Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Thomas Harris, Bryan Fuller, and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: the trap springs too quickly in Florence. Will and Hannibal adapt. Season 3 speculation. One-shot (for now, I think. Maybe).
Author's Notes: I saw some photos from the set of season 3 on Tumblr tonight of a bloodied Hannibal and Will limping down an abandoned street and finally, mercifully, was compelled to write! This may end up being more chapters; I haven't decided and don't want to promise anything, but I do hope you enjoy! Happy holidays, everyone!
Omnipotence Paradox
The trap springs too quickly, and instead of rewarding Inspector Pazzi for his cleverness, Hannibal ends up with Will Graham wrapped around his waist. They fall into a shadow as bullets slash through the air above them. The Inspector clearly doesn't share Will's predilection for hand-to-hand combat. Hannibal can't say he blames Pazzi either: he could easily overpower the Inspector. Will Graham, on the other hand, is a perfect adversary.
"Just like old times, hm?" he grunts. Being sandwiched between Will and the floor has left him winded. The punch he receives to the face does nothing to help Hannibal reclaim his breath.
"Shut up," Will says, dismounting. He heaves Hannibal upright and pushes him through the stacks. "Move."
More bullet's whiz through crates and pallettes surrounding them. The warehouse provides only visual cover apparently. Hannibal anticipates an accidental death is in store for one or both of them. "I take it you and Inspector Pazzi are working independently."
"I'm not going to share the satisfaction of killing you."
"Hmm…" Hannibal considers a bullet hole that comes dangerously close to his trunk. "A pity the Inspector does not feel the same."
"I said…"
"I heard what you said, Will," Hannibal straightens his suit, "but I'm afraid I can't do that, not without attending to Inspector Pazzi's rudeness."
Will tackles him again, but this time, Hannibal is ready. He catches Will by the shoulders and throws him into the opposite wall. Will catches the brick with his cheek and uses the force to rebound, but that only drives him faster into Hannibal's fist. He lands in a heap on the ground, struggling to stand.
Pazzi is reloading when he is grabbed from behind. Hannibal wraps his arms around the Inspector's neck and tightens until the gun falls from his fingers. Several blows land to his legs and chest, but Pazzi is cowardly and weak. He couldn't hold his own against a child, let alone a grown man with the experience Hannibal has. The entire scene is dissatisfying. Selfishly, Hannibal wants to save the Inspector for later, perhaps have Will for dinner and let him feast on Pazzi's degenerate corpse.
Speaking of Will, the lad recovers to the point where he slips soundlessly across the stone floor, landing a blow to Hannibal's kidney that lets the Inspector drop from Hannibal's grasp. The next moment is a chaotic exchange of strikes between the three: Pazzi reaches for his gun but is denied by Will, who earns a second punch to the face from Hannibal, who gets bitten in the leg by Pazzi, who gets kicked by Will, who gets thrown aside by Hannibal.
At which point the gun ends up somewhere in the shadows.
Pazzi scrambles for it, foolishly turning his back on Hannibal for long enough to get nabbed by the scruff of his coat. The anticipation of victory is short-lived. Once again, Will asserts himself in the melee: he throws his shoulder into Hannibal's side, causing doctor and Inspector to fall over. Pazzi rolls to his feet and darts into the darkness, still in search of the gun, while Will drops knee-first onto Hannibal's chest and holds him prostrate. He wraps his hands around the doctor's neck and starts to squeeze.
"Will," Hannibal chokes, glancing from Pazzi – rearmed – and Will – strong-armed – and comes to the conclusion that he has courted far too many killers in his lifetime. That being strangled by a former friend and getting shot by a desperate, crooked cop is the universe's way of telling him to quit before he gets ahead.
He rolls Will out of the way before Pazzi's aim can prove to be less terrible than his initial shots suggested. The ensuing brawl warms Hannibal to the core. He has never felt closer to Will than the moment their arms and legs meet to wrestle. They tumble back to their shadow, out of Pazzi's line of fire, and end up as a great, gesticulating knot, limbs tangled in battle.
Will hasn't simply regained his strength: he's doubled it, concealing bulk beneath the clean, lean cut of a suit. Hannibal appreciates the challenge, as the Will Graham he left bleeding to death in Baltimore would have been a poor opponent. They do not have to hold back because they are absolute equals: naked, exposed, fully aware of the consequences if they should lose.
Hannibal finds the pain and blood of their fight gratifying. He welcomes the hard lashes of knuckle against face, face against stone; of knee against sternum, foot against thigh. They are aware of Pazzi pacing for a greater vantage point – Will is especially careful, Hannibal notes appreciatively, because he wants the doctor all to himself – so they keep their squabbling out of his sight. They roll, punch, throw, stalk, and beat their way deeper into the unknown corners of the Florence tenement. Pazzi's bullets and footsteps come to interrupt them less frequently. By the time they reach the back wall, they are alone and entangled.
One ends up pinned between the other and the wall; the result is inverted a moment later. Hannibal dizzies; Will tires. They are dancing around a macabre finale, bloody castoff marking the walls of their hate-making. Hannibal thinks he has won when he lands a strike over Will's abdomen, but the hit only spurs Will into crushing Hannibal's genitals with his knee. Unfair, Hannibal thinks as he drops to the ground but not undeserved.
Will obviously feels the same way, or maybe he's just savouring the moment. He takes forever to wrap his arm around Hannibal's neck, even longer to haul the doctor to his feet to choke him. The whole act thrums with their familiar bond, with their twisted affection. Hannibal hasn't felt this connected to Will since Baltimore, since, "Do you believe you could change me the way I changed you?" and, "I already did."
There are no questions to ask that Hannibal does not already know the answer to, because he knows Will enough to see that this murder feels good. Not in the same way Hobbs's murder did. Will isn't trying to feel powerful; he's trying to feel righteous, and if the tightening of his arm could speak – which it does, ringing in Hannibal's ears as his heart thunders its last beats – it would speak RECKONING into eternity.
The bullet screams past in a flood of splintered wood and air. Will's arm loosens for a fraction of a second, long enough for Hannibal to yank himself out of the smaller man's grasp. He elbows Will out of the way of another shot and nearly catches the bullet in his chest for the trouble. The stone floor is a welcome cradle for them both. Hannibal pins Will to the ground and savours their most recent brush with death. How quickly they bounce from foe to friend in the presence of a common enemy.
Another bullet prompts Hannibal to ask, "Shall we continue this elsewhere?"
"Don't kill him," Will nags.
Hannibal tosses his head. "Not today," he agrees and yanks Will to his feet.
The blow to his stomach leaves Will doubled over, limping, so Hannibal takes it upon himself to sling one of the former agent's arms over his shoulders. Will just barely resists. Pazzi's bullets have rearranged his priorities for the time being at least. They scuttle beneath a shield of crates, tracking Pazzi by his clumsy footsteps and abrasive Italian calls for back-up. There's a locked door in the back corner that they kick open, revealing an empty alleyway beyond.
Sunlight blinds them both, revealing the blood collecting around their eyes and the puffiness of their skin. The swelling has already started. Hannibal doesn't bother brushing himself off. He is too busy performing - straightening his back and shoulders, leveling his chin with the ground – to register the many injuries Will has inflicted upon him. He remains sensitive to Will's presence though. Their psychic tether, slackened in the year since Baltimore, are taut once again. Will's weight is a welcome sensation against Hannibal's side. He has a difficult time letting go when they return to the street, but they hardly need to invite more attention to themselves.
"What happens now?" Will asks as he extricates himself from Hannibal's grasp.
Sirens begin to congregate behind them. Hannibal suppresses a smile. "We run," he says, and can't help but add, "Together."
I think there's more to this, but for now, I have much to celebrate. Happy Holidays! Happy reading!