A/N: I do not own Hannibal or Will Graham or anyone for that matter because slavery ,as I was often told as a child, is bad. No matter how much sense it makes economically or the fact that the people aren't real, owning them is just not my job. Leave it to the twisted people who work at NBC...

Will looked straight at the opposite cement wall juxtaposed to the wire bed he was currently sitting on. He was young, but his eyes told the tales of many lives, the lives of killers who he had lived as. He wore the uniform jump suit that belonged to the compound he was currently at. He had been sitting like this for so long that his legs had started to feel numb and his curly brown hair had fallen into his eyes. At the sound of his footsteps approaching, Will raised his head slightly to appear less defeated. He could tell who was walking down the deserted corridor by the light tap tap of expensive leather Italian shoes, shoes that Will had spent hours staring at, memorizing, as he opened himself up to the man who owned them. A man he had trusted whole heartedly, confident that whispered secrets among the two would never again see the light of day. Will had exposed his soul to this man; his mirroring, tormented soul. Now, of course, he knew better. He could see for the first time in months, he almost laughed at the obvious manipulation he had gone through without ever questioning the doctor or his methods.

The sound stopped right outside his cell. At first, Will refused to look in the other's direction. He knew too much about the man outside to give him the satisfaction of seeing Will completely trapped in the design his ever supportive therapist had layed out. If it hadn't landed him up in a 8x8 gray cell, Will might have been impressed at the fact that he had been so blatantly tricked. Him, the man who could crawl into almost anyone's mind, had never seen this coming.

'Of course, you did have an inflamed brain,' Will thought to himself 'also maybe you wanted someone to... trust.' Trust maybe wasn't the right word, control. He needed someone to take control, he needed someone to make the tough decisions for him and tell Will when he was about to crack. Unfortunately, he had picked the wrong doctor to do it.

Will got up slowly, all his motions deliberately displaying that he wasn't afraid. His motions were to show this man that Will was the clearest he had been in a long time, it also showed the fact that he would know if he was being played with. Face devoid of emotion, Will approached the metal bars that separated him from the man standing opposite.

"Dr. Lector," Will said simply. Although extremely simple, the phrase carried what seemed to be the weight of the world. It said everything that could ever be discussed between the two very different men.

Hannibal Lector stood in all his full stature. A tall, obviously foreign man, with rather sharp cheekbones. He was extremely well dressed in an almost obsessively clean three piece suit, even if it was to visit a patient turned suspected serial killer, but the man was nothing if not a perfectionist when picking what to wear.

Will, in his jail-uniform clothes, took note of the little smile that played itself on Lector's lips.

'So... he has read the situation.' Will was testing the doctor as much as the doctor had tested Will. Subtle cues had alerted Lector of what Will now understood. It seems that the most minute detail could give away everything the killer would need to know, in as many ways as they are different the two men were also the same. By understanding the man who stood before him, Will could perhaps find his way to freedom. He need only prove his innocence and he could go back to what ever a life he had before, with the dogs and his little house in the middle of no where.

"Hannibal, that is quite an interesting name. It sounds a lot like another word I know... Tannable... no... Fannibal? That just sounds like a weird disease. Perhaps you would like to take a guess, doctor."

This seemed to agitate the other in the slightest use of the word, his eyes darkened for a second and his lips grew thinner. Testing how far he could be pushed was useful information to have when Will relives everything about the time that they had known each other from Lector's point of view. If only Will doesn't loose himself trying to become the man before him, trying to reconstruct his thinking. Only then would he be-

"Will," a highly accented voice cut through his thoughts,''it will not work. You shouldn't try, it may be a further detriment to your mental health." Will had not buried himself deep enough into the thoughts of the other man to be sure if it was real concern in the voice he had come to know or just a predator's way to stop its prey in its tracks.

"However could you know what I'm thinking, doctor," Will spat the word out like venom,"last time I talked to you, you had tried to convince me that I killed Abigail Hobbs. You said something along the lines of 'you did it but you can't remember.' Sounds sort of familiar to what Able Gideon was told, wouldn't you agree?"

Will noted how the other man slightly paled, then as if he thought against saying something all the color returned to his face. Others might have seen an unnerving calm in the dark eyes of Hannibal Lector, but Will saw them for what they really were... amused. Amused at the fact that Will had caught onto the little trick, as if it were some inside joke the two shared. In some ways, it was.

"It is a shame that a mind such as yours is destined to be locked up in a place as... plain... as this one. Of course, if you somehow managed to get out, I'll always be willing to help you. No matter what you think of me, I will always continue to be your friend." With that, Hannibal took his leave. His shoes' tap taps echoed off the walls as Will stood in a kind of stupor. Trying to accept what Hannibal had just said.

'If I somehow manage to get out. Surely he can't mean... break out.' But to Will this was folly, he knew exactly what Hannibal meant. He could do it, too. Breaking out of a place like this would be a piece of cake, but did he really want to trust a man who had lied about everything? Could Will truly trust himself not to get stuck in this game of chess he found himself in? Only time, and a night's sleep filled with nightmares, could tell.

A/N: Please be kind, review and what have you, but I'm sort of new to this writing thing. And if anyone does read this...(like that's going to happen) and likes it, let me know. I might just continue. Again, thanks for reading 3