Hannibal, you fool! You aloud yourself to get roped up in the possibility of having a true friend! The impossibility of it all! You complete and utter fool. You believed him and you knew the risks, every single one of them and yet here you are…feeling like one of your gutted fish. Perhaps you should have your own guts inhabiting your fridge.

The smell lingered in the air as Will rounded the table towards Hannibal's library.

Will had done all the implications, had made all the indirect promises and yet here he was, Freddie Lounds all over him, the scent that God-forsaken woman wore. Her smug face came to mind whenever he smelled something similar. He hated her with a firey passion now more than ever for she was part of his entrapment.

This could only mean one thing…

The FBI knew, Jack knew…

Alana knew.

Hannibal's heart leapt suddenly and without warning, he felt himself lean forward in its momentary agony, trying to console itself by using his own body as a buffer but Hannibal was a poor advocate for such comfort for the feeling was too knew for him to deal with.

He watched in silence as Will went about reading certain books and taking the liberty of throwing them into the fire.

Only an hour or so before, Will had convinced him to come clean to Jack, merely for the sake of ironically being a good friend, to present Jack with clarity such as he had experienced few times before. He would then run for the hills. Hannibal in turn had tried to convince Will to gun it with him but Will respectfully declined Hannibal's offer, in what was once a heroic act of sacrifice. Now Hannibal saw what it was – the boy didn't need to run.

That conversation then lead to their discussion over his mind palace, a place so sacred that literally no one knew about it and he had explained it in detail to Will, what the walls looked like, the floors, the doors, the architecture, the oak wood, the art.

He hadn't explained the dungeons yet, though. The keys were tucked away in the master suite in which there was his piano and below the third black key from the left, was the key to the dungeon.

As Will moved around, talking mindlessly, Hannibal retrieved it but then he fell short, deciding to offer Will one last chance. If he came clean, he would forgive him, only too easily.

"Strange,"

"What is?" Hannibal blinked, cocking his head,

"The variety of books you have; extensively covering just about – oh…" he pulled one out, an amused expression on his face, "A Small History of Everything,"

Will waved the book at him briefly, letting it finish his sentence for him. But Hannibal no longer had the energy for amusement,

"Are you looking at all my books or are you burning my history,"

"Your patients' history, Dr Lecter,"

"Almost the same thing, Will,"

"To an extent, I suppose,"

Will chucked another book into the fire and watched it burn. Hannibal sat up from his semi-seated position and made for the journal he had been keeping for Will,

"Out of all the books you've burned, you've missed the most important one,"

He picked up and strode over to where Will stood; gazing at him curiously as he stopped, level with Will and facing the fire,

"Your book,"

"Oh, I hadn't missed that,"

Hannibal turned to him, questioningly,

"What, do you think I would burn something like that without finding out what someone of your status and intelligence thought of me, Doctor?"

"In light of recent of events, I thought all that you would come to seek in these pages has already been lain bare for you already but if you want to, by all means,"

He handed the book to Will and looked at him without blinking,

"But do so quickly," he turned, intending the sentence to have a vicious sentiment, "I want it burned soon. That history is no longer important to me,"

He sat down to gaze out the window again, the sound of paper brushing against each other as Will turned each page was the only sound that was proof of their presence.

"Wow,"

"Isn't it?"

"I fascinate you, do I?"

"You still do," Hannibal threw over his shoulder, his thoughts going over and over, circulating, "Will you be staying for dinner?"

"If that's an invitation, I'll accept it,"

"Good," Hannibal stood up again and made his way back over to Will and took the book from his hands, a small attempt at a smile on his lips despite the bitterness that had overtaken him, "Goodbye,"

And he threw the book into the fire without hesitation, the thud causing a minor explosion as it soared into the flames. Both men frowned as the book seemed to burn in a particularly violent manner compared to the others.

"I'll invite him to dinner,"

"Alright," Will looked at Hannibal and both men regarded each other quizzically and then he left, promising to see him later.

Hannibal sat down, tears welled up, tears of anger and heartbreak, burning on the brim but not quite falling.

He spread out a piece of homemade paper and took, from his a pocket, his favourite fountain pen and began to write, beginning with the words, Dear Jack.

Formally inviting him to dinner. As he sealed it, he took note of the fact of how uncharacteristically formally he had done it. Uncharacteristic due to the fact that earlier that morning, he felt that Jack and his relationship had progressed to a 'good friend' status, therefore he would just phone and ask but this time, he chose to write a letter for no particular reason , writing in a manner that seemed like royalty. Distanced from the man he felt like he was when he was with Jack and Alana.

Alana. The woman he had let himself believe he could fall in love with, it was getting there too. She'd seen him naked! One step below the most vulnerable he had ever been.

And going full circle, Will was the only one who'd seen all of him.

"I've had enough," Hannibal mused to himself.

OoOoOoO

A loud bang and another and Alana's ears were ringing and yet she continued to reload the gun, take aim and fire though Will had long stopped teaching her. Her aim was impeccable now.

Though the rounds she kept firing were terrifyingly satisfying and she was weary of the fact that she enjoyed it and entertained the notion of how enjoyable it may be to put a bullet through someone she despised. Freddie Lounds was first on the list.

She would never do it…unless, maybe, if her life depended on it and now, to her horror, it did. Hannibal would find out if he had not already and they'd all go down.

She ran out of bullets and reached for Will to give her more but none came. She turned to see Will looking at her,

"There are none left, Alana,"

Alana looked at the gun, her hand shaking but a little,

"Then I guess we better go,"

She dropped the gun almost instantaneously and headed out, charging through the FBI unit and out before anyone could think to talk to her, to call her back.

She was heading for home when her phone rang, the number was one she had become familiar with and now found she dreaded. She plugged the phone into her car's system and answered,

"Hello, Hannibal,"

"Hello, Alana," his voice drifting over the waves of air and disappearing out her open window, steely, metallic, cold, "Are you driving?"

"I am,"

"Good, I'd rather hoped you'd direct your vehicle in my direction,"

"I'm taking a left turn towards you now,"

She tried to smile, to pretend the words were genuinely filled with joy at the prospect of seeing him so soon and yet she failed miserably. And, for God's sake, he picked it up easily,

"Are you alright?"

His voice seemed to have hardened, as if to test her, did he know already?

She smiled this time, full force,

"Yes, I'm fine! I'm sorry, I was focusing,"

"Alright, then," his voice suddenly eased out, "I'll see you in…?"

"About 10?"

"Perfect," he purred, "I look forward to it,"

And then he put the phone down. Alana's thoughts flickered to the gun in her bag, flickered to Jack and Freddie and found their way to Artz who was set to be released that evening, he words echoing in Alana's ears,

'Consider it'. Considering Hannibal as a killer was impossible once and now it seemed like that was all he was and it made perfect sense and there was no way around it.

When she got there, Hannibal, with a very gentlemanly bow and a small grin, kissed her hand and then paused, sniffing her hand,

"You've been firing a gun," said he, his gaze steady, unblinking.

And so it came, a lie, a lie to his face,

"I was feeling paranoid. This Chesepeak Ripper thing is making me nervous,"

"Do you feel like he resides in a place within your comfort zone?"

"Not yet, but that's what I'm worried about..."

She could see it in his eyes, levelling her out, separating the truth from the lie and for all Alana knew, he'd done it.

OoOoOoO

Liar, thought Hannibal, Liar.

Not too much further along in the day, after Alana had left and Hannibal's anger had resided into a cosy corner in the back of his mind, Hannibal was sitting at his harpsichord writing in a twist to his recent, more beautiful than ever, tune he'd been working on for weeks. It had all sorts of twirls, imagining the opera singer he'd seen, not too long after he met Will, singing to it. He imagined it to be more wonderful and magical than anyone could ever hope to live up to and yet, in his mind, he believed it possible.

His mind was drawn from his playing when a feint knock resounded down his halls to his ears, calling the focus out and away from his hands letting slip one lovely note and having it ring awkwardly out of sinc with the rest of the tune.

Hannibal grimaced at the sound and ascended from his chair to open the door to Will, leaving the tune unfinished mid twist.

Will looked at Hannibal over the tops of his glasses when he opened the door to him, almost condescendingly, it would not do. So Hannibal met his gaze with a dipped head and looked at him from under his brow. The man was about a foot shorter than he so Hannibal deliberately imposed his dominance, stepping aside to let Will trudge through,

"Hello, Dr Lecter,"

"Will,"

Hannibal shut the door,

"Welcome back, this way,"

He wasted no time on social niceties that came with greeting people at the door. That time had passed; all Hannibal wanted now was dinner and answers – a means to forgive, one last chance.

"I hope you don't mind the rather sudden imposing of dinner instead of talk," said Hannibal, glancing at Will over his shoulder as he made his brisk way towards the dining room, on which he lain out the contents of their table beautifully, ready for something new.

"Not at all, I've never been one for social niceties, or small talk,"

"Yes," Hannibal pulled out a chair for Will, watching him keenly as he took a seat, "You made that abundantly clear when we first met,"

"Well that was before you became interesting," Will retorted snidely. Hannibal had to laugh, pouring the wine perfectly. Will was magnificent at playing his part. Hannibal rounded the table and sat himself down, allowing Will to serve himself as was the custom for such a dish.

"Dr Artz has been released," he said, rather casually, too casually. He looked up to gauge Hannibal's reaction but Hannibal refused to care at all although, it was somewhat of a blow. She'd escaped him again. He felt his pulse quicken, the pressure of a frown wanting to make itself known…if Hannibal wanted to be honest with himself, he was worried. She was back in the game, it could cost him everything. If Will chose not to come clean, it would cost him everything but Will having told him allowed his hopes to rise a little,

"Oh? On what grounds? Her trial was supposed to be in three weeks,"

"I'm not sure, the FBI refused to tell me anything because, technically, that's none of my business,"

"I would have thought otherwise,"

"Opinions, opinions," Will took a rather large bite and fell into concentration while trying to find a way to eat it without having to spit any of it out to make it easier.

"Forgiveness, I suppose,"

Will shook his head,

"There was nothing to forgive, hence her being let off the hook,"

"Perhaps she found a way to bribe them,"

"I doubt it,"

"I suppose she would have to come clean about it in the end,"

"As all things do, yes,"

"You know I would like to think that we're pretty clear with each other; if there was something to say then we'd say it,"

Will looked up at Hannibal mid-chew, considering him as he considered Will. But Hannibal made sure his face was thoughtful, as if the sentence was conveying a muse rather than an opportunity,

"Yes," Will said with a frown, "That's where we are. Unless are you hiding something from me?"

Hannibal gave small smile,

"No,"

So Will shrugged and went back to preparing his next mouthful.

Hannibal's heart, however and he always thought he'd be damned if he ever found he actually had one, broke – so suddenly, into a thousand, thousand pieces and he had nothing to put it back together with. He could even hear the tea cup he and Will had spoken about shattering once more, louder than ever.

That had just cost him…everything. There was but one solution.

OoOoOoO

Artz breathed in the air, free of a prison cell, the musky smell of pain and sweat and rusted iron gone from her nostrils. Her head tipping back towards the sky as Jack circled around her reading out the letter he had received that morning,

"This is incredibly formal," Jack sighed, "I'm not sure why I'm surprised given the sort of man I know him to be,"

"What does your gut tell you, Jack? You've always relied on it so heavily," she looked over to him with a knowing look upon her brow but Jack didn't look back. He knew what it could mean but all his gut was telling him was that he was still susceptible to fear, dread could still creep up and yet he was strong; he could easily stamp it out and make a decision to kill whatever frightened him.

Human instinct stamped out by inhumane means.

"He knows, Jack,"

Jack let his hands drop to his side, irritated,

"Yeah, I know,"

"You have the dinner tonight, do you not?"

"Yeah, I do,"

"What to do; go in reinforced?"

"No,"

Artz did a double take,

"No?"

"No, the FBI won't follow me in. The believe that Will and I have pushed it too far to no avail and that Hannibal Lecter is NOT the Ripper and so on and so forth, all that which we've heard before being said again only this time…I've gotten suspended,"

He turned to Artz who was looking at him, firstly as hard as stone and then, like the sun leaking out from behind the clouds, her expression softened and she smiled briefly,

"Changes things," she looked down.

Jack gazed at her thoughtfully,

"Yeah, a little. I still have to go," he waved the invitation at her though Artz wasn't looking, "I still have to go,"

"Jack," Artz's tone was even, "You'll have to kill him,"

Jack paused, feeling up his gun,

"I know,"

"You can't miss,"

Suddenly, things seemed to change, the world seemed a much crueller place and seemed to be all or nothing. He looked over at Artz again, his determination spreading over his features,

"I won't,"

"You'll have one shot, you miss that, you'll be on your own,"

"I got it," Jack nodded, nodded, nodded, his thoughts plane on his weary face, "That game of yours…with Lecter, what is it?"

"Who could rat the other out first without saying so directly…in short, my goal was to get you to see. The FBI to see and his was to get me out of the way. You guys were close, too close for comfort so he couldn't kill me and that was my advantage,"

"But he framed you for a murder,"

"Yes, I thought he had me there for a minute,"

Jack snorted,

"I thought so too. Your psychiatrist was your saving grace you know," he caught Artz's eye knowingly, "Without those papers, he would have had you, you would have lost,"

"That's true," Artz's face seemed to light up a moment, the dawn of realisation brimming the outskirts of her face, "I've won the game,"

"Just about," Jack agreed.

He glanced up at the sun; it was sinking in the dim light of the day, fast, too fast.

The time drew nearer and he realised that he was on his own. Artz's part in it all was over. She would disappear after it all,

"Where will you go?"

Artz regarded him with warmth; faith such as Jack had only known Bella to have,

"I think I'll find a way back home,"

"Back to Europe,"

"Well, home is where the heart is, is what they say,"

"Where's your heart then?" Jack felt absurd asking something like that, a line that seemed only worthy of fables, legends, myths and stories of endless love and compassion and courage, which, if he thought about it, his own story, morbid though it may have been, could have fitted nicely into.

Artz appeared to have caught onto his discomfort and chuckled,

"Not so sure, but I'm done with Baltimore,"

"Right well, thank you, Dr Artz, for all your input and your insight and…in the end…your help,"

He reached out his hand earnestly. Artz reached out too, and took it in both hands, shaking it carefully, slowly, forgoing a quick and emotionless end, for that was what it was; the end.

"Goodbye, Agent Crawford,"

"Goodbye, Dr Artz,"

And he parted from her, to make his way to Hannibal's house for seven thirty sharp, leaving Artz to look out after Jack as he headed out into war.

The end.

On the way, he flipped open his cell-phone,

"Will, I'm going,"

On the other end, Jack heard Will take a deep sigh,

"Ok, Jack, I'm coming with you,"

Just as Jack was about to put down the phone, he heard his name being called again,

"Yeah?"

"Alana's just called me, she'll probably call you too, but, the FBI's coming to arrest us for the destruction of private property,"

They shared a hollow chuckle before Jack said, "Good," and put down the phone.

He never got the call from Alana and as he knocked on the door to Hannibal's, Jack felt up his chin once more, planning the way in which he'd whip his gun out.

OoOoOoO

Will was on the run, so suddenly, sirens and police calls echoing out through the forest that separated him from the rest of the world, grabbing his Jacket and phone as he flew out the back way towards his own car, opting to the only place he could never get out his head.

Hannibal's house.

OoOoOoO

Alana couldn't get hold of Jack, she had tried and tried and tried again to no avail and she could feel the well of panic beginning to overflow as tiny waves lapped over the edge of her calm exterior. She phoned Will again but he didn't pick up, she phoned Hannibal but neither did he.

Eventually she thought of Dr Artz and tried to phone her but to Alana's final break, Artz's phone number no longer existed. As if she was gone already. Now that it was all sorted it out and that life and death hung so blatantly in the balance of all things, it meant that one way or another, Hannibal would have to escape knowing that if he did so, bodies would be left behind and Artz had left too.

She took out the gun from her cubbyhole and examined it, she had the power, she had the means…she had to have the strength. As Alana started up her car again, she gathered all the strength she could muster and headed out.

OoOoOoO

Something had come over Dr Artz, as she stood in the dark having walked from her house. Her time in prison had knocked something, although she maintained her calm demeanour, as if jail had no impact on her and she expected release at any stage - that was the furthest thing from the case.

In all honesty, she had been terrified that she had lost the game, that she would be stuck inside a jail cell for a murder she didn't commit for the rest of her life. It was an effort to keep herself from crying every night for she discovered that maintaining her cool detachment towards the other inmates was a good benefactor in her safety.

The plan was over now, the game had ended and she would have liked to have told Hannibal that and walked out leaving the FBI to do their thing but as far as she was aware, things hadn't gone as planned. And that was the next thing that had her end up following Jack to Hannibal's.

She was in the middle of packing up and readying herself to get to the airport for a last minute flight out but upon exiting the door, locking up the house and dumping her bags in the car, she had abandoned it without thinking and started walking in a numb trans towards the cannibal's house.

It was a long walk but it wasn't a place she wanted to get to in hurry. Will, Alana and Jack would be there, she knew. She wanted to leave and run, she had put so much effort into not caring about them but she just couldn't make herself turn away from it. When she reached Dr Lecter's house, she saw the contorted outline of a body on the floor and the upstairs window shattered. She had not phone to call the ambulance either and Artz cursed herself for that.

Her thoughts flickered to her own psychiatrist and she desperately wanted to speak to him; Dr Gurling, but he had long since distanced himself from this mess. And good for him.

Artz took a step forward and another and another until she found herself jogging across the road to the aid of the people who had bothered to look deeper.

It was Alana that was sprawled on the ground, her breathing haggard and her body twisted, shock plastered on her face and in her eyes as if the attacker was still there doing the deed. She couldn't speak and the corner of her mouth leaking blood and if Artz didn't know any better it meant internal bleeding and Alana's heart was on a time limit. Artz didn't say anything, smiling a tight little smile to reassure her but she wasn't sure if Alana could see her.

With Will's Jacket already over her, Artz got up and pushed open the door, already ajar as she did so, careful not to make too much noise. The house was pristine and faultless as ever, only the kitchen bared the malevolence that lurked in Hannibal's soul. She pushed that door open too, peeping around the corner to find Will, barely conscious as blood poured out of a severe wound in his gut, his hand playing as a limp and kind of useless form of cloth to stem the bleeding. Artz went to him and knelt down, pulling off her cardigan for it to act as a buffer instead, checking all of Will's vital signs, all of which were in trouble. Still she said nothing, preferring not to make her presence known if Hannibal was still in the house – which it didn't seem like he was – nor did she want ghosts to know.

She looked around, aware that Jack was somewhere in the house too but she didn't want to move unarmed. She stood, reaching for a knife until she heard a stifled moan waft out of the pantry.

Artz stalled, turning her attention towards the sound, creeping forward to open the door.

There on the floor, Jack had his phone out, his mouth agape, blood squirting out of his neck, his limbs limp as he tried to stem the blood too. Artz backed out and went for her cardigan, grabbing a knife on the way to cut her cardigan in half in order to help Jack as well. She abandoned the knife and entered the pantry again, kneeling to Jack and removing his hand to replace it with her jersey and laying his hand back on the wound to keep it closed. She removed the phone from his hand and upon doing so, saw who he was trying to call; not the police, not the ambulance…Bella.

Artz glanced up at him with a little surprise, Jack was looking at her, desperate almost, pining for life and yet his lips quirked up in a little smile as if to say, 'Stupid, I know, right?'

But Artz didn't think it was stupid at all. She dialled 911 and kept close to Jack, amazed at how alive he still was, knowing that a wound like that, if deep enough could kill someone in minutes – seconds.

OoOoOoO

Hannibal was sitting in the lounge, shrouded in darkness as he watched Dr Artz walk cautiously through his domain. He knew she'd come even if she didn't. She was human though she tried to match him, tried to match his monster with her own but here she was, creeping in in an un-monstrous fashion, almost on her tip toes trying to avoid the beast. He didn't know why he was weary of her when there was no need to be. It would have been a different story if she had not snuck in at all.

He ran through the past…what?...10 minutes? Anyway, he went over it in his head. It couldn't have been too long considering it all happened very quickly.

Jack coming in and their massive fight, Alana stuttering in, her face contorted in fear and asking him where Jack was.

He thought that was odd,

"Where's Jack?"

It seemed frighteningly obvious – for such a smart person. For what other reason would he be throwing himself against the door for? Either way, his heart had sunk when she had walked in and drowned when he forced her out the window. Even more so when he put his knife into Will's gut.

He stood up and was about to take a step forward, readying himself again to get rid of Dr Artz and then finally, to escape. He heard her voice on the phone, talking to the ambulance before ringing off and going silent. It took Hannibal a moment to realise that his shadow had crept across the thresh hold onto his landing giving him away.

And there went his element of surprise. He took a step out, waiting for a game of hide and seek and yet when he did, there she stood, waiting patiently for him, leaning on the counter. He paused, looking at her as he looked at him,

"Hello, Dr Lecter," she smiled grimly, "Nice job,"

He nodded and started towards her but she didn't move, perhaps she was someone to be weary of. Unafraid of death…for she must have known that his movements were to cause her demise,

"Don't stand there so smug," he growled,

"Oh, I'm not," she brushed herself off, erecting herself, "I'm pretty disappointed in myself because of you. You brought me this low. I wanted revenge, I wanted to win our game and I was convinced I didn't care…but I do,"

OoOoOoO

She looked at Hannibal, feeling her words as they rose silently out of her depths, leaving her heart behind to remain in the deep, sloshing lifelessly with the current.

She could feel the blood on her hands, warm, cracked and sticky; she could hear their rattled breaths as they struggled for life, could see Alana's feet through the crack in the open door. Looking at Hannibal, his eyes red and raw, his hands shaking, hair dishevelled and clothes crumpled and mixed with the blood of three people soon to be four, his own included; she felt that they were finally equal – he felt – he looked awful having tried to take the lives of three of his friends and destroyed any hope of a future with them.

She felt awful, too. For getting wrapped up in it all to make sure he understood and got nothing from it.

"So you've come to die?" asked Hannibal,

"Not quite," she mused, "I've come to live and so have you. Welcome to being human, Hannibal,"

"Not quite,"

"Why then? Hmm? You have no escape, no matter which way you look at it, you pulled a revenge stunt same as me, to prove that you are still the upper-dog but look at you – you look like me," she paused for effect, to make sure Hannibal was looking her in the eye as she said it, "Feels like shit, does it not? You should have run? That way you wouldn't have had to touch them but you lost it all before then – hurting them made no difference and you know it."

"Yes," Hannibal snorted, a smile beginning to emerge, "Yes, you and I are the same, now,"

"Only now," she stressed, she was not a monster no matter how hard she tried to be, she hadn't realised how close he was until the knife suddenly slipped through her ribs and she gasped, arching, as if taking a deep breath. She felt her heart shudder; shocked at the sudden intrusion then proceed to beat faster and realising that it wasn't working. Oh poor little heart.

"Yes, you and I are the same, you played the game well but in the end, when there's nothing left to play for, you have lost everything," he sneered, snivelling, and even in the pain, Artz could tell that even this hurt him. He wanted to walk away and it was the only satisfaction she had; knowing she had brought him down to a human level, he was no longer a God.

He pulled the knife out and she dropped to her knees, crumpling, blood seeping out her nose and mouth and of course the puncture wound.

Looking up at Hannibal she slurred her words for the pain was great,

"When they catch you…and they – will, know this," she moaned, closing her eyes briefly, "You will not sit at the right hand of God…or – the devil,"

She watched Hannibal's feet march down the hall and open the door, saw him pick up Will's coat from Alana and leave.

She lay there, listening to her own rattled breaths, her own fading heart and found herself content with the outcome. So she waited; for death or the ambulance. Whichever one came first.