Notes: Things are about to get a whole lot darker. Enjoy.
Will woke up with a dry mouth and a headache. He gripped the sheets as he tried to muddle his way through the torrent of thoughts that overwhelmed him.
Hannibal had drugged him.
He felt sick, but the moment passed, and then the tears started to burn at his eyes.
Hannibal had undressed him and put a pair of pyjamas on him before tucking him up in bed. The whole thing was horrifying and absurd. How could Hannibal go from drugging his lover so that he could sneak off to commit a murder, to delicately drawing the covers up to Will's chin?
It was light outside. Morning. That meant that Bedelia Du Maurier was dead.
Will had failed, and Hannibal had failed Will.
When the door swung open and Hannibal strolled in, looking calm and handsome in his shirt and waistcoat and carrying a tray laden with breakfast, Will wondered if he was too ill to sit up and punch him.
He was. He could barely drag himself into a sitting position.
"I have brought you some coffee and some breakfast," Hannibal said gently, setting the tray down. "I have also brought you some pills which will make you feel better."
"You drugged me," Will managed to choke out, his throat hoarse. "Perhaps it was premature, but I thought we were past that sort of thing."
Hannibal licked his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking out as he considered his answer.
"I assume you are angry, then," he said.
"Angry doesn't come close, Hannibal," Will snarled. "How can I trust you again?"
"I did what I thought was best for us all," Hannibal replied, frowning slightly.
"You can't make decisions on my behalf," Will retorted.
Hannibal sat down on the bed, reaching out for Will's hand, but Will snatched it away as firmly as he could. The worst thing was that Hannibal looked so handsome this morning, so soft and loving in his face. No wonder he had managed to get away with being a serial killer for so long.
"So she's dead then?" Will asked. "Is she what I've got on my plate?"
"Don't be crude," Hannibal replied. He was frowning. "As it happens, she was not at home. Perhaps you should be more concerned about the fact that there is a woman who is free with the knowledge of what I am."
"Don't be manipulative. I am concerned about that."
Hannibal frowned. "Don't be angry."
Will glared at him. "The point of a relationship is that people make decisions together. You would rather just knock me out than listen to my opinion."
"There is no compromise in a situation like this."
"Perhaps not, but you could at least give me enough respect to actually listen to me."
Hannibal faltered. His frown deepened. "I apologise," he said, and it was the most sincere apology Will had ever heard from him. "Really. But please tell me you understand why I did it."
Will gritted his teeth. "I do," he conceded reluctantly.
Hannibal reached out to touch Will's cheek, gently, his fingers ghosting over the skin. Will could have cringed away but he didn't want to.
"Please take these pills," Hannibal said, offering Will a small paper cup.
Will resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment and popped them in his mouth, washing them down with a mouthful of coffee.
"I must go out," Hannibal murmured.
"To find Bedelia Du Maurier?"
Hannibal smiled very softly. "I am taking Abigail to the library," he said, a trace of smugness in the words.
Will scowled at him, then sighed, leaning into his fingers. "One day you're going to have to stop being this way," he said.
"Tell me you forgive me," Hannibal said, leaning forward.
"I categorically do not forgive you," Will replied.
Hannibal kissed him, gently and tenderly. Will forgot everything for a moment and gave into the kiss. He was relieved that Bedelia Du Maurier was still alive. He was relieved that Hannibal hadn't killed an innocent woman.
"I love you," Hannibal said, drawing back. "Stay in bed until you feel better."
Will made a grumpy noise in return.
When he woke up several hours later, he wondered if Hannibal had made him take sleeping pills. The idea almost made him laugh. He felt much better, much clearer and brighter. He lay still in bed, breathing in the wonderful shared scent of the sheets.
Things would be okay. He would ask Hannibal to persuade Bedelia Du Maurier to leave town, or perhaps they could leave.
He heard a rattle downstairs and knew that there was somebody in the house who shouldn't be.
Scrabbling out of bed, he grabbed his pistol out of the top drawer and staggered out to the hall. He wondered if it was Hannibal or Abigail, but something about that felt wrong, and he knew somebody had broken in.
He crept down the stairs, forcing himself to stay calm.
She was in the kitchen, her back to Will, gloved hands rifling through a stack of recipe books and notepads. Her pretty face was twisted in concentration, and she was scowling.
"Freddie," Will said.
She jumped at the voice, turned her head to him. Her expression was startled and scared. Will had pointed the gun at her without thinking about it, and her eyes flickered between it and his face.
"What are you doing?" Will asked, frowning. He didn't understand. "We let you in here freely, to question us. You don't need to break in and start going through our things." He had a bad feeling, pounding through his veins and up into his head. "That's quite rude, Freddie."
Freddie hesitated. "Hannibal's psychiatrist came to see me about an hour ago to tell me that Abigail was in danger."
Will considered playing dumb, but Freddie's intelligent eyes told him that was a waste of time. "She came to see me, too."
"She told me," Freddie said. "She also told me that you didn't seem too fazed about the fact that she thinks your boyfriend is a murderer."
"So you've drawn your own conclusions?"
Freddie looked momentarily sad. "I wanted to be wrong, Will."
Will tightened his grip on the gun. All he knew was that he couldn't let her leave. He felt oddly calm with this information.
"I'm not wrong, though, am I?"
"Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper," Will told her. No going back now.
He felt an indescribable sense of elation as her face faltered. Was he merely reflecting Hannibal's personality or did this give him joy too?
"Why did you break in? Didn't you see my car outside?"
"I did," Freddie said. "I knocked. There was no answer."
"Why did Bedelia Du Maurier come to you?" Will asked.
"Because I care about Abigail."
"And clearly you care about her so much that your first thought was to come here and find evidence you could publish," Will said.
"I do care about her. I certainly care about her more than you-"
Will shot her. The gun exploded with terrifying ease in his hand, three times.
One bullet grazed her leg. The second hit her shoulder. The third slammed into her neck.
Freddie Lounds crumpled to the floor, her life snuffed out.
Will dropped the gun. His hands were startlingly still, not shaking. He went to her, kneeling down in the blood and cradling her body. Her eyes were still open, and for a moment her lips moved. Blood gurgled from them.
He closed her eyes, unable to stand them staring at him. The strange sense of calm remained with him, and he sat basking in it for a while. He was covered in her blood, but he found that he didn't mind.
It took about twenty minutes for him to crash back into reality.
This was Freddie Lounds. They weren't friends, no, but he knew her. She was a complex character, but essentially good. She didn't deserve to die, not according to the code he had tried to enforce on Hannibal.
Abigail cared about her. Abigail would be horrified by this.
He had killed her because it was the easiest solution.
He was turning into Hannibal.
He was shaking when he heard the front door open. He heard Hannibal calling for him, but he couldn't form words to reply.
Hannibal walked past the kitchen on his way to the stairs, presumably to go see Will in bed, but he must have caught sight of the red out of the corner of his eye. He froze, then turned to look.
Will wondered what it looked like to Hannibal; Will sat cradling Freddie's dead body his pyjamas, blood everywhere and a gun abandoned on the floor.
Hannibal approached slowly, staring at Will. He was still wearing his coat and gloves.
"Will Graham," he said, a reverential look in his eyes.
"Help me, Hannibal," Will begged.