Chapter One
Will leans back in the reclining airline seat, closing his eyes and trying to still his beating heart. In his mind he can still feel blood coating his arms and neck, gluey and prisonlike, and he wonders why the stewardess and his fellow passengers do not scream at the gorey sight of him. He feels panic clawing at his throat and he tries to will it away, but it won't stop and oh god what if someone knows them what has he done-
Feeling like he's slowly suffocating, Will turns his head to look at the seat next to him. Hannibal is occupied with ordering two glasses of champagne ("Votre meilleur, s'il vous plaît") and doesn't even glance at Will, but just the sight of him seems to slow Will's sprinting pulse. Look at him, so calm and composed, liquid metal sitting in the airplane seat like it's a throne- nothing is wrong. Nothing will go wrong. They are in control of the situation.
Will closes his eyes for a moment and exhales through his nose, focusing on the sensations around him; the velvetlike felt upholstery of the chair, the faintly oppressive atmosphere of the cabin, the smells of travel and airplane food and the faintest hint of blood-
No.
Again he glances at Hannibal, hoping to somehow catch his eye without having to try and speak. Hannibal is staring at the seat in front of him, his expression completely unassuming and motionless. His hands are folded in his lap, and his head is leaning back, his eyes partially closed.
"You seem troubled, Will."
Will opens his mouth for a moment, then closes it again, resentment bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He feels belittled, but the bitterness dissipates as Hannibal glances at him through his peripheral vision.
"I'm having trouble reconciling the two realities we've been through today," he says finally, and even though he's calmed a bit, there's still a sour twist in his tone.
"That's to be expected, I think," Hannibal seems to be mulling over the events Will is describing as he speaks. "The transition can be a bit jarring."
"It..." Will glances around. Day is breaking outside the cabin windows, and everything inside seems to be coming across in tones of yellow and white. He squints. "It feels like the kickback of firing a rifle. Everything is too quiet."
"...but your ears still ring," Hannibal finishes. The majority of the passengers around them are asleep, but his voice is still low.
"My ears are ringing," Will says. Hannibal nods.
"When we land in Paris, we will have six hours to secure a position for ourselves before the airlines are alerted to our...status." Hannibal casually scans the aisles of the cabin for any stewards. He seems to be suppressing a slight grin. "They will have found Jack by now."
Will swallows.
The plan really went much more smoothly than he expected. Hannibal's aim was, as always, completely true, and they were able to slip away with very little commotion. Jack was dead before he hit the ground.
Will still isn't entirely sure that what is happening around him is real. He struggles to fully grasp what he- no, they- have done. Jack's body is currently slumped across Hannibal's dining table, and he, Will, played an explicit role in the series of events that led to it being there. The details of the event, when he pictures them in his mind's eye, seem vague and transparent, as if he could just as easily have aided Jack in doing the same to Hannibal. Both possibilities seem just as likely.
And yet, here he is.
The stewardess returns with their champagne. Hannibal thanks her in murmured French, and Will manages a stiff jerk of the head by way of gratitude. He tries not to grip the glass too tightly, and takes a sip in an effort to calm his racing thoughts. Hannibal is completely absorbed in his champagne, raising the flute to his lips as if it is the real reason he boarded this flight in the first place. Will hates him for it.
When the stewardess's form has receded into the economy section of the plane, Will drains his glass and sighs.
"So who do we have to kill to acquire our new living arrangements?"
Hannibal glances at Will for a brief moment, trying to determine whether or not he's joking. He eventually deigns to answer seriously.
"No one, at the moment," he says, taking another agonizingly small sip of champagne. "I own an apartment in the 6th Arrondissement."
"Of course you do," Will says. Hannibal ignores this.
"We should be able to stay there for a few weeks, if we are lucky," he continues. "After that, however, we will have to move house."
"Seems like a good length for a honeymoon," Will leans back in his chair and glances out the window. He doesn't quite want to see Hannibal's expression. He hears Hannibal resume his previous statuesque position of folded hands and blank expressions, and closes his eyes. He has seven hours and twenty-four minutes before he is fully thrust into Hannibal's world, as it were. Just a few hours until any guise of stability he might have had in his life is whisked away. A few precious, untouchable moments before he is completely at the mercy of the man who might've left him for dead, or worse. Seven hours and twenty-three minutes of peace.
xxxxx
"Are you done yet?" Will calls, not quite able to bring himself to move. He sits in a chair in the respectable living room of Hannibal's Paris apartment, his hands on his knees, his ears full of the sounds of the shower. They'd both gotten most of the blood off while still in Baltimore, and Hannibal had thoughtfully provided a change of clothes for each of them following the aftermath of Jack's last supper, but Will knows neither of them feel completely clean- they simply hadn't had the time. Now Hannibal is in the shower, and Will is beginning to wonder if he'll ever get out. Will can feel his skin crawling- he wants to wipe away every trace of what had happened in Hannibal's house in Baltimore. He wants to start fresh, away from any memory of that time and before. He wants Hannibal to help him forget.
"There is soap in the cupboard over the sink, Will," Will looks up to see that Hannibal has already moved from the bathroom into the bedroom without him noticing, leaving a trail of wet footprints over the hardwood floors. He stands up and crosses the living room, approaching the door to the bathroom at the far end of room. The bathroom is still humid, and the moisture clings to his hair and skin, leaving him feeling even more trapped than before. He finds a second towel already laid out for him and the shower still running.
The bathroom is one of the most quintessentially "Hannibal" things Will has ever seen, bar a fully prepared dinner table. The entire room is done in muted golds, which contrast and complement the earth tones of the living room and foyer. The shower takes up a full half of the floor space, with a frosted glass panel separating the toiletries from the bathing area. All of the faucets and piping are elegant, modern brass. Will finds the aforementioned soap exactly where Hannibal said it would be, and steps into the shower after leaving his clothes in a small bin alongside what he recognizes as Hannibal's suit- presumably both will be burned. He knows he won't miss them.
The day has been surprisingly uneventful- Will isn't quite sure what he expected, but he and Hannibal transitioned peacefully from the airport to the apartment via a cab and went about their routine as planned. No hurried getaway car, no paranoid shutting of the curtains wherever they went, no hushed conversations or hidden weapons. They may as well have been on a tranquil vacation. He feels at ease in his new surroundings, and it unnerves him greatly.
Will watches the water go down the drain, and notices a few straggling flakes of dried blood streaming off of his body along with it. It's probably Jack's, he realizes with slight revulsion. The idea of remnants of Baltimore following him to this quiet place cause him to shudder involuntarily; it's almost as if he can hear K9 units picking up the scent trail back at the Washington International. After a few moments, the water runs clear, and Will shuts off the faucets and exits the shower.
The living room is empty, so Will makes his way into the bedroom to find Hannibal already fully dressed. He is buttoning his sleeves at the wrist in front of a mirror that faces the bed, and he doesn't look up when Will enters. However, Will knows that he sees him in the mirror by the way his expression changes.
"You seem calmer, Will," Hannibal says. "Have you reconciled our two realities?"
"I feel more at ease being in a country where the federal government isn't concerned with my existence," Will concedes. "Yet."
"Our existence," Hannibal turns to face Will, who realizes that he is still wearing nothing but the towel around his waist. "We are no longer separate entities. Not in the eyes of the law, or of each other."
"Is that so?" Will raises his eyebrows.
"I think so," Hannibal says. He tosses Will a button down shirt and a pair of pants. "Killing Jack was the final act in leaving behind your previous self. You have reached a higher plane."
"Your plane, you mean," Will dresses while Hannibal respectfully turns away. There is a pause. Hannibal seems amused by Will's words.
"Yes," he says after a moment, turning to find Will almost finished with buttoning his shirt.
"Then this was the ultimate goal," Will says, adjusting his collar.
"Yes."
"This is what you wanted for me," Hannibal turns at Will's statement, seeming surprised and almost offended. "What you wanted to happen to me."
"This is what I wanted for us. Nothing happened to you, Will. You became."
Will is silent. He sits on the edge of the bed, processing the conversation. The words turn over in his mind, falling into place alongside the events of the previous evening and everything leading up to it. He became. And so he becomes.