Authors Note: Clearly I do not own anything pertaining to the Hannibal. If I did, I would be busy writing up a steamy Will/Hannibal/Alana 3-way make-out session. (sorry for the image)
Anyway, the grammar in this is likely very poor, and the story isn't all that great. It was just a quick 5-minute rant. Enjoy!
Never before in his life had Will Graham felt so suffocated. One second the walls seemed concrete; the next they seemed to close in on him. Will started to breathe heavily as water began to rush into his cell and the nearby corridor. That damned black moose floated atop the crashing waves, legs kicking in the water. Within seconds, the liquid was at his knees; his waist; his lips. Terror and confusion dominated his eyes as he realized that this could very well be the last thought he would ever think. Soon, the lack of oxygen began to take its toll and Will's eyes rolled back in his head. There was no life flashing before him; just a surprising shield of crimson as the water transformed to blood. So this was death.
And then Will Graham awoke; sitting upright, shaking uncontrollably, and soaked in a hefty layer of sweat. One singular light shined above him in the cell, rocking delicately back and forth, confusing his sense of stability. He gripped the iron bed frame beneath him as if it was the only thing keeping him from floating off into the distant atmosphere (or, rather, the cement ceiling above). After his convulsions had finally stopped, Will looked down at himself. The orange jumper on his body was littered occasionally with minuscule specks of red from the times he had dug his nails into his flesh in frustration. At last, Will took a breath in- a breath out.
Just as he had thought his world to be of relative (albeit still horribly tormented) tranquility, a familiar man appeared at the bars of his cell. A smile formed between the man's lips as he admired the train wreck that was Will Graham.
"I do so like you, Will. If only we could have been friends." Muttered Hannibal.
Will remained silent, watching the man with a sort of distant gaze. Dr. Lecter merely chuckled to himself and sat down against the iron bars of the cell, his back facing the man he had come to see.
"They let me in so we could have a little chat; maybe sort out what has been going on in that mind of yours. So tell me, how are you feeling?"
Silence.
"Silence says more than you would think, Will. It tells us that we've an unwillingness to make peace with ourselves. -" He quickly turned his head around, briefly allowing his eyes to meet with Will's. "-And we are so much better without that nagging guilt. Have you considered that maybe you were the one to kill Abigail Hobbs?"
At this, Will merely muttered, "It was you."
Again, a smile formed on Hannibal's lips as he rose back up to his feet.
"And by which clues have you come to that conclusion?"
"It was you."
With that, Dr. Lecter stared smugly at the man who had once been a sort of companion to him and nodded in confirmation before leaving down the darkened hall to Will's cell.