A/N: Hello! Thank you everyone for hosting this wonderful opportunity! This work was created for the 206 Hannibal Big Bang on Archive of our own.

This is just my take on a possible post season 3. I mean, until season 4 of course!

I've had a lot of fun, and I hope you will enjoy the story. Thank you so much to prettypurpleflower for her absolutely beautiful artwork. I can't even believe how beautiful it is, and how much it means, I am unworthy of it.

Thank you so much!

Here is a link to the beautiful artwork made by prettypurpleflower(ugh stupid fanfiction, you can't post links to websites): prettypurpleflower(DOT TUMBLR DOTCOM)/post/150732927994/the-time-for-the-nbchannibalbigbang-has-come

The raised skin that ran a stark, crooked line across Will's cheek was nearly a long soft bump to the touch now, no longer tender, though it still felt odd occasionally as it stretched across his face or if he ran his tongue along it from the inside of his mouth. He had gotten used to that and it was healed, better than expected, still. He had plenty of other scars, a plethora even, from various places, a few on his shoulders and chest visible to him now as he looked in the still slightly steamed bathroom mirror.

This one was ugly though and Will ran his finger along it as he observed it quietly, a ritual that occurred more often that perhaps it should.

It wasn't that the scar looked fascinating. It was neither pretty nor glamorous. Will never care much particularly for his appearance, more practicality in his clothing aside from any attempts to use it psychologically, to fit in or to manipulate expectations; he was not good with that skill, though Hannibal had mastered it. Will often sported many bags under his eyes to add to such an image. He wasn't vain. His face was his face, neither appalling nor striking.

But this scar was obvious and visible. It drew attention he didn't want, and it was ugly.

That wasn't all of it either, why he stood there every time he was in the bathroom to stare at it, as if looking distantly onto the face of someone he wasn't used to seeing.

It was a permanent memory, as if he wouldn't remember the moment otherwise, as if it wasn't etched into the back of his corneas and in the shadows of his dreams, and needed to be branded into his face, the forefront of his appearance. That was what caused him to stand there longer than he should.

He thought of it, images in feelings rushing through his mind, down through his veins, pumping as they had when he'd dug the knife from his face, pain sharp… Then the pain was distant, not important enough when he was stabbed again, then when he drove the knife back in Dolarhyde to free Hannibal nothing mattered but that, the deadly dance they had choreographed together, every move synchronized. He felt the adrenaline in his blood then as he remembered it, and the way his knife dug into the dragon's flesh, tearing out his insides as Hannibal had ripped out his throat with his bare teeth.

Then the moment after, exhilaration, freedom, the moment of clarity in which he knew who he was, he knew who Hannibal was, what they had been, what they could be together. See what Hannibal had asked of him and, oh, he saw, he saw it all and felt it all. He saw the sparkle in Hannibal's eyes, the expression in his face that gave too much, the blood, beautifully black under the moon, drying on the man's lips, that Will would have—he wanted to, to taste. He had wanted. Though he didn't. He knew what he would have chosen then, if he had, how easily he would have given in entirely. He'd only held on so tightly, anchored to the man as Hannibal had told him it was all he'd ever wanted.

It's beautiful.

And, yes, it was, they were, Hannibal was.

No other moment had been so much. Will had never spoken so truthfully, had never reached out for Hannibal's touch, to embrace him in that glory.

And then Will had plunged them both into the sea for fate to decide if they lived. Though perhaps Hannibal had decided. He was as much of a force of nature as nature was, more-so than anything else Will knew, at least.

Nearly startled from his recollection, he could hear the distant click of the door unlocking, opening, and then quiet footfalls. Hannibal.

He had gone out, to shop presumably, as he'd informed Will what they'd been out of in the fridge beforehand. Bread, milk, spices, along with whatever else Hannibal deemed desirable to cook with. Will thought Hannibal enjoyed Paris, the culture, the sights, but especially the food. Will could appreciate some of that, too, though not to the direct extent Hannibal could.

Will took his hand away from his face, unconsciously moving it down and tracing across the scar on his stomach Hannibal had given him at the thought of the man, a scar long healed, and even long declared forgiven, though it still remained there.

Taking up his toothbrush from a cup next to Hannibal's, he squirted toothpaste over it to brush his teeth, hearing the fridge open distantly.

He had just started to pat down his wildly damp hair to no avail, and imagined that he would go and politely attempt to ask Hannibal how his shopping had gone, when a distant inquiry interrupted him, as if searching for him.

"Will?"

He seemed done with the kitchen far too early, his voice closer than that, even if it seemed to be spoken more quietly than it should. "I'm coming." Calling out, Will quickly tied a towel around his waist securely, finding his way out of the bathroom and looking down the hallway.

He found Hannibal in the man's bedroom, standing beside the large plush, blue-sheeted bed with a few bags laid out at the foot of it, clothing, likely suits, laid out on the bed in protective wrappings. Apparently Hannibal had not just gone shopping for food. Will realized just then that it had been a while since Hannibal had left. The man himself was dressed in a beige sweater, something more casual he adopted around the house, when he was not at some event requiring something else. It made him appear softer, more human in that way as Will had come to know in the past few months. It separated their current life with its current of odd almost-domesticity from the time before it.

Will hovered in the doorway. "I was just in the shower," he felt the need to explain, his brow furrowing only slightly as he watched Hannibal's attention move from the clothing over to take in Will. "How was it today… shopping?" Such polite and distant conversation felt like Will's only defense now, never really talking to each other about much, words that could be said always seeming to hang around heavily between them and in the back of Will's head.

"It was quite nice," Hannibal replied simply, his eyes reaching Will's face and focusing there determinedly, releasing a breath from parted lips, seeming almost uncharacteristically uncertain in a way that left Will feeling even more uncertain. "Will you come in?"

He hadn't spent much time in Hannibal's bedroom since they'd first scoped out the house to purchase it. It spoke of comfortable luxury, just as Will's room did, just as the rest of the space did, though certainly not as much as Hannibal's house had in Baltimore, another difference that settled over both of them in this new life. Still, this was Hannibal's private space and Will felt oddly vulnerable, especially with only his towel to cover him as he entered Hannibal's room to walk over by the bed. He'd both been seen by Hannibal and seen Hannibal in less clothing when they'd tended each other's wounds, but this seemed different, in Hannibal's space.

"I thought you might like to join me at the opera this evening."

Will blinked at him, confused, not expecting that at all.

"Perhaps you would enjoy the show with me?" Hannibal continued to explain when Will didn't respond after a moment, his gaze seemingly unreadable as he looked at Will, awaiting his response.

"Ah…" Will found his voice eventually. "I don't really… I've never been to anything like that before. I'm not sure I'd fit there, with everyone else…" There seemed to be many reasons why not, socializing being one, his appearance another.

"I don't have anything appropriate to wear." He settled upon that easy excuse.

Hannibal gestured to the bed. "I have acquired us matching suits already..."

Will turned to notice the clothing in more detail for the first time, the one laid out in front of him a dark blue that was nearly black, on the other side of the bed a maroon colored jacket along with its clothing set as the other had: the slacks, shirt, and vest. Will touched the plastic over the darker suit, reaching under it to feel the soft fabric, almost a silky texture. Even one of these was likely more expensive than Will's entire wardrobe, Will's car even.

That was very perceptive of Hannibal, as if he's known Will's excuse beforehand. It was also very thoughtful.

"Of course you have," Will determined.

"That one is yours."

Will glanced to the darker suit another time with a long breath, releasing it and turning his gaze back to Hannibal, moving his hand away from the suit.

"It's a beautiful suit, Hannibal… I'm not opposed to the idea, but…" The entire idea set his nerves alight and tingling in ways and for reasons he could not name, and he felt as though he was grasping at straws, even if valid ones, for excuses, holding onto the simplicity of what they currently shared even if it was not what he desired. "The suit isn't everything, I mean—" Will gestured to his face as if that encompassed it, the scar he had just been examining there. "There's that not exactly attractive or hidden feature, and… I don't particularly fit the part, the crowd, the socializing..."

His French was passable, as it had become, something he'd studied briefly in high school and had learned here, which was a benefit, even if that didn't mean he would talk with the crowd well. He wasn't high profile (even if he was high profile on the FBI's most wanted list) nor did he fit in with the high class crowd, to fit in with the people Hannibal surely talked with—had been talking with when he went to the Opera here on other occasions. Will was from Louisiana, and even if he would only be playing a part with Hannibal as they had been, it would be different, an unfitting shell he couldn't imagine placing himself in. He'd played a part before, to deceive Hannibal, though now he was not certain that was ever fully playing a part, rather than a true part of himself. The concept of how much of that part had been real or not bled into each other until it had become the same, until it was Will.

Hannibal nodded, his gaze roving over Will's face. "I… disagree partly," he started, as Will watched him lick his lips thoughtfully before continuing. "I believe that the suit would fit you well as the part and I would get you through the rest as best as I could. I am aware that you would not be comfortable with the social aspect, so after you are… introduced, I thought we could escape from the crowd. I'd thought we could have a private compartment, a balcony…"

Hannibal shifted, his own hand resting along the side of his bed, and Will might name it nervously hopeful, had the gesture and the tone been on anyone but Hannibal. "I have told the people that will be attending that I might bring my husband along."

Husband.

The word echoed through Will's mind.

"Oh." It was difficult to find his voice, suddenly feeling his throat, his chest, constricting. Perhaps he should have expected this, and in some way he thought he might have expected it at some point before this, when Hannibal had invited him to the opera.

"You want me to be your…. husband?" He should not have phrased it that way.

Hannibal blinked and took in a breath. "Yes," he replied, and Will could almost imagine that it wasn't this situation, that Hannibal wasn't asking him for this fake identity, and that he might be affirming something else.

"The subject had come up," Hannibal seemed to feel the need to continue saying. "This was what came to mind, and it seemed appropriate."

"The subject?" It wasn't quite an accusation from Will, mostly due to the surprising softness he found in his tone.

"The subject of significant others," Hannibal clarified after a moment. "It was discussed and once they had thought they might want to set me up with various candidates, I thought it would be best to declare I might bring my husband, especially as I thought… you might like to accompany me."

That story mostly seemed to make sense to Will, perhaps more sense than it should have.

Will tried to speak without giving everything away, thoughts rolling around his mind. "You wouldn't want to… be set up with any of them?" The idea was as unpleasant to Will as he found the idea was of the two of them pretending they were something else instead, brothers perhaps, which they could prevent to be. They were decidedly not.

Hannibal's brow furrowed the slightest and he shook his head immediately, as if surprised by Will's question. "No, I would not."

"Ah… Good, I would not… either," he replied uncertainly, before he trailed off into silence.

Hannibal took a breath, as nervous as Will felt, reassuring while at the same time further inciting Will's nerves. He tilted his head at Will as he regarded him, as if trying to gauge his reaction, trying to reach whatever enigma Will might hold that he himself might not know.

Uncertainty claimed Hannibal's face in a foreign manner, in his brow and in the way that his fingers were still resting on the bed sheets, as if he might be stripped as bare as Will was in only his towel. "If it makes you uncomfortable, Will…" he attempted, "We do not need to go. It is good for you to have a nice suit either way."

Will shook his head. "You love the opera, and you should go." He wasn't going to stop Hannibal from going.

"I have been to the opera many times before, Will, even after we arrived here, plenty more than I need in a lifetime," Hannibal continued, daring to look into Will's gaze, his brown eyes dark and warm. It was a comforting darkness that fit in Will's brain far too much like a feeling of belonging, home. "It may seem, ah… impulsive, though, I only wished to share it with you now."

Will thought about it then, how close they had grown, and yet how far away they seemed to be from each other. They'd shared much intimacy in healing each other's wounds, touching and bandaging each other bare, though still something for the purpose of healing, Hannibal's hands as careful as a surgeon's and Will's doing his best, even if they'd lingered and slept near each other. Now, though they did each other's laundry, shared a house, chores, groceries, space so domestically together...now they seemed so far apart, not as it was during the first few intimate weeks before they'd come to Paris. Easy domesticity had become just that, easy, though Will wondered if it could be called that when it seemed just a few steps further away from it. Too much was unspoken between them, neither brave enough to bridge a gap or move drastically.

Bedelia's words were most prevalent to Will. They burned through his bones and made a home there, crawling inside Will and never leaving his mind, always there, in every moment since then, in the back of his head as if they were a puzzle piece, trying to connect to reality and to explain. They seemed impossible, unlikely, something he'd never thought could be, and yet…. and yet…

Is Hannibal in love with me?

He could see it now, burning in Will's mind more than ever. This was breaking whatever unsettling comfort they had slipped into, asking Will to go with Hannibal, for them to go as husbands, even with a façade of cover identities, when it didn't make sense to go any other way, with how well they knew each other. Then there was Hannibal looking at him now with a small hope, expectant, a lightly visible uncertainty, which Will would know better than anyone who'd try to read him. He'd already bought a suit for Will, had already decided that they would be married there before even asking Will the night of the event. Will already had the answer to Bedelia's question from her, though he'd yet to hear it from Hannibal, what he was seeing…maybe, perhaps…

Will's insides clawed at him like they were trying to escape him, his thoughts and emotions conflicting and wild. He would laugh now at Bedelia if she'd asked him again if he too had ached.

Hannibal still waited for an answer, waited for Will to decline him, to reject him, and for them to go back to the domestic, comfortable, and yet endless space of being not enough, being uncertain, so many things still unsaid.

Will could safely decline or take the step over that cliff.

He supposed he'd already had experience taking the cliff, only where Hannibal was involved.

After Hannibal allowed him to ponder a moment, Will nodded. "Alright," he agreed, watching Hannibal take in his agreement. "If you talk most of the time, I'll hang on your arm. I don't know how much of arm candy I will make by this time anymore, however. You'll have to do that work yourself."

Hannibal seemed relieved to release a small breath of a chuckle. "I'm sure you'll do it fine, Will," he sought to assure him. "Perhaps you will like it."

"Perhaps I might," Will agreed. He didn't know if he was referring to hanging on Hannibal or the show.

He turned his attention back to the suit then, remembering his lack of dress. "Are there required underwear to accompany these, or may I use my own?"

Hannibal looked over at the bed with Will. "Of course you may use your own."

Nodding, and without another word, Will slid from Hannibal's bedroom, a bit glad for some space to himself, if only for a moment, digesting what he was agreeing to, what would happen at the opera, how they'd need to act married, and what that entailed. The thought brought waves of something like nerves bubbling in his stomach.

He slipped on a pair of silk boxer briefs, wonderfully soft. He'd bought them with Hannibal, now used to them, even if at first skeptical of underwear less simple than cheap cotton with potential holes after repeated use.

He took a few measured breaths to no avail, eventually resolving to return to Hannibal's bedroom.

When he arrived, the other man was undressing, shirtless and pulling down his pants. Will had seen him such a way many times before as they healed, changing Hannibal's bandages and even washing him, though it had been a while since then. That had been when they were both clutching to each other and healing, bodies struggling and sick. Now, Will's eyes roved over his healed scars. The brand on his back was still visible and large, skin pulled and peeled, likely uncomfortable if it stretched. Still there were a few scars over his chest as Will saw from an angle, from rocks and impacts, and the bullet wound on his stomach, having left an ugly scar, though now healed over, even given Will's lack of stitching mastery. More weight and muscle gathered in his body too, lean muscles returned as his health allowed him to and soft stomach visible from enjoying French cuisine. Will had thought the same had happened to his body, healthier with Hannibal than he had been alone, walking in the outskirts of town regularly to get fresh air and never again missing a meal.

He fought suddenly with an odd desire to touch every visible scar, standing too long in the doorway debating his own entering, to dress with Hannibal or not, though eventually he stepped inside again.

Hannibal looked up as Will moved behind him, not saying anything on it if he'd noticed Will staring at him. Will became aware that ever scar he had was just as vulnerable to Hannibal then. The moment as he stood by Hannibal seemed more intimate than anything they'd shared in a long while, the space between them visible and the scars they'd wrought upon each other in the past open.

"The last suit I wore was one I only used in funerals or in court," Will commented, feeling a need to fill the space as Hannibal was removing the plastic from the clothing. He'd worn it in his own trial and at Hannibal's, painful memories from a distant previous life. "Nothing like this."

"Even if you do not end up enjoying the opera on this occasion, it is good to have one in case such an occasion arises that you may need it, especially in a place such as Paris," Hannibal replied, taking up the pants for himself to slide them on, fitting easy.

"Mhm… I suppose," Will murmured in response, reaching for his own dark slacks, surprised again by their silky texture as he examined them, running his fingers along the fabric a moment.

"French silk," Hannibal informed, as he noticed Will's attention to the fabric.

"It's very nice… soft." Will slid the pants on, surprised to find them fitting snugly around his legs and his waist, not any extra baggy fabric as many of his old clothes often had, and yet quite comfortable, not suffocating. Surely Hannibal must not have approved of his baggy clothing. Will chuckled to himself, finding humor even if the undercurrent of the situation still teased at the air between them with tension. "I won't ask how you got my measurements or estimated them, as I'm not sure I'd like to know the details, but you did it very well." It wasn't particularly surprising either.

"I estimated them," Hannibal replied anyway, and Will caught the other man looking over at him before he turned too soon back to his own dress shirt. "I'm glad that they fit you well."

As they dressed, and the silence was then only permeated by smooth movements of fabric, Will couldn't help but glance over at Hannibal himself, watching the way he dressed carefully and precisely, buttoning his shirt with careful fingers and sliding on his darker colored vest in familiar movements, entrancing. Will could imagine him doing this every morning of his old life, dressing in front of some mirror like a habit, likely comforting in familiarity as he donned his person's suit. It would be like that now if Will wasn't watching him carefully, if Will couldn't tell Hannibal knew eyes were watching him, occasionally breaths too quiet or the slight movement in his jaw betraying something like uncertainty, tells likely lost on anyone but Will. It was assuring to know this, that what stood between them on this night and this moment caused Hannibal this slight lapse in assurance, and at the same time, it only brought a lump in Will's throat that he swallowed down. Even so, Will sought to copy his skilled movements with less practiced ease in order to button his shirt and tuck it in, getting his vest secure too. This, too, fit snugly like he wasn't used to, but the fabric was soft on his skin, not uncomfortable.

He saw Hannibal reach for a bowtie, and before Will could speak, it seemed Hannibal already knew what he would say. "Have you ever tied one before?" Hannibal's eyes trained on Will's, warm brown and too open as they regarded Will, expecting his answer.

Will met his gaze and shook his head. "No, only standard ties, I'm afraid." He hadn't the occasion for one otherwise.

Hannibal nodded, and after a beat, offered as expected, "I can tie it for you, if you'd like. It is not difficult once you learn it."

"Thank you," Will had to agree and watched as Hannibal's fingers smoothed out the long slim fabric for too long of a moment before he took a single step closer, both of them already close at the foot of the bed.

Will fought an urge to hold his breath, instead breathing a small sound of surprise as Hannibal's face came so close and his hands reached out unexpectedly, where Will had expected the fabric of the bowtie, in order to touch Will's collar. It caused Hannibal to pause for only a short moment before they started to smooth the collar upwards. Of course that was needed, but it seemed Will had forgotten it. Hannibal's hands were gentle though and almost too delicately careful, even if they occasionally brushed against Will's neck, radiating warmth even through the fabric.

Soon the fabric was looped over Will's neck and Hannibal took either end in his hands. The doctor's gaze seemed determined to focus on his task and nowhere else with an intensity, his eyes trained downwards at the bowtie as he started the loop to tie it, his lips slightly pursed, and it felt as if that gaze was burning into his skin even then. Will's eyes focused on Hannibal's concentrated features, apparently free to do so with Hannibal's attention elsewhere, his own lips slightly parted as he tried to breathe evenly, feeling and hearing Hannibal's warm breath.

"You did not learn this before prom?" Hannibal's words were quiet and yet so close, the syllables low and gently accented as he maneuvered the fabric, brushing against Will's throat slightly as he made a loop.

Will swallowed and he felt Hannibal's fingers, impossibly, falter for a second before they continued, and Will might have examined that further had most else not been pushed away by proximity and warmth. "No, I just used a clip on." Will was at least grateful for the conversation, though it could hardly distract him entirely. "I don't think it worked well for me, honestly, with the cheap suit I rented… She left halfway through, anyway."

Will thought that the moment they were in now felt all too much like his second awkward teenaged and hormone-filled attempt to get ready with a date for prom, bubbling nerves and all, that he almost chuckled aloud. It would be that if it weren't for everything, if this didn't mean that much. If they weren't all each other had anymore, hadn't crawled through each other's minds and rearranged, made a home there permanently.

"Did she?" Hannibal replied, and his eyes looked up to Will for only a second to frown slightly, before he looked back to the knot he was working on. "That is quite rude."

Will had to chuckle then at Hannibal's words, though it was more of a breathy sound as Hannibal threaded his loop. "Well, there's no need to be offended. I attempted to dance and made… quite a fool of myself. She stormed away when I knocked over the entire punch table… It was actually mortifying, I hated prom more than I had before." He chuckled slightly again as Hannibal's gaze met his, distracting them both with the embarrassing memory, relieving some nerves and yet causing more to ache as Hannibal smiled gently at him, as if less amused and more endeared.

"That's unfortunate, though I suppose if she leaves you when you are undignified in such a way, then perhaps she would not benefit you anyway. A good dancing partner always assists their partner, movements belonging to both of them."

They had seen each other in the most undignified manner, sick and bandaging each other, hanging between life and death for weeks. Will couldn't help but think of Hannibal's words in that way. "It's alright, it was just a high school crush. I didn't want to be there anyway, the music was terrible."

Hannibal finally closed the tie around Will's throat, finished with the knot and Will swallowed reflexively, the bowtie secure around his neck, not too tight, and yet Hannibal's fingers, straightening it before smoothing his collar down weighted more, nearly suffocating his breathing.

"I hope you will enjoy the music tonight more then." With a stray fixing of a wrinkle in Will's vest at the shoulder, Hannibal looked up to Will's eyes again. "It's finished... Not too difficult, you see?" he remarked, as if Will had even been watching how Hannibal made the knot at all.

"Yes," Will agreed nonetheless, still too close to the other man. "It wasn't."

Hannibal finally stepped away, leaving Will's gut with an odd empty feeling as he took his own bowtie to wrap around his neck and start tying, his movements much easier there. Less distracted, the back of Will's mind suggested, impossibly.

"It's similar in this angle," Hannibal said as Will's eyes actually attempted to see the way the knot was done this time, though it was too quickly.

Will was about to move to grab his jacket next in order to distract himself, when he saw that Hannibal was already reaching for a bag on the floor and extracting two small velvet boxes, and suddenly, Will was certain that his heart rate had spiked significantly.

"Cufflinks first," Hannibal said, and Will didn't know whether he should be relieved or not when he opened one of the boxes to reveal two small diamonds in the box, simple but elegant, cufflinks as promised.

He held out his arm before Hannibal could say anything further, and he wordlessly took Will's offered sleeve, affixing the object which Will honestly did not see the point in entirely, a simple decoration. Then again, the entire look was a mask, an image to be evoked and a character to inhabit, for them now more than anyone.

"Three carat diamonds," Hannibal explained. Will had only gotten half of a carat for Molly.

It was less intimate than the tie even though he could still feel the warmth of Hannibal's fingers, bringing up his other arm for the same treatment, watching Hannibal's face again, the sharpness in his features and the softness hidden in his expression.

He'd attached his own easily while Will reached for his dark suit jacket again, admiring the color, so dark blue that it was closer to black, and he ran his fingers along sturdy folds before he put it on, smoothing down the front as best he could, buttoning the single button, fitting him snugly, as the rest had.

Hannibal putting on his own jacket and smoothing the edges, Will stepped over to the mirror to look at himself there, surprised as his reflection blinked back at him. It was himself as he'd seen in the mirror after his shower, though that person was different than the one before the fall. He stood straight and thought he looked nearly elegant. Almost looking the part with the expensive clothing, admittedly beautiful and suiting his skin and his eyes, fitting his form well, thanks to Hannibal. He could look a husband to cling onto at the opera, if it weren't for the features of his face and the long scar, his hair still disarrayed from when he'd gotten out of the shower.

Will ran his hands through it to attempt to tame the slightly dampened curls as he felt Hannibal come up beside him in front of the mirror.

"It's not that bad actually," he told him, absently fiddling with his bowtie to straighten it. "I almost clean up well."

He watched Hannibal's face in the mirror as his eyes traced the lines of Will's reflection, and Will suddenly felt more bare than he had in only his towel, the clothing that was meant to be armor having the opposite effect.

"You look… exceptionally beautiful, Will. Entirely so." Hannibal told him, tone as soft as the silk of his clothing, and it would be as if he were admiring his favorite piece of art, had his gaze not been admiring Will just as softly before he ducked his head away from. "There's no need to sell yourself short."

"… As do you," Will breathed quietly in return, and of course Hannibal did.

It reminded Will of how Hannibal looked before all this, the suit tailored and protecting him, hiding what was underneath his image of personality in expensive fabrics, scars and darkness and humanity, all of which Will knew too well. He fit the part perfectly though, elegant as he'd ever been as Will watched him smooth down his neatly combed hair, only a bit longer, a bit more grey hinting the strands, the only visible difference aside from a small line of a scar across his cheekbone and under his chin. Even as Will was reminded how much of the old Hannibal he looked like now, he seemed to only look more unlike him because of it. Changed, as they'd done to each other. As they'd hurt, forgiven and healed each other in another life.

"Thank you," Hannibal murmured quietly after a beat of silence, both of them looking back in the mirror. "I could help you with your hair if you'd like, put it back, though I believe it suits you this way."

Will ran his hand over his slight stubble, broken where his scar dipped into the area, thinking he might grow more of a beard sometime to hide it further. "I'd prefer to leave it this way," Will agreed out of simplicity and the fact that he wasn't certain he could handle Hannibal's hands brushing through his hair.

He saw Hannibal nod and duck away and Will took a brush from the dresser and pushed his hair back slightly, just so it didn't look as if he'd just rolled out of bed, neat enough as his face was already disfigured.

He turned to see Hannibal fidgeting with one of two, velvet boxes, the other resting on the bed.

Will felt his heart jump up into his throat and he swallowed, unable to dislodge the lump. Of course this would need to happen, they would need rings. Of course. Will had known it since Hannibal had said it, had been anticipating the event or rather ignoring it.

How else could they be married?

Hannibal turned to him as he still looked to the box, and Will's fiddled with one of his sleeve ends, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands.

"I had picked them out for us, as seemed appropriate…"

Before Will had agreed to go to the opera.

Will nodded to assure Hannibal and moved up in front of him to look down at the box too.

Will could imagine this in other settings, Hannibal kneeling down in front of him upon the Eiffel tower, after a romantic dinner out in the city or in their own kitchen, and he wondered if Hannibal thought of those other scenarios too, ones unlike this one.

Then it was difficult to concentrate on those flashes of thought as Hannibal was kneeling then, right there in front of him, his knees bending.

The hesitation, everything, couldn't be more painfully clear in Hannibal's face, as exposed and vulnerable to Will as he had been upon that cliff, his face open and raw as he glanced up at Will, and Will was unable to move, frozen as it was directed upon him.

In a split second, Hannibal faltered further as he must have found Will's expression, his legs moving, almost about to raise himself back upwards as if he'd realized an error, not knowing if it could still be corrected.

No, no, that wasn't right. It wasn't an error.

Will moved and reached out, touching Hannibal's shoulder and stopping him from his half-aborted attempt to stand up.

"It's alright," Will said, words sticking but trying to assure Hannibal even if he himself couldn't breathe then, and it wasn't alright.

Hannibal let out a long breath at the touch, settling back down on one knee, his eyes studying Will, seeming to see right through him.

He watched Hannibal open the ring box and then, it wasn't anything like Will expected, hitting him in the chest with a sudden force.

It wasn't encrusted with any diamonds, nor was it made of expensive gold or platinum with intricate designs, not extravagant in any manner, not for display, not one for posing as a husband at an Opera in Paris.

It was a simple silver band, shining and elegant perhaps, in its simplicity, practical. It wasn't something Will expected Hannibal to choose. It seemed more like something Will himself might choose. Something that fit easily on the finger, able to be worn in and yet durable. Nothing too valuable that couldn't be replaced if one lost it, but still something with meaning, to wear all the time, not just for the public.

This made it real even if it wasn't. It was all too real with that ring between Hannibal's fingers. The ache buried deep inside Will burned, alive and never stronger.

Will stared for a moment in Hannibal's eyes, his lips parted in awe and question before Hannibal looked down again, and Will realized he must be expecting his hand.

Holding out his left hand after a moment, Hannibal took it gently in his own, handling it as if it were delicate thing worthy of being held. He smoothed out Will's fingers, spreading them and then slipping the ring on his finger easily, a perfect fit.

It felt heavy on his finger and warm from Hannibal's fingers as they lingered to observe it.

Will knew with clarity then that he didn't want to take it off after this. He didn't know if he could ever take it off.

His fingers curled slightly over Hannibal's and he swallowed thickly before he spoke. "Thank you, Hannibal. It's… it's beautiful," he decided.

He felt Hannibal breath out, curling his fingers over Will's slightly in return. "It is."

When Hannibal's touch left his hand, and he moved to get back up on his feet, Will went to the bed to pick up the other velvet box, before Hannibal could take it. It wouldn't feel right for him not to give it to Hannibal after the man had just knelt in front of him.

He opened the box in order to take out the ring, just the same as the other one, heavy and smooth between his fingers. When he looked up, Hannibal stood beside him.

"Come here," Will spoke quietly and beckoned him closer and he obliged, taking another step towards Will.

Will reached out for Hannibal's side to take his hand, holding it in front of him, slightly larger, long elegant fingers that Will observed as he simply felt them for a moment, running his fingers along the warm skin, memorizing it as he felt Hannibal's soft breaths close to him.

He held Hannibal's palm towards him and then moved to slide the ring onto the appropriate finger, staring down at his hand like that for too long of a time after that.

Too real.

"We will never be technically married." The words were out before he could do anything about them, the thought voicing itself, even if it was unnecessary.

Hannibal's eyes left their still touching hands in order to look at Will. "No, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham will never be legally married," he agreed. "But that would just be a legal arrangement, a piece of paper." One of Hannibal's fingers fidgeted to brush against Will's as he paused. "The commitment related to marriage is not found in legalities."

That answer also was too real and Will swallowed as he simply stared at Hannibal for a moment.

"Practically, our aliases will be married legally as far as anyone knows," Hannibal said quietly after the beat of silence, his jaw clenching slightly.

There it was then, their identities. It felt real and yet…

"I have identification for you." Then Hannibal's hand retracted and he moved back to his bags, extracting a wallet and then a card for Will.

Taking it, Will examined the name briefly. Alec Mikkelsen. "Thank you," he murmured.

"I have been Andrius Mikkelsen," Hannibal informed Will.

Will simply nodded, not wanting to say too much or too little, his thoughts still settling in his mind.

He watched distantly as Hannibal collected a few more things silently, putting away his wallet in his pocket and turning back to Will, straightening the end of his jacket.

Looking at him again, Will suddenly thought that he looked like his husband. He was Alec's husband.

"We should leave soon so we are not late, I would like to be there by six o'clock."

Will watched him lead the way, moving to step after him so they could get to the car, his fingers rolling the ring around his finger, an absent gesture. The ring still felt heavy there, fitting too easily like it belonged.