Will thinks back to everything Hannibal has done to him. The bad...and the good.

*SEASON ONE SPOILERS*

One shot.

Rated T-M: Hannigram, blood, death, betrayal (please PM me with any complaint or suggestion of the rating, for it can be easily changed. For now, it will stay M)

Will sat on the small cot that jutted from the wall in the claustrophobic cell that he had been wrongly put in. He stared, uninterested, at his intertwined fingers; by now he had every fiber of his skin memorized - there was nothing else to watch.

He sat with his memories taunting him, every injustice that had been brought against him, every tiny thing that had happened to him, every person involved.

One person in particular ridiculed him to no end.

Hannibal Lecter.

The friendly attire, the smiles and laughs, and their talks. Every moment was like a knife in his brain. And his heart. Every memory of them together tore at his chest, if he thought any more of it he would have no heart left.

But still he thought of that man.

That monster.

At first, he hadn't thought of it - he hadn't thought of the times Hannibal had so sweetly crafted delectable meals for the two of them to share. When it finally hit him Will had emptied his stomach and annoyed the cleaning staff.

Almost all of the meat Hannibal had served him.

Human people.

Innocent.

Human.

Life.

It disgusted Will to no end, that Hannibal had fed his victims to unsuspecting friends. To himself.

And thoughts of those meals only led to tears.

Tears over the betrayal done upon him.

During the first couple of nights he had been imprisoned, Will silently cried, biting the old, moth ball pillow to keep the guards from hearing him. They reminded Will of the times he had driven to Hannibal's apartment in the dead of night; the way he didn't even have to knock for Hannibal to open the door, greeting him with a cup of wine and that small smile he had on occasion.

But Will's tears had dried up. No longer could he cry over the past.

He could only think.

The first time he had shown up at Hannibal's door, the other man had been unsuspecting of Will's intentions. Hell, Will didn't know his own intentions - he had only felt the centuries old instinct to go to Hannibal. Hannibal had opened the door in his silk pajamas and blue robe, confused with eyes still clouded in sleep. He had opened his door to Will the moment he saw him and, the second he had closed it, Will had jumped at him, his hands against the stubble on Hannibal's face, their lips against each other.

That night had been ecstasy to Will, a release of his daytime troubles.

After that night, Will had made it a habit to show up on Hannibal's doorstep.

And every night, Hannibal had let him enter, their lips against each other's before even the door could be closed.

Hannibal had been...domineering, something Will needed - a hand to guide him through what he was doing, lips to show him how to love.

Love.

Will couldn't help but scoff at that word.

It had been lust, not love, that pulled the two together. Or at least Will to Hannibal.

Will could only imagine what Hannibal's intentions had been during those nights; a deeper look at Will's subconscious, perhaps, or an easier way to grasp his mind in his hands and squeeze until he popped. The most reasonable explanation was the trust Hannibal had taken as his lips danced along every curve.

Will closed his eyes and imagined that first night.

Hannibal and cupped his cheek after Will had first attacked his lips, calming Will and guiding him backwards. He hadn't noticed being led down the hallway to Hannibal's bedroom, to his bed.

He had laid Will across the soft comforter and slowly tore away at his clothing, discarding them to the floor. He recalled his amazement at how such hard hands could be so soft and so gentle, how they knew where to ghost over his skin, where to press to make Will moan and cry out for more.

Hannibal's teeth had grazed his neck and now Will could only shiver at how easily Hannibal could have killed him by biting too hard or, when he had grasped Will's neck, how easily it would have been to choke the life from his body.

It was a wonder why he hadn't.

Because I was interesting, Will thought to himself, his head bowed into his hands. Or because I was useful. He had needed someone to blame, I was the only option. He couldn't kill me.

Only now could Will wish that he had killed him, lying in Hannibal's bed in pure ecstasy.

It would have been the best way to die.

Happy.

Clueless.

He heard the doors to the outside world open and many pairs of footsteps, mostly of the guards.

Someone was coming.

Will could only imagine who. He didn't raise to head as footsteps echoed the room. He didn't look up as the stopped outside of his cell.

"Hello, Will."

Even as a generic greeting, that voice hurt his head.

Taking a deep breath, Will looked up at the wall across from him, the green paint peeling from it's brick.

Slowly, he pushed himself into a standing position and took four steps to stand across from his visitor.

The monster.

The cannibal.

Their eyes met in and understanding stand off. They both knew that the other knew all of their secrets, all of their deadly truths.

"Hello, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal, his eyes staring straight through Will and into his mind, let, for the first time in what seemed like forever, the smallest, truest smile he had ever had show to Will.

It read:

William Graham.

I know you know what I am.

And I am so ever pleased.

Fin.

*For now, I'm going to leave it at the end of the first season because I am so heartbroken yet un-shocked at it's conclusion. I wish my fellow Fannibals a good luck with the Hannibal he-ate-us (hiatus)*