Will reluctantly admitted to himself that he enjoyed Hannibal's company. He had been avoiding letting himself think much about it, but it was becoming unavoidable.
The truth was, he enjoyed having someone to talk to. He knew it was far from ideal, having no one but a crazy serial killer obsessive fanboy to talk to, but he couldn't ignore the fact that he really had very few options. Very few people were capable of seeing him, and even fewer were interested in talking with him.
More shamefully, he admitted that he like having Hannibal treat him like he was something special. It was a rather selfish thing that he continued to go to Hannibal's house for dinner, as he knew Hannibal would always give him only the best food, the best conversation, and genuine compliments. Will had not had someone genuinely compliment him in centuries, and he soaked it up.
How ever much he hated him, Will liked being around Hannibal.
He thought about all of this with a guilty conscience as he carried the soul of the musician out into the night and through the dark.
Hannibal probably knew this would happen, he thought, he was a psychiatrist, after all. He probably intended to foster this kind of relationship the moment they had met.
Will cursed under his breath, watching the puffs of steam rise into the night sky. Hannibal's plan was working, even though Will knew what it was. Maybe Will wanted it to work.
He groaned, knowing he was in a very complicated situation, but he couldn't help but swallow at the memory of Hannibal's food. The dishes were always divine, even though Will knew what they were. He had reasoned, initially, that it wasn't really cannibalism for him to eat it, as he wasn't exactly human, but he felt like he should still feel some sort of remorse for having enjoyed it.
His home rose up on the horizon, the lights from within shining out like a boat on the sea, low clouds giving it an ethereal blur. He could hear the hellhounds bounding up towards him and he smiled.
These were the moments he felt truly safe.
Wendigo was the first to reach him, jumping up to lick his stubbled jaw as he laughed and petted her. She was closely followed by Heath and Skully. They all yipped and woofed happily, circling him and bouncing as they moved in a unit toward the house.
Will petted them each in turn, making sure not to neglect the smaller ones, and smiling warmly.
Will was the one death, out of all of them, who actually liked the hellhounds. He had always been a sucker for dogs, and the immortal status of the hounds was a huge bonus in his book. He hated having to watch dogs die.
Will cooked up some food for the dogs and made sure they all had their fill before he poured himself some whiskey and relaxed into a chair on his porch.
The dogs ran around and pounced at fireflies as they began blinking in and out of existence in the yard. The dogs were enjoying themselves, and Will felt himself relaxing at the sight. He finally had a little time off, and he was anticipating being able to spend it with his dogs.
The thought of Hannibal came unbidden to his mind, causing him to grimace initially.
Hannibal probably wouldn't like dogs that much.
The thought caught him by surprise, but he knew it was likely to be true. Hannibal had a very tidy and almost obsessively clean living space. Dogs would not be a welcome addition.
Why the thought of bringing his dogs to Hannibal's home was something he would even consider, Will was unsure, but he took a swig of whiskey, figuring he might be able to work it out if he were a bit more intoxicated.
Hannibal was keenly aware that his plan was working well.
Will seemed to be fully aware of his intentions when they dined together and conversed, but he made no move to counteract them or address them. This gave Hannibal hope that Will intrinsically enjoyed their time together.
Tobias Budge was more of a chore to dispose of than Hannibal had anticipated, but he felt it had been entirely worth it for the moment when Will had conceded to allow Hannibal to take his life.
He set the scene up with delicate intent, knowing Will would likely never see the scene, but feeling joy at the concept of it being seen by anyone.
He didn't make the Ranunculus blooms a very prominent part of his design for this scene, leaving only a bundle clasped in Tobias' remaining hand. He anticipated the nearly intoxicating enjoyment of relating his "thoughts" about this scene to the police, and wondered how long it would be before they found it.
"I think the flowers are more important that we've been speculating," Beverly said confidently to Jack.
Jack raised a brow and gave her a look that said 'you had better be onto something'.
Beverly pressed on, unperturbed by Crawford's insinuation.
"All the flowers that have been left a the scenes, or incorporated into them, have similar meanings," she speculated, "Roses: love, Amaryllis: Beauty, Heather: Admiration, and this one, Ranunculus: Radiance or charm. The only exception is the barbed wire guy, but he was practically tied like a present. I think our killer is in love."
Jack closed his eyes and considered.
"Alright, with who?" he demanded.
Hannibal hated what he was about to say, but he needed to lead them off his trail. In truth, he hadn't paid much mind to the meanings of the flowers, as Will wouldn't likely care, but he had chosen them for aesthetics and scents.
"Perhaps he is not in love, but looking for love. Our killer is taking out those he has been rejected by."
It was a lie, completely, and Hannibal hated it. He didn't want to be seen as some poor, heartsick fool, but he didn't want them to get too close to the truth.
"What he takes from them, or replaces with flowers, are what he had admired about them. The man with the roses was likely a warm and friendly person, perhaps with a pleasant laugh, based on the placement of the bush. The woman with the amaryllis had pretty eyes, etcetera. The killer feels betrayed by them, so he takes the things that had enticed him," Hannibal concluded.
Beverly gave him a skeptical glance, but she shrugged after a moment.
"Doctor Lecter could be right," she admitted, "He probably knows more about this kind of thing than I do."
Hannibal smiled sympathetically to her.
'I know so much more about this than you do,' he thought, 'you haven't the faintest clue what you're up against.'
Jack seemed satisfied with Hannibal's explanation, reminding him to write it up and have it on his desk by the weekend before he excused Hannibal to return to his actual job.
Will was seeming more frustrated as they sat down to dinner this evening. Hannibal was concerned, of course, but Will being so distracted gave Hannibal ample time to observe him without causing him discomfort.
The flush to his cheeks was much more pronounced than Hannibal had seen it before, and his eyes appeared as much more green, putting emeralds to shame with their color.
Will ran a hand through his hair, mussing it endearingly and letting a few stray locks fall over his creased and worried brow.
"Is there anything I can do to put you more at ease?" Hannibal asked evenly.
Will scrunched his nose, not meeting Hannibal's eyes.
"I just don't know why you keep killing people," he said, "I mean, it's not like you still have to try to get my attention."
Hannibal nodded, his expression betraying nothing.
"I almost consider it as a friendly checking in," he explained, "I don't often see you, unless we are dining together, or if I am killing. It's not as if I have a phone number for you."
Will did meet his eyes now, his jaw slack and his lips parted in surprise. There was a brief moment of silence before Will swallowed and nodded, his head again turned away.
"I guess not," he admitted.
Hannibal tilted his head curiously.
"Does killing bother you, Will?"
Will frowned at his plate. He didn't seem to want to answer that question.
"No," he replied dryly.
Hannibal waited, knowing Will would continue after he put his thoughts in order.
"It's not the killing," he said at last, "I suppose. I think it's how different the meaning is when you do it."
Will paused, and Hannibal smiled faintly, but waited.
"Most people kill for a clear and selfish reason. You kill more as an expression of your mind. Sure, you kill people so you can see me, if I choose to believe that, but you do it artistically, rather than crudely. I just don't understand you."
Hannibal's smile widened.
"My lack of a clear goal is what is troubling you," he mused aloud.
Will snapped his gaze to Hannibal. He seemed to be considering Hannibal's words, before he scooped up some food from his plate and shoved it into his mouth as angrily as he possibly could.
"You know what?" he snapped, "You make my week a lot busier than it should be. I have other things to do, you know. I shouldn't have to come around every time you call."
Hannibal spread his hands in surrender.
"As I said, I have only the one method of contacting you."
Will grunted and hesitated only briefly before he pulled a cell phone from his pocket.
"Is this good enough for you?" he asked, placing it on the table.
Hannibal raised his eyebrows.
"I am terribly curious about whether you had that before, or if you somehow conjured it solely for this."
Will chuckled, shovelling more food into his mouth.
"It certainly would feed your terrible narcissism if I had," he said, and then shook his head, "No, I already had it."
"What purpose does it serve?" Hannibal asked.
Will smiled.
"I might not know very many humans," he replied, "But humans aren't the only ones I can talk to."