As he promised Abigail, Hannibal immediately begins preparation for their departure.
First, he packs them each a bag, supplying them both with clothing for their journey, and other essentials. Then, though he hates to even consider it, he makes sure that even if they are somehow separated, they both have what they need to get by until they reunite.
In Abigail's bag he includes all the paperwork on her new identity; ID, driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, even falsified school transcripts, and a report on her "life" growing up. He also adds five thousand dollars in cash, her plane ticket, and the bankcards he had made up for her new identity that link to one of his many overseas accounts.
If anything happens to me, she will want for nothing.
As an afterthought, he slips in the business card of the plastic surgeon he once mentioned to her, an old friend of his he knows can take care of her missing ear.
With all of that taken care of, Hannibal banishes any thoughts of what could go wrong from his mind, conjuring up images of he and Abigail taking a wine tour through the French countryside.
Hannibal places both of their bags under the decorative table by his front door, ready to grab at a moment's notice.
"What's all that?"
He turns around to find Abigail watching him interestedly.
"Our travel supplies," he tells her. "Everything we need to start over."
"You're just… leaving it there? By the front door?"
"That seems like the most reasonable place for it."
"You're not nervous I'm gonna take off when you go to your office?" she asks.
"Are you planning on leaving me?"
"Of course not," Abigail insists. "You've kept your promises… and I don't want to leave you."
He walks over to her and wraps one arm around her waist.
"I wouldn't stop you if you did," he says quietly, surprising both of them with the admission.
He's even more surprised when he realizes it's true.
"All I want," he continues, "is your happiness. It is… an odd concept for me to understand. I've never cared for anyone more than I care for myself, but when I think of you, all I want is to know you are happy and safe."
Abigail gives him a watery smile, and reaches up on tiptoes to give Hannibal a kiss.
He pulls her tighter, but she leans away reluctantly.
"Don't you have to meet Will?" she asks.
Hannibal sighs.
"If we want to leave tomorrow night."
"Then you should get going. I'll be waiting for you to get back."
Hannibal gives her one more lingering kiss, and walks out the door.
When he arrives at his office, Will is waiting for him, leaning casually against the front door.
"How are you feeling today, Will?" Hannibal asks, pulling out his keys to unlock the door.
"Excited. Nauseous. Nervous. Terrified. Exhilarated."
"All to be expected, I assure you. Come in," Hannibal gestures to the front door, "let's get started."
Hannibal crouches in front of his fireplace, coaxing a spark into a roar before he and Will set to work.
They comb through his records, file by file, burning everything.
Hannibal wants to ensure the safety of his clients and give them the gift of anonymity before he leaves. He may be a murderer, and a bastard, but no one can say he didn't take his job seriously.
Even if they do say he abused his privileges and practiced unorthodox treatment methods.
They talk quietly, musing about their departure, and discussing Hannibal's memory palace.
"If I'm ever apprehended, my memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system. I will live there," Hannibal says.
"Could you be happy there?" Will questions.
"All the palace chambers are not lovely, light and bright."
As Will leans past him to toss more papers into the flames, Hannibal catches a familiar scent… one that takes him a moment to place.
When he does place it, pulling to the forefront of his mind an image of the supposedly dead Freddie Lounds, anger shoots through him.
How deceptive you've grown Mr. Graham.
As much as Hannibal would like to strike Will down immediately for his deceit, thoughts of Abigail's displeasure stills his hands.
Instead, he gives Will a chance; a chance to still make the right decision.
"We could disappear now," Hannibal suggests suddenly. "Tonight. Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."
Will hesitates, clearly thinking over his next words carefully.
"I need him, Jack, to know."
It is then Hannibal realizes there is no hope for Will, and that he is just another threat to the life Hannibal wishes to build with Abigail.
He gives a stiff nod and returns to feeding papers into the fire.
When they finish and Hannibal sends Will off with an invitation to Jack for tomorrow evening, Hannibal returns home with a knot in his stomach.
He doesn't know how to tell Abigail the news. Part of him worries that despite her declarations of devotion and want, she'll leave him if she knows Will is not coming.
He considers whisking her away from it all tonight, avoiding the fallout to come, but deep down he knows that if he does Will and Jack will never stop searching for him.
He doesn't want that kind of life for her.
When Abigail greets him at the door wearing nothing but one of his white aprons, he holds his tongue and lets himself be swept away in her.
"I was trying to prepare a sweet treat for you, but I'm afraid it turned out much messier than I was expecting," she tells him slyly.
"Oh?" he inquires. "Show me."
Abigail takes his hand and leads him to the kitchen.
He finds his eyes drawn to her bare backside as she skips ahead of him, the apron strings bouncing teasingly, begging to be untied.
The kitchen is indeed in disarray when they enter.
"What were you trying to make?"
She pulls him over to the stove where she has a pot of melted chocolate simmering.
"Chocolate covered strawberries," she says, dipping a finger into the pot, "but I can't seem to get the consistency just right."
Hannibal's long fingers snake around her wrist and he pulls her hand to his lips, popping the chocolate covered digit into his mouth and sucking gently.
"That's quite good," he tells her after leisurely sliding her finger from his mouth.
"Maybe I need another taste," Abigail suggests.
Hannibal smirks and moves to dip his own finger in the pot, but pauses to give her a pointed look.
"Do you know just how hard it is to get chocolate out of white?" he asks.
She smiles.
"Difficult, is it?"
"Oh, yes," he insists. "Perhaps we should be on the safe side."
Arms slipping around her waist, Hannibal unties the apron strings and slips it up and over her head, discarding it onto the kitchen floor.
"Much better," he says, eyes raking over her. "Now it's your turn."
He reaches into the pot and scoops a big glob of chocolate onto his forefinger, but as he reaches for Abigail's mouth he accidentally drips it on her.
"Oh, dear," he feigns surprise. "Fortunately that is much easier to clean up."
Hannibal dips his head and laps at drizzle of chocolate in the valley between her breasts.
"Hmmm… I'll be right back."
He withdraws so quickly Abigail is too stunned to reply.
When Hannibal returns he has a handful of paintbrushes and immediately picks Abigail up and places her on the counter.
"This hardly seems fair," she says, pulling him nearer to her by his tie. "After all, I'm sure chocolate is just as difficult to get out of silk as it is to get out of white."
Obliging her, he strips himself of his own clothing and then picks up a brush. Dipping it into the pot of chocolate he begins to paint Abigail's skin with intricate patterns of flowers.
She bites her lip and lets her head slip back, focusing on the tingle the brush leaves trailing behind it.
When she feels his hand still, Abigail looks down to see his handiwork.
"You've turned me into a work of art," she murmurs.
"You already were."
Somehow they both end up on the kitchen floor, entwined in one another, covered in chocolate.
Abigail takes her turn painting on Hannibal, forgoing the intricacy he showed and instead painting one word across his chest; MINE.
His chest rumbles with laughter when he sees her handiwork, and they both take turns, tracing their tongues over the patterns their brushes already traveled.
Later, after a much needed shower, once they are curled around one another in bed, Hannibal realizes he didn't tell her about Will… or about the storm that is coming for them tomorrow.
Studying her peaceful, sleeping face, he thinks, she'll forgive me.
She always does.
The next day Hannibal must sense Abigail's nervousness. Instead of a large breakfast he instead brings her toast and a glass of juice.
Or perhaps he's still cleaning up the chocolate, she thinks with a small smile.
They spend much of the day in silence and it's clear the impending escape is weighing heavily on both of them.
Without consciously deciding to, they end up in Hannibal's study, curled up together on the couch.
The only time they speak is to go over the plan.
"Remember where the car is," Hannibal reminds her for the tenth time. "If we get separated I will meet you there, but if I'm not there in fifteen minutes go on without me."
"I know," she sighs, "but that won't happen."
The day seems to both drag on, and yet be over in no time.
As dusk begins to settle, Abigail's stomach is in knots.
She stands on the far side of the kitchen watching as Hannibal prepares for his final dinner party.
When the phone rings, Abigail almost jumps out of her skin.
"Hello?" Hannibal answers.
It's only a moment before he hangs up again.
"Who was it?" she asks.
"Will," he says quietly. "Things have changed. I need you to hide in the study."
"What? But—"
"Abigail, now!" he commands.
She swallows but does as he says with panic swirling inside her as she retreats.
What's changed?
She tries to reassure herself that if things were really that bad Hannibal would get them out of there.
Waiting impatiently, Abigail isn't sure how long it is before she hears the front door creak open, the rain outside becoming momentarily louder.
Footsteps pad softly down the hall, wet shoes squeaking slightly on the wooden floor.
Unable to resist, Abigail peeks out of the study and sees Jack Crawford entering the kitchen.
When he turns in the doorway she jumps back out of sight, straining her ears to here the voices coming from the kitchen.
When the fight starts she doesn't have to strain any longer. She can hear everything. Every hit, every stumble… glass shattering, dishes cracking… groaning and cries of pain.
She bites into her bottom lip painfully and covers her mouth, trying to hold back the sobs of fear threatening to rise up along side her silent tears.
We're leaving… we're leaving… Hannibal and I are leaving together.
Screwing her eyes shut she recalls how much he's changed for her. He's stuck to her conditions as he promised, and if Hannibal can do that, he can do anything.
Including get them out of here.
Crash.
Crash.
Crash.
It sounds as if someone is trying to break a door down.
Abigail feels the walls pressing in on her, imaging the FBI storming the front door and descending on them.
Images of dark musty cells swim behind her clenched eyelids.
"Hannibal!"
Alana!
The crashing sound stops.
"Where's Jack?" Alana is yelling.
Abigail can't stop; she has to see, so she once more peers around the doorframe.
Alana is there in the hall, a gun drawn and aimed at Hannibal.
So much blood, Abigail shudders, seeing Hannibal's white shirt covered and she prays it isn't his.
"In the pantry," Hannibal whispers mockingly. "I was hoping you and I wouldn't have to say goodbye."
He takes a step towards her.
"Stop! I was so blind."
Alana sounds so broken, Abigail almost feels sorry for her.
"In your defense, I worked very hard to blind you," Hannibal offers. "You can stay blind. Walk away and I will make no plans to call on you… but if you stay I will kill you."
He takes another step towards her as her gun wavers.
"Be blind, Alana. Don't be brave."
Alana grits her teeth and pulls the trigger, Abigail is ready to scream when she hears the empty click the gun makes.
Click. Click. Click.
"I took your bullets," Hannibal tells her.
Alana turns and runs up the stairs, Hannibal following behind her almost leisurely.
Abigail walks out of the study in a daze, towards the kitchen.
Once so pristine and perfect, it is now in complete disarray. Glass and splintered wood is everywhere.
She walks into the room and looks at the place where just twenty-four hours ago they made love. Now the floor is covered in blood rather than chocolate.
She takes another step and kicks something. Bending down to pick it up she realizes it's a pair of handcuffs.
Jacks.
Shaking her head she studies the silver cuffs twisting them over and over in her hands.
Foolish man, she thinks. Did you really think it could end so easily?
Upstairs a gun fires rapidly.
"I found more bullets!" Alana yells.
"Abigail?"
"Hannibal?" she exhales his name, soft as a prayer.
He's at the bottom of the staircase and she rushes to meet him.
Abigail reaches her left hand up to cup his cheek.
"Are you alright?" she asks worriedly.
"I'm fine," he reassures her, catching her raised hand and kissing her fingers.
"Let's get out of here," Abigail begs. "Grab our bags and go!"
"We can't. Not yet. Alana must be dealt with."
"Why?"
"If we leave her be she'll set the alarm off about my departure much sooner than would be ideal for us to leave in peace."
Abigail looks around at their shattered surroundings and wonders how this still constitutes as peace.
"How—how did this happen?" she asks, voice cracking.
"Will," is all Hannibal says, but it's all he needs to say.
She understands instantly, almost as if the suspicion had always been there, that Will was not truly on Hannibal's side.
"I need you to do something, Abigail."
"What?"
"I need you to go upstairs and sneak into the side entrance of the room Alana is hiding in."
"Why?" she asks, confused.
"She won't be expecting to see you," he explains. "Her guard will be down and you can do what needs to be done."
"What needs to be done?" she repeats.
"You must kill her."
Abigail takes a step back, shaking her head.
"You promised," she murmurs.
Her very first condition: You will never try to manipulate me into trying to commit murder again, and will accept me as I am.
"You'll never change, will you?" she asks, her voice so quiet she's really speaking more to herself than to Hannibal.
"Abigail you must do this! If we are to escape together, you must!" he tries to command.
She considers it, recalling the burning hatred for Alana she felt when she found her in Hannibal's bed. She tries to remind herself it wasn't Alana's fault… it was all Hannibal's doing.
Her throat burns as she swallows back her emotions, and Abigail stares down at the ground, nodding jerkily.
She blinks back tears and looks up to meet Hannibal's gaze with a steely determination.
"I have to do this," she says, and she can see the relief on his face.
Abigail moves quickly wrapping an arm around Hannibal and raising herself on tiptoes to give him a fierce kiss, laced with so many things that she can't say.
She leans away slightly, her lips just barely ghosting over his.
"I love you, Hannibal," she tells him, her heart breaking, and in one swift movement she uses Jack's handcuffs to cuff Hannibal's left hand to the bannister behind him.
Abigail retreats out his reach, her heart shattering even more as she sees the resignation in his eyes.
"Abigail…" he whispers.
"I warned you," she chokes out, "and you promised me. I won't let anyone decide who I am, Hannibal. Not even you. I am my own person."
Hastily wiping tears away with the back of her hand, Abigail backs away further, grabbing the bag he prepared for her out from under the table next to the front door.
"Even if you leave me here," Hannibal tells her, "you won't be free. No matter what, Abigail, a part of you will always belong to me."
"Goodbye, Hannibal," she says, turning to walk away, refusing to let him know he is right.
Abigail knows she will never truly be free of him. She knows the ache in her chest will never fade, and she knows that no matter how much she will try to deny it, Hannibal has left his mark.
He's branded her soul.
Stepping out into the fresh air for the first time in months Abigail sucks in a deep breath as she closes the front door behind her.
Another deep breath, not belonging to her, startles her and she finds herself face to face with Will.
"Abigail?" he whispers, stunned.
She wants to be angry with Will for ruining their escape, but she can't bring herself to it, not with Hannibal's betrayal so fresh in her mind.
Abigail reaches out and squeezes Will's hand, and he starts, as if amazed she's not a hallucination.
"He's in there," Abigail tells Will, nodding over her shoulder.
"How—? What—?"
"I have to go," she says, pulling away. "Please don't come looking for me."
Abigail gives a stunned Will a kiss on the cheek and steps out into the downpour, letting the rain wash everything away.
She walks to the unassuming getaway car Hannibal purchased and finds the hide-a-key stashed in the tire well just as he promised.
As he promised.
Abigail climbs in the car and opens her bag, digging through it to find all that he provided her with.
Clothing, money, plane ticket, bankcards, my new identity…
She opens the folder containing everything about her new identity and the first things she finds on top of the pile of papers are three pictures.
Hannibal in his grey and red plaid suit, standing next to Abigail in her low cut red dress, her hair swept back in a silver comb. In the first they're smiling, in the second they are staring deeply into each other's eyes, and in the third they are wrapped in a lover's embrace.
A single tear slips down her cheek, joining the rain on her face.
She glances over her new life story and smiles sadly, remembering a conversation she had with Abel Gideon in Hannibal's basement and what he told her.
Fly away, he told her. As soon as that cage door opens, fly away.
She can't help but think how fitting his words are as she starts the car and slips it into drive.
Once on the road Abigail allows herself one final glance back at the house she spent so much time confined in. It's front is bathed in red and blue light from the police cars and ambulance out front.
"Goodbye, Hannibal," she whispers once more to her rearview mirror, knowing in her soul that it isn't goodbye forever.
Fly away, she thinks taking a deep breath. Fly away.