Jack Crawford "sneaked" into Hannibal Lecter's house. He didn't have a warrant, but he knew he couldn't get one, and he also knew that he had to find evidence to pin Lecter to a wall, regardless of the costs. Plus, he had reason to believe that Will Graham was in danger and that Hannibal had something to do with it.

When Jack walked into the kitchen, he found Hannibal dicing up meat with a steel knife.

"Hello, Jack... You're early." Hannibal said nonchalantly as he placed the knife down horizontally across a bowl of salad.

Jack gestured with his head at the meat. "Any chance you could tell me where that meat came from?"

"It came from a fish that was great at catching humans." Hannibal replied, twisting words that Will had likely said to Jack to fit his own design.

Jack understood what Hannibal was saying and reached to his holster to whip out his gun and avenge Will Graham, but then he stopped when he felt someone place the barrel of a different gun against his temple.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Jack." Will Graham himself said, standing beside Jack and still covered in blood from his final encounter with Alana Bloom. "Now put your hands up."

Jack cautiously raised his hands, watching a smile spread across Hannibal's mouth.
"Where is the meat really from, Will?" He asked calmly.

"It's from Abigail Hobbs." Will answered with a delirious degree of certainty.

"It's from Dr. Alana Bloom," Hannibal corrected him.

"You killed Dr. Bloom?" Jack asked.

"Using Will as the bait, yes. Will seems to make a very useful bait, wouldn't you say? He brought me Alana, and now he's brought me you, Jack."

Jack looked at Will, who tilted his head down in shame, out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry, Jack..." He said.

"Have you been bait this whole time?" Jack questioned.

"In a way, yes. But in his defense, he only just realized that yesterday night." Hannibal answered for his "bait."

"What happened last night?" Jack asked Hannibal, mainly just to stall for time.

In response to this question, Hannibal stared at Will, who didn't entirely understand the gesture.

"What?" He asked.

"Tell Jack what happened, Will."

Will, with Jack watching him, felt under pressure with both pairs of eyes on him, and so he ended up bursting into a fit of uncontrollable nervous laughter. He placed the back of the hand in which he held the gun against his mouth intentionally, letting Jack out of gunpoint.

Noticing this, Jack reached for his gun, and Hannibal reached for the knife.
As the two of them fought wildly, Will backed out of the room laughing hysterically before he finally slumped to the floor in the doorway and allowed himself to lay down on his back there, still laughing maniacally.

It wasn't long before Jack had his tie wrapped around Hannibal's throat and was choking him to death with it. He pulled against the ends of it tightly, Hannibal unable to escape, and as Hannibal fell limp in an unconscious state, he turned his head and looked at Will.

Will was now sitting up, watching with a mad look in his eyes, aiming his gun at Hannibal. He pulled the trigger, to which the gun spat out a pitiful "click."
He gasped, "Jack."

No more than two seconds later, Jack Crawford had a shard of glass stabbed into his neck, right through an artery, and he had to release Hannibal, lest the rest of his neck be ripped open. Taking his tie with him, he stumbled into the pantry, slamming the door behind him as Hannibal stood.

Grabbing two knives from the holder on the counter, Hannibal started ramming himself into the door to get to Jack.

"Dr. Lecter," Will spoke in a quiet voice, his throat hurting from laughing so much so abruptly.

Hannibal slammed into the door once more.

"Dr. Lecter."

Slam.

"Dr. Lecter!"

Slam.

"Hannibal!"

Hannibal stopped and turned to Will, looking about as much a mess as Will did in that moment.
"Yes, Will?"

"Just stop. Please, just... just stop. You've killed him, Hannibal. There's no point in finishing him off... He'll bleed out on his own. Just please, stop."

Hannibal looked Will over as if trying to determine whether or not he was worthy to make such demands.

"Please, Dr. Lecter... You've already killed everyone I've ever been able to rely on, everyone I've ever loved. Please stop, or else..."

"Or else what, Will?"

"Or else..." He couldn't think clearly enough to figure out what Hannibal would fear. He wasn't even sure if Hannibal feared anything.
In defeat, he hung his head. "I should've killed you when I had the chance..."

"You can't kill a kindred spirit, Will. Killing me would be like killing a part of yourself."

Will glared at him. "I want you dead, Dr. Lecter. I want to bathe in your blood. I just don't think I have the guts to be the one to spill it..."

"That's because you're afraid, Will. But you aren't a coward." Hannibal said, "You use fear to your advantage. I really do admire that about you, Will."

"I'm going to kill you." Will snarled.

"If it might make you feel at all better, by all means, try all you like."

Will stood and ripped the last knife from the holder on the counter as Hannibal calmly placed the two he held into the sink to his right.

For a moment, both of them were still, not counting the way Will eagerly spun the knife around in his grip.

His hands behind his back and chest pushed forward, Hannibal soon patiently asked, "Why are you hesitating? You do want to do this, don't you?"

"Oh, more than anything," Will answered in an excited way. He then lunged forward and grabbed Hannibal's displaced bangs, holding his head up, and placed the sharp edge of the knife against the taller man's throat, staring up at him, looking him right in the eyes.

Again, for a long moment, both remained as frozen as two statues.

"I..." Will breathed, his brow furrowing, eyes watering, and voice breaking. "I can't... Why can't I kill you...?"

Hannibal, returning Will's gaze with not even a slight trace of fear, replied, "Because you're not a killer, Will."

Will dropped the knife, which fell to the floor and stabbed into the wood in-between Hannibal's feet. In sync with it, Hannibal picked up a knife from the sink and sunk it into Will's stomach.

Stunned by the sudden turn of events, Will made a gagging noise and placed his hand over Hannibal's in a vain attempt to make sure he hadn't just been stabbed by the person he had spared moments before.

"Honestly, I've wanted to do this for a while, as well." Hannibal said as he twist the knife, causing Will to buck in pain; in response to this movement, Hannibal released the handle of the knife and pulled Will close, kissing him yet again.

Surprisingly, though maybe caused by some sort of subconscious reflex or delirium, Will raised his now-freshly-blood-covered hands to Hannibal's face, getting blood all over him but still returning the kiss, causing Hannibal to smile again as he did.

Shortly after, Will's hands dropped, and the rest of his body fell slack against Hannibal's.

The clock's hands had stalled.


A flight attendant wandered purposefully down the aisle of an airplane, carrying a tray of drinks.
"Champagne? Jus d'orange? Eau?" She repeated as she walked.

Suddenly, a hand came up beside her, and she looked down at the man who beckoned for her.

"Je vais prendre un verre de champagne, s'il vous plaît." He said. He wore a fancy suit, and in the window seat beside him, asleep with his head against the suited man's shoulder, was a sickly-looking guy with messy brown hair.

She handed the man his champagne, and then she asked, "Voulez-vous un oreiller pour lui, monsieur?"

"Non, merci. Je suis bien avec lui comme ça."

"D'accord, monsieur."
She decided to move on at that point, and when she turned to serve the other row, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that the suited man was now resting his head lovingly against the head of the pale, messy-haired man asleep in the window seat beside him. On the floor beside him, she saw that he had dropped a paper.

After placing the tray down on the cart for the moment, she walked over and picked up the paper. "Monsieur, vous avez fait tomber..."
Though she meant to hand it back on the spot, she found herself staring at it.

In her hands now was an amazing, finished pencil drawing of the man in the window seat, with a cursive signature on the bottom right corner that read, "Hannibal Lecter".