"Please, Hannibal. Please... Tell me it's not true." Will gasped out, his voice thick with so many emotions that he couldn't even begin to place them. "Hannibal," He croaked his name as if it were a lifeline, as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity.
Hannibal hadn't looked up when Will barged into his office - storming in with an oddly hesitant step, as if he was simultaneously determined to enter and completely terrified at what he might find - but at the slight break in Will's voice, he finally lifted his head, his eyes observing Will with a rather blank expression. A fresh wave of sweat assaulted his nostrils from the direction of the man in front of him. Will usually smelled faintly of sweat - and grass and dogs and fresh air - but today the smell was almost overpowering. He knew Will only sweated this much when he was incredibly agitated. Even without the smell, however, he would be able to tell that there was something wrong with him. The man standing in front of him wouldn't look amiss in a ward of a mental hospital. His clothes hung limply off of him, crinkled and stained from being worn for several days straight. The stubble on Will's chin was more prominent than usual, heading towards a full beard. His hair was unkempt and messy from wind and sweat. And his eyes... Hannibal was sure he had never seen eyes with such dark circles under them. The dark rings - hinting at even less sleep than usual - served to accentuate his pained, blood-shot eyes.
The eyes in question were darting about Hannibal's office desperately, as if Will believed that if he didn't take in any of his surroundings, then the situation might not be real. He stood rigidly, his slightly shaking hands nervously fiddling with his coat pockets, occasionally stealing touches at his hip, where Hannibal knew he kept his gun, holstered and ready. Taking a deep breath, Hannibal stood slowly, his hands raised at his hips in a gesture of compliance.
"Will. How are you?" Hannibal said, his voice carrying its usual soothing quality. He would be calm through this. It would not do to lose his composure over something as trivial as this. Stepping forward, he quelled the feeling in his gut that disagreed with his assessment of the situation as "trivial". Will froze. Whether at his answer or at his movement, Hannibal was unsure. Perhaps both. "S-stop it! You know what i mean, Hannibal. Don't play games with me. It... Tell me the truth!"
Hannibal paused in his movement, his hands meeting behind his back in a complaisant gesture. "I'm sorry, Will. You will have to be more specific." He leaned backwards slightly, so that he was resting his weight gently on his desk. Normally, he would not permit this show of remissness, but he thought it best to try and calm Will down. Showing Hannibal relaxed might help soothe him somewhat.
Will glanced up sharply, a look of pain running briefly across his face. He sucked in a deep breath. "Don't pretend to be oblivious, Hannibal!" He stood straighter, seeming to gather his courage. "I'm asking whether you're the Chesapeake Ripper! Whether you're a-a murderer. Whether or not you've been lying to us, lying to me this whole time. I wouldn't... but the evidence, Hannibal, it points to you." His sudden confidence vanished as quickly as it came. "I...Please...I need the truth." He looked up then, and Hannibal was struck with the intensity of his gaze. He was looking at Hannibal, straight into his eyes, with a mixture of intense grief and pain and reckless hope and denial. Hannibal found his plan to remain aloof failing him momentarily. He had tried - hard - to remain detached from this man. Will hadn't technically been a patient, so he had found his normal patient-doctor demeanor to be failing him. Truthfully, he hadn't known how to react to this man that had been thrust upon him. He was... interesting, to say the least. Hannibal had wondered, at first, whether the ease at which Will seamed to have towards emphasizing with serial killers might be able to be morphed into something else, but had realized that that would be unlikely after getting to know the man. He had a strict set of morals. His actions haunted his nightmares. He took in stray dogs to fill the hole left by his loneliness. Hardly the marks of a ruthless killer. Even then, when the hope that Will might have someday been able to be let in on his secret had vanished, he had not left. He could no longer pretend to not be invested. Will and he... had become friends. If a further truth were to be admitted, Hannibal had had less than exemplary experience in the matters of friendship. His acquaintances, while usually fairly friendly, had been just that; acquaintances. He was puzzled by Will. He did not know how to act with him - someone who seemed to genuinely enjoy Hannibal's company. Regardless, he thought to himself, it no longer mattered. It would seem Will had discovered his secret.
He had known it would happen eventually. Nothing could stay secret forever. He knew that. However, he had hoped that his charade would last a little longer than it had. He had wanted more time to study Will, to play with Jack Crawford and the rest of the idiots at the FBI. He had enjoyed taunting them, teasing them with their failures to catch him, all the while hiding under their noses, the unsuspecting, good, Doctor Lecter. Occasionally even helping in the investigation. That was the most fun. Knowing that a large amount of the leeway they were making on the cases was due to him, the very man they were hunting for. But hurting Will would not be a pleasant experience. He did not usually feel remorse at hurting people. But, of course, Will was a special case.
His calm, collected denial died on his lips as he took in the pleading expression in his friend's eyes. Hannibal sighed and sagged slightly against his desk, suddenly the one unable to meet Will's eyes for a change.
"I'm sorry to cause you pain, Will. It was not my intention." He said instead. He forced himself to look up again, readying himself to take in the repulsed expression that would be in Will's eyes. When he saw his face however, it did not look repulsed. Or angry. Or hurt. It looked... dead. Hannibal felt something inside him clench uncomfortably when he noticed his expression. An unusual reaction, for him. He wasn't used to feeling uncomfortable. "Will?" He said, speaking quietly. "I regret having to tell you this, Will. I do. But it would seem you've uncovered my secret." He perched straighter, moving forwards ever so slightly, removing himself from his desk.
Will had become completely still, not even his eyes moving from their fixed spot on Hannibal's left shoulder. After a moment, his mouth opened slowly. "It was you... This whole time, we've been coming to you for help, and you've been the killer, this whole time." His voice chipped slightly. Will was frozen no more. He straightened up, his arms coming to rest across his chest defensively, then falling down at his sides, his hands clenched into fists. Anger replaced his previously blank expression. A furious rage, mixed in with horror and betrayal. "We trusted you! I trusted you!" Will shouted, his voice loud and shaking slightly. "You're a murderer! A nutjob! A cannibal! What - Why? Why would you do it?! What kind of crazy does a person have to be to ruthlessly butcher and eat people? And then get mixed up in the FBI case? Why would you do it?! I thought-" He broke off, his voice breaking . He looked down at the floor for several moments, then, appearing to reign in his bravery, he looked up at Hannibal, meeting his eyes again. "I thought you were my friend." He said quietly, his voice unusually devoid of emotion. He looked straight in front of him, towards Hannibal's midriff, his eyes not seeing.
Hannibal took a step forward. "I am your friend, Will." He moved closer to Will, deciding to take a chance. "This doesn't have to be the end of our friendship. You could help me." Hannibal said, his voice becoming slightly more urgent. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Will could become like him. This might not have to be it. Perhaps-
"No." Will said quietly. "I could never be like you." He spoke coldly, but without malice. As if he was simply stating a fact. Hannibal collected himself immediately.
"Of course."
They stood silently for a minute, neither of them moving or speaking. Surprisingly for Hannibal, Will was the one to break the silence.
"I don't think i can kill you, Doctor Lecter." He stated. "I couldn't shoot you and live with myself afterwards. It's hard enough to kill someone i don't really know. I don't think i'd be able to pull the trigger on you."
Silence met his statement.
Hannibal had frozen, his calm facade slipping somewhat. He stared at Will's slumped figure for several moments, but Will either didn't notice or didn't care.
This was... unexpected. He had assumed Will would try to kill him. He had killed Garret Jacob Hobbs and the impostor Gideon. He had expected at least a fight. Will seemed to be taking it rather... oddly. He hadn't shot him. He hadn't even tried to threaten him. It was unnerving.
"Will..." Hannibal murmured.
He looked up then.
His eyes once again wore their previous dead expression. "Doctor Lecter." He matched evenly. Silence resumed again for several minutes. It was broken once again by Will. "Just... Tell me. Did you... Do you feel any remorse for... for killing those people?" He asked, his slight nervousness portrayed only in the hesitancy of his voice.
Hannibal considered his question. He had regretted a few of his kills. But they were solely the ones which had caused him the most trouble, or had given him the most difficulty. He had came close to being discovered once or twice in the past. But he knew that that wasn't what Will was asking. He considered lying to him for a moment. It would make Will feel better, he knew, if only slightly, but he decided against it. There was no point in lying now.
"No." He said evenly, and without shame. Will nodded quickly, as if he had expected (if not wanted) the answer. "Okay." He said, after a moment of silence. "Okay."
He stood straight once again. His air had become determined and resigned. "Right then. Well. What now?" He asked, his voice betraying none of his emotions. Hannibal considered. And started pacing. "I presume Jack does not know of what you have discovered, or else he and a band of special agents with guns would be breaking down my door about now. Alana would not have let you come if she knew, so i am going to assume that you came alone, and told no one. That is best." He stopped pacing, and turned to face Will. He had taken a seat, sitting silently with his back to Hannibal. He looked at the man who had somehow become his friend, and, using all his might to squash the feeling in his stomach, came to a decision. "I will leave. Leave the country, change my identity, start a new life." He declared. He took a breath, and strode over to Will, standing behind where the man was sitting. He could hear his breathing. It was surprisingly quiet and calm. Will's voice rasped a moment later, sounding more like himself than he had since he had entered Hannibal's office earlier that evening. "Yes. You're leaving." He huffed out a breath, his head bowing forward slightly. He swallowed thickly. "Ah, Doctor. It's been...Well. Goodbye... Hannibal." He said, his voice hitching lightly.
Hannibal found that there was some sort of lump in his throat, and cleared it profusely before speaking. "Yes, Will. It's been... Quite remarkable." That was one way to summarize their odd relationship, he thought absently. He tried not to imagine life after this. The loneliness. It would be difficult at first, he imagined. But he would cope, he knew. Eventually, he would be fine. Even without Will. "Goodbye, my friend. " He murmured. He reached up, resting his hand gently on Will's shoulder. He stepped forward lightly, just enough to be able to see Will's eyes - raised up to meet his for the third and final time that night - and to see the sad, resigned, knowing look in them. And then, their eyes never leaving the other's, his hands reached up to his friend's jaw and twisted, dragging the life out of his friend with a movement of his hands and a snap of his neck.