore…
…right there…
…Hannibal, Hannibal in the flesh, just a few meters away, through the café doors, sitting outside.
He'd been there, so close for how long, Will had no idea.
And it was undoubtedly him, there was no question because there were no two people like Hannibal in the entire world. So despite the fact that Hannibal was holding a lit cigarette between his long fingers, wearing a loose fitting casual button down shirt and that he had been speaking so improperly, Will didn't doubt for a second that it was still Hannibal Lecter.
Hannibal was talking to someone, his mouth was moving, head turning from one side to another, but through the opening of the door from inside the tinted dim café, Will could only see him. As he walked the rest of the way to the door, he felt the urge to say Hannibal's name aloud again, like he had wanted to in the airport, but he wouldn't…
…and never mind that, he didn't get a chance to anyway.
As Will placed his hand on the door to push it open, his eyes falling on the young man sitting across from Hannibal briefly, the waiter was just about to touch Will's shoulder to get his attention. He sensed it like he sensed a killer's motives and actions and designs, even with everything happening around him. But before Will could open the door and step out, before the waiter touched him, Will was stunned to a halt by what he hadn't seen coming.
Hannibal had been sitting there, still and calm in one moment and then abruptly, quickly, he'd moved like a snake striking, forcefully kicking the young man sitting across from him squarely in the chest, -Will watched through the tint of the door- propelling the guy backwards and off his chair with such an impact that the slighter man hit the ground hard.
Will once upon a time, would have felt compelled to help the unknown man, but these days he wasn't so inclined.
He did however feel confused when a woman's voice yelled for 'Nigel' to let 'him' go. Hannibal had sprung up from his seat a second after he'd kicked the other man –as powerful, graceful and dangerous as ever- and Will watched through the tinted glass as he grabbed the younger man, who'd barely registered the kick he'd just received, up from the ground by his throat. So for the woman, who came into view through the glass, to say 'Nigel' should let the other guy go, she was obviously speaking to Hannibal, and it unsettled Will.
He pushed the café door open and stepped out when they moved out of his line of sight, and everything was happening in color now and not tinted brown. The other people around the café and street had also fixed their attention on the commotion. Will watched Hannibal move –firm and fast- dragging the young man –who looked sort of familiar- across the walkway with his impressive strength and only his hands tight around the man's narrow neck, the guy's feet nearly off the ground.
It all happened so fast then...
The girl - her short hair a fake vibrant red and her eye makeup black and thick- looked worried and upset as she followed the fight, she had none of the quick grace that Hannibal did, hell, even Will was quicker and sleeker in movement than her slight female form was.
Perhaps it was a trait unique to killers?
Will didn't watch her for long though, he looked back to Hannibal and the other man, who Will had a split second recognition of right then as being the American guy he'd seen outside the orchestra the day before. Hannibal was dragging him to a doorway that led into a block of what might have been small businesses or apartments.
Then Hannibal paused, holding onto the lightweight man's throat with one hand as he reached to grab a plastic bag off the top of a broom stick at the side of the door.
Will held his breath and his eyes widened as he watched the man he'd once known to be a world class serial killer who only operated in the shadows and had evaded capture for years, now blatantly, in full view of everyone present, wrap a plastic bag around the young American's head before dragging him into the building foyer and kicking the door shut behind them.
It was all done with skill and poise, confident and deadly accuracy in every movement, but there'd also been some emotion and anger and overtly expressed violence that was completely unlike Hannibal.
Behind Will, the waiter was calling for one of the other staff to alert the poliţişti.
Will blinked rapidly, taking a few more steps out into the narrow walkway and then a few more closer as he watched and listened to the red haired young woman demand that Nigel open the door and that he stop what he was doing. She was trying to get it open, rattling the handle and sounding worried and scared for the American boy's life and a crowd was gathering. Will just blended into it, looking like every other spectator save for the complete lack of emotion on his face.
Even as his stomach did excited turns and flips at knowing Hannibal was within reach, whatever version of Hannibal it was not even mattering to him, Will was calm.
It was still Hannibal, his Hannibal.
Will couldn't make out what was happening behind the glass of the building doors, he wasn't close enough and the panicking woman was crowding the fogged glass of the doors that were already distorted by burglar guards as well. But then there was a moment where Hannibal was standing facing the door on the inside and talking to the red haired girl through it.
"Gabi, Charlie's in love," he said just audibly and Will frowned, "any idea who with?" he went on, talking fluently, eloquently and yet still so differently, leaving Will both anxious and needy to hear and see more of him, to understand what had changed.
Hannibal said something else but it was lost in the surrounding noise, he was also muffled by the doors but the girl, Gabi, seemed to be listening to whatever was being said, she could hear him, and she was no longer yelling, instead just holding onto the burglar bars and frowning in consternation.
There was more movement behind the doors suddenly and she started yelling again, denying something to Nigel, probably something the American had said and more and more, Will's body was tensing up in anger and something uglier and unfamiliar in him, because of the picture this girl's words were painting for him of her and Nigel.
And then it hit Will, when she said 'I told you Nigel, he means nothing to me.'
Will hadn't even realized he'd been clenching his fists and teeth, his body coiled so tightly it hurt, until his subconscious suspicion was addressed by her words. And then the ugly thing, the jealousy he hadn't felt ever before for anyone, reared up fiercely and made his vision narrow in on the attractive girl yelling at the door for Nigel…and Will easily imagined himself walking up behind her and snapping her neck. He could practically hear her spinal vertebrae cracking.
He wasn't as efficient at it as Hannibal was, making an exact C2 break wasn't in his realm of expertise so it probably wouldn't be as clean. But he could do it, it'd maybe kill her, maybe paralyze her but it'd hurt like fuck and, oh, did he want to hurt her so badly. Because the idea of Hannibal having had his hands or his mouth on her, or having shared his body with anyone after what they'd experienced together on the cliff top, it felt like a knife in his stomach, in his chest and his throat all at once. Somehow, it was more and yet less painful than when he'd been stabbed in the face, but so similar though, to when Hannibal had surgically gutted him.
It felt like betrayal and fear…and also, bizarrely like infidelity, which didn't make any sense but it also somehow did. Because he was Hannibal's, - breath, blood, bone and body- and Hannibal was supposed to have been his.
And yes Will had fucked up, he knew that, he owed so much, had a lot to prove and make up for, but Christ, this bitch didn't deserve Hannibal.
The sound of sirens pulled Will out of his murderous daze, he'd been staring at the back of the girl's head, his vision tunneled and stained red with her imagined blood. But he blinked out of it and looked beyond her just in time to see the shape of Hannibal disappear inside, which meant he was fleeing before the police showed up.
He wasn't coming back out to where Will could see him or he could see Will.
Will worked it out quickly in his mind, thinking Hannibal had probably climbed the stairs and he frowned as he glanced up to consider the possible exits from inside the closed off arcade.
But he was also thinking that maybe Hannibal, or rather Nigel, was a known criminal of some sort in Bucharest for police to have responded so quickly.
None of it made much sense, but right then wasn't the time to get caught up in the details of it. Hannibal had left and Will had to try and follow him, there was no other option. He was about to make a quick run to find a different entrance to the building even as he heard the police cars pull up at the entrance of the walkway, but then he noticed Gabi, the girl, slipping away quickly, before the police showed up.
That struck Will as odd and when he noticed her glancing up at the building that Hannibal had disappeared into as she was walking away quickly, looking nervous and going in the opposite direction of the sirens, it occurred to Will that maybe she'd be looking for Hannibal too…or maybe, she was worried about him finding her.
Either way, as much as it irked him to think it, she was more likely to know where Hannibal would end up or she would be at the place where Hannibal would end up.
So Will followed her.
All the guilt pulls away, if only forever
Replace the name, replace the fear
And I can't come out but I want you here…
The red haired girl walked out of the Pasajul Macca-Vilacrosse arcade, and it was a good thing that she'd exited on the side of the building that Will had entered because she was traveling by car and if he'd been parked more than a few cars away from her, he wouldn't have been able to tail her. Two coincidences in one day, Will was thanking his lucky stars.
She was driving an off-white Trabant 601 and he followed her at an inconspicuous distance, even though she was in a hurry and wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings. It was ten minutes later that she entered the driveway of house that Will had to assume was her own…
…because she still hadn't come back out after an hour.
Will parked off a block down from the property, and only after having walked by the front and side of the house to see what he was dealing with, did he settle back into his car to wait. There were three entrances/exits that he'd been able to see, a main front gate, a driveway gate and then there was a single side gate, none of which were locked as far as he could tell. There'd been no other cars in the driveway so Will assumed she was alone in the house.
Presently, Will was parked on a corner where he could see all three of the gates almost completely clearly and he was watching carefully from a distance for anyone coming or going as he considered his options.
They were narrow in terms of the fact that they all ended in his head with him killing this 'Gabi' person who Hannibal seemed to have taken a liking to, and was probably fucking. In contrast though, his options were vast in terms of how he might go about murdering her. His imagination was not in short supply of scenarios.
He had no real reason to feel so bitter toward her, except for the fact that she was somehow with Hannibal and in being so, she simply was not deserving, and that made her awfully expendable. After all, he doubted she had been through anything even close to what Will had suffered through, in order to be able to crawl inside of Hannibal's darkness and find warmth and comfort in the stifling heat and grasp of his evil.
No, definitely not, she looked like she might have been through a heartache or two, not unlike most young women, and that was nothing, nothing even remotely worthy of deserving Hannibal's attention, affection or even his cruelty.
Will may have stupidly and stubbornly turned Hannibal away a few times and he'd regretted it back then, now –and probably would forever-, but it didn't change the fact that he'd bled for Hannibal, bled because of Hannibal and would make others bleed if that's what Hannibal wanted from him in their future. Their future. Together.
She was not worthy. Whatever Hannibal had given her of himself was wasted. It wasn't fair.
Not after all the years that Will had suffered to get to where he was.
A further hour had passed as he sat there watching from his car, sitting as still as death but feeling unsettled with discontent and angry on the inside, unable to shake off his jealousy. Will had removed his jacket in the past sixty some minutes and he'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, keeping the windows open for air so he didn't have to use up gas having the aircon running.
When he'd last checked his cell phone it had been almost five PM and that had been about twenty minutes prior. He'd decided that he'd wait until six before he made any moves to forcefully find out where Hannibal was. He was getting irritable with being idle.
Will remained unmoving as the minutes ticked by, sitting low in the car seat with his head pressed back into the headrest. And eventually his patience was rewarded when at more or less a quarter to six, someone came around the corner at the other end of the street from where he'd parked…
…and Will stopped breathing for the second time that day, quickly sitting up straight when he recognized Hannibal.
When he'd seen Hannibal earlier that day it had been just a brief glimpse of the older man's profile before the fight had begun and a door had literally been shut on his view, closing Hannibal away with the stranger from America.
But now, with the early dusk sky painting everything orange and warm and nothing else in the way, Will took in the sight of Hannibal at the relative distance with more clarity. And he saw that Hannibal's hair was longer and casually styled, his clothes were informal and not as expensive as usual. He still held himself confidently, but there were differences in him that made Will frown, made him swallow uncomfortably and then doubt and wonder, concerned.
It couldn't be some lost Lecter sibling, Will was already shaking his head to himself at the idea as he watched the man walk along the curb. Because Hannibal had only ever had one sibling and she was dead years ago and there was no brother, and even more ridiculously, no twin, that existed. Doppelgangers were just folk-lore aside from being far-fetched and even if there were people in the world who resembled each other very closely, Hannibal's distinct uniqueness, the angles of his face, the accent and tone of his voice, the cut of his figure…no.
There was only one.
Will really just had to worry about how this different version of Hannibal Lecter, this man with what appeared to be a tattoo on his neck, who carried a poorly concealed firearm under the back of his loose fitting shirt, had an outwardly intimidating appearance and an unsubtle predatory gait, would receive him, because aside from that, he was, in fact, the real and only Hannibal.
Hannibal was one of a kind…one kind of person, one kind of man, one kind of monster, the only of his kind and the only one who made the hair on the back of Will's neck stand as surely as he made the darkest reaches of Will's mind feel like home.
And right then, with the hair standing on his neck and a need he'd only ever felt for Dr. Lecter creeping up his spine, Will didn't hesitate to get out of the car and start walking toward the property that Hannibal had just entered seconds before and had disappeared out of sight into. The property into which Gabi had gone earlier, unsurprisingly, and he'd walked right in through the front gate like he owned the place.
Will's jealousy curled and poked ugly-like in his stomach and chest, sending a sharp and violent feeling up into his throat. It hurt to swallow it down, just thinking of Hannibal making such a pathetic choice to replace him made him sick. Hell, Bedelia had been worth far more and Hannibal had never fallen for or changed himself to suit her.
So what the fuck was this? Who was this girl with lies and uncertainty writhing beneath the skin of her face?
Will had seen how she'd panicked, had felt the desperation coming off of her in waves for the American man while she'd been verbally denying that he meant anything to her to Hannibal.
It had been obviously hurting her as she watched Hannibal hurt the younger man...apparently because of her.
It baffled Will, thinking it over as he walked quickly toward the side gate, crossing the street twice to get there, wondering what pathetic state of mind Hannibal had found himself in that he would fight a small man over an unworthy woman?
Hannibal didn't bend, he was immovable, he was a force…he was like a center of gravity.
Will's jealousy mixed with a rush of heady possessiveness for Hannibal as he pushed open the green wrought iron gate and stepped into the property. After a quick glance around the empty street behind him, Will continued in, trying to put a lid on his excess feelings before he became overconfident from the knowledge that Hannibal had bent and moved, shaped anew and had been drawn to him, for him, Hannibal had changed…just because of Will.
And all Will had done was let him down.
But now was the time to make it right. To last chances…
I'm laughing now and then it floods
But not out loud…
Will walked the short path that turned a corner into a large front courtyard of an large double story house. The property and house were larger than Hannibal's house had been in Baltimore, but it was old and dated in appearance, poorly kept and more than likely lived in by people who were old money, property passed down for generations. Still, it held none of the beauty or for that matter, the ominous loom and intrigue, that Hannibal's house in Baltimore had. That house had been an unsettling work of art, especially for Will, who'd known the secrets that had existed there with Hannibal long before anyone else.
Will dismissed the comparison as easily as he did the fallen tree branches and other unkempt garden foliage that he stepped over as he made his way to the front door. The sound reminded him of Wolf Trap and then his home with Molly and Walter as well. In the months when it wasn't snowing, when there'd been gravel and sand and crispness to the plants and leaves, his dogs romping around in the yard and sniffing, tails wagging happily.
He knew he should have felt more when confronted with those memories, but the simple truth was that Will felt nothing, he was too far gone, too far removed from that life.
He'd arrived at the three stone steps leading up to the front door when it occurred to him that there was a good chance he was being careless by not having avoided every crunch of dried leaves under his shoes, or the fact that he might have been seen through the large windows. But it was too late then to care, besides, he wasn't going to waste any more opportunities by standing back, watching or waiting. He'd knock on the fucking door if he had to.
Boldly, Will climbed the steps to the front door, which conveniently stood slightly open and didn't even squeak on its hinges when he pushed it open just enough to slip inside. He paused, standing in a small cluttered atrium as he glanced further into what he could see of the house. The glass doors that led into the larger foyer were wide open, allowing him an easy, undetected entry. He noticed that the step into the second foyer had smudged chalk lines on it, but didn't spare it a second thought when after just his first few careful steps inside, Will listened in the direction from which he could hear tense conversation. It was coming from through the open doorway just to the left of where he stood.
The girl, Gabi, sounded tense. Hannibal sounded firm and even, his words were deceptively congenial –and noticeably condescending –but Will could hear it, he was familiar with it, the notes of warning and threat beautifully coalesced with Hannibal's strong accent.
Beautiful, Hannibal was beautiful in the darkest and most twisted ways.
And Will felt a longing for him which was a new and entirely welcomed feeling.
Gabi laughed abruptly and Will narrowed his eyes as he listened to the short and bitter sound of it,
"I told you, Nigel, I don't have the tape, I didn't even know there was a fucking tape." Gabi said, accent thick and her voice breathy and exasperated, she was sniffing, her emotions running high, "I don't know what Charlie was talking about." She denied with a shaken sigh.
"Well, there obviously is a tape and it obviously has to be here." Hannibal's voice was moderately loud but his temper was restrained. Will listened as he changed gears, talking in a hurried manner, "Gabi, darling, I'm losing my patience, you understand, yes? Charlie, that boy…" a tense pause, "…that stupid little cunt…" this was said offhandedly and yet so harshly, also probably with parts of a smile and sneer from how it sounded, "…did he stay here last night, Gabi?"
There was an intense silence that followed that question which was loaded with another implication and Will could almost sense the fear radiating off Gabi from where he stood stock still just around the corner.
"Nigel, I-…" she hedged guiltily.
"Just answer the fucking question." Hannibal demanded, sending shocks of intrigue and confusion through Will with every word spoken profanely and with a lack of controlled structure.
Hannibal sounded…vulgar. Will decided he didn't like it.
"Yes, yes h-he stayed here…" she answered unevenly, her words more accented by her fear, "…but you and I were not together, Nigel, you were gone for so long…for so much time…" there were footsteps and Will listened carefully to the placating tone that laced her next words, "…my father died and Papa, he, he hated you and I was angry at you…I just…I made a mistake, Nigel…he meant nothing to me, I swear." Her tone had gradually softened, the lies on her tongue slipping out like silk and Will imagined that she'd stepped closer to Hannibal…to Nigel, Nigel, Nigel.
Will felt sick.
The bitch was trying to manipulate Hannibal into forgiving her.
It was being done as plain as day and Will knew Hannibal would never be fool enough to allow that, or to eat up some sob story and yet…Will was afraid it would work because of her confidence in doing it, as if she'd done it before to Nigel.
And then there was the soft sound of a kiss, lips to lips –Will clenching his teeth, jealous- before she whispered something to Hannibal in Romanian. It sounded like 'I'm sorry, I love you', Will wasn't a pro but he'd skimmed the dictionary for common words and phrases...those in particular had been of interest to him…
Imi pare rau. Te iubesc.
Even if she loved Nigel, she didn't love or know or deserve Hannibal Lecter and she wasn't sorry. She was a liar.
She sniffed again,
"The tape is probably here somewhere…I will look for it, alright? We'll take it to Darko and-…"
"And dear Charlie, Gabi," Hannibal's voice sounded lower, affected, "what will you do with his bleeding heart, I wonder?" he asked, his annoyed tone very subdued.
Will's face twitched and he seethed at the realization that she had successfully reigned Hannibal in, and on top of that, she'd probably just been there, in her home, expecting him to show up so that she could manipulate him all along. She was overconfident and it wasn't right. It was unnatural. Hannibal was not someone who could be tamed. Someone that rich in power and knowledge and darkness was above such pathetic games.
Hannibal was supposed to be free.
That was why Hannibal had strived to free Will…and yet…
"Charlie is just a stupid boy, Nigel, he thinks he is in love with me, it is nothing, it means nothing." She said again, lied again, because there was a tremor in her voice, subtle but noticeable to Will.
And Hannibal had to notice it too, had to know a lie when he heard it…and yet…
"What it means to him…" Hannibal started and then in a colder tone continued, "…and what it means for him, are two different things, my darling Gabi-…" he added and Will's eyes nearly rolled shut at how sick the endearment made him feel.
"Nigel, he is not worth killing," she started again, defending the American boy and Will decided he'd heard enough.
No more waiting. He walked into the short furnished hallway audibly and after the first step of his leather shoes on the wooden floors, Gabi fell silent.
Step…step…step…
I feel you up and feel you down
I need your space, I need it now
Another circumstance has gone and shut you down
Another fear awakened in the fault you found.