A week had passed, and the FBI still searched for evidence of who the copycat was. Jack interviewed foster homes, eventually accumulating a list of constantly-escaping orphans. Many indulged in crime, but the list he compiled focused on teenagers known for indulging in drug abuse, thievery, etc. A possible lead yawned open for them.

"Take that one off the list," said Will as he and Jack sat in the latter's office. He pointed to a black-haired boy with brown eyes. "He doesn't look like Ana Wilson. Not a girl, either."

Together, they searched through the list, gazing at pictures of children—all hopeless with no home, scavenging on the streets among wolves. Will couldn't help but assume their pain, but it lay cold and distant. Deceased mother and murdered father, he didn't know what it was really like to live with parents, but he grew the skills to survive the real world. It wasn't a pitiful upbringing—he accepted his fate. And with that, he related to the killer (even if it were only in the slightest).

Jack ran his finger over the line of printed faces, and suddenly Will stopped him.

"That one."

Crawford looked down, finding a Grace Mirror under his finger. Pale blue eyes, light brown hair past her shoulders, and similar to the looks of Ana Wilson.

Jack circled her profile with a pen, setting it aside in a different pile. They continued like this throughout the day, sifting through the list of criminal orphans and circling any profiles that seemed of worthy suspect. They came near the end of the list, and Will could practically see the pity and hurt on Jack's face. All of these children—battling their own wars by themselves with no support.

Jack's gaze lingered on the second-to-last image, and he nodded. "Another one."

Will stooped over to catch her name, and he examined the emptiness in her blue eyes.

"Abigail Hobbs," he breathed.

"We have four main suspects," said Will during his next session with Hannibal. "All sixteen-years-old, orphans, and lookalikes."

"What are their names?"

He began to list them. "We have Grace Mirrors, Elis Nichols, Jane Attic, and Abigail Hobbs." Graham glanced aside. "Jack's going to try and track them down—interview them. It won't be the most fun, of course."

Hannibal rose a brow, eyes glinting with knowing. "The killer clearly has access to Tattlecrime," he said. "Should Lounds leak these names—and I'm positive she will—the copycat will not hesitate to kill her lookalikes."

"That's why we need to keep it as secret as possible. Freddie Lounds only makes matters worse. If things get too bad, we have enough evidence to get her in jail and off our tails." Will gave a small chuckle. "Although I really like the idea, we'll have to wait for that fateful day."

Hannibal smiled and stood, fetching some wine from his cupboards and pouring two glasses of the red liquid.

"Now that you know the copycat is a young girl, how do you feel?" He handed a glass of wine to Will, who took it lazily. "Still angry?"

Will raised the glass to his nose and breathed in the sweet, tangy scent of the wine, humming for a moment. "Angry? Not as much. But curious?" He nodded, tipping the glass to take a slow sip, the liquid sliding down his throat. "I'm very curious now."

"Does she remind her of yourself? When you killed people?"

Will hummed in thought, eyes dipping down to his reflection in the wine. "I'm not as… broken as her," he said, swirling the liquid. "I killed my parents myself—this killer—" He shook his head. "She wants her parents alive—possibly kills for them or in… honor of them."

He took another sip, watching as Hannibal sat down. "What about you?" he asked. "You're passionate about Death. Certainly you must have some thoughts about all this."

Hannibal's eyes glinted, and he glanced away, raising the wine glass to his nose. He inhaled slowly, relishing the silence and Will's constant gaze on his figure.

"To me, it means many things," said Lecter. "This killer wanted to make a mockery of Death, but she wanted to honor a part of the Legacy." He gave himself a secret smile as he bowed his head. "It was also a cry for help."

Will tilted his head, and Hannibal continued.

"The copycat clearly has no home. Runs away from shelters and steals things because she has no money." Hannibal took a small sip of wine, glancing into Will's eyes that so-resembled Abigail's beautiful blue ones. "Prison may not be an ideal home, but it provides her with food and shelter. A sense of community, so to speak."

"If we catch her, we'd be giving her what she wants."

"And if you don't, you face the repercussions of the public." He tipped his wine glass. "A dangerous game."

Will lapsed into a curt silence, staring down at the carpeted floor. When Hannibal rose again, his gaze followed his movements.

"Tell me, Will," said Hannibal as he leaned against his desk. "When you find this copycat, what will you do?"

Will looked at him steadily, gazing into those coal-black eyes. A chill went down his spine, and he stood up, joining Hannibal's side.

"Well, I'd get to know her," he said, gazing across the room. "Ask her why she did it."

He glanced back at Hannibal and leaned in, catching scent of Death and—dare he say, that void atmosphere he felt at the recent crime scene. His brows furrowed, and he glanced up at Lecter, who caught his questioning gaze.

"You smell like you've been at a cold river, but the water is… void and—destructive," said Will, and a dangerous glint flashed in Hannibal's eyes. "Have you been back at the crime scene?"

"I haven't," he answered with a tilt of his head. "Perhaps the scent lingers, as you describe Death's to do."

Will scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Speaking of which—" He turned to Hannibal with furrowed brows. "—why do you smell so much like Death?"

Hannibal rose a brow, and a knowing glint shone in his eye. "If I were a normal person, I would be offended."

"Fortunately for us both, you're not." He glanced at Hannibal, eyes silently urging him to explain. Lecter straightened himself and sighed.

"One can never know their true scent—we are unaware of it." He glanced over at Will. "That's why the scent of a stranger's home is so blatant to us—"

"You're deflecting my question." He shifted so his body faced Hannibal, feeling the radiating pulse of his warmth. "Why do you smell like him?"

Hannibal gazed at him steadily, eyes unwavering. "There's no way I can answer that, Will."

He huffed, a glare in his eye. "You say you aren't Death—"

"I didn't say—"

"Haven't admitted you are—" Will corrected himself. "—so that makes me wonder—could you be hanging around Death? Could he possibly be a patient of yours?"

Hannibal merely rose a brow, faintly shrugging. "It's a possibility, Will," he answered. "Like we've established, with his mortal form, he could be walking among us and we won't even realize it."

"But I do," argued Will.

Hannibal merely raised his brows with utmost amusement, unable to help the smirk on his lips. "You say that," he whispered, trying to contain himself of his amusement, "but you haven't yet found Death."

"Low blow, Hannibal," he scoffed, but he took his mind off the matter. "I guess it's like you and Victorum—you had no idea he was a horseman."

Hannibal merely glanced down and smiled.

"I'm so close, though," breathed Will, propping his hands behind him and staring up at the ceiling. Hannibal couldn't help but glance at the expanse of his exposed neck. "To seeing Death."

Hannibal gazed at him languidly, eyes half-lidded. "I'm sure he's elated to meet you, too," he said, glancing away to suppress himself. "He'd finally show you all of him."

Will vaguely smiled at that, glancing over at Hannibal. "Thanks," he blurted suddenly, voice faint. "For—being here for me." A heat rose to his face, and he chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced away. "That's stupid to say—"

When Hannibal rested a hand over Will's, his cheeks grew darker. "It's not stupid, Will," he said gently, running a finger along the underside of Will's jaw. It elicited visible shivers, making Hannibal smirk, knowing his effect on him. "I'm here for you—always." His eyes glinted as he said that. "Never question that."

Will swallowed, lips gently parted as he glanced down at their hands. A stroke of confidence touched Hannibal, and he shifted closer to Will, tilting his chin up and practically hovering inches above him.

Will's breath caught, and he glanced down at Hannibal's lips, butterflies exploding in his stomach.

"What are you—"

Hannibal tilted his head, glancing quickly into Will's eyes, and lingered for a moment, relishing the heat of Graham's breath fanning across his face. He cupped a warm, welcoming hand on the side of his face and made a show of glancing down at his lips. Will's breath hitched.

"Hannibal…"

He glanced at Will once more, stroking his thumb over Will's cheek, and closed the distance between them.

Will made a sound of surprise, eyes flying open, but as time went on, his body relaxed, and he closed his eyes, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. He wearily raised his hands to cup the sides of Lecter's face, the feel of his lips soft and claiming against his. His heart raced, pounding violently through his chest, and as time went on, he found himself pushing into Hannibal, wanting more of his swarming presence.

"Hannibal—" Will groaned into his mouth, fingers lightly digging into the sides of his face. Hannibal ran a hand up into Will's locks, softly tugging.

Will panted, and when Hannibal licked his bottom lip, he reluctantly pulled away with a whimper, desire thrumming in his lower belly.

"Wait," he breathed, bowing his head and wearily pressing his fingers to Hannibal's lips when he leaned in again. "T-this is—" His brows furrowed, confusion buzzing in his mind. "I—"

Hannibal gently pulled away, hand still lingering on the side of Will's face. "Are you alright?" he whispered, gazing into his weary eyes. He paused for a moment before he quietly said, "I can stop."

Something tugged in Will's chest, echoing the word "don't," but he restrained it. A long moment passed, the two of them staring—Will wearier and still lightly panting. He roughly swallowed, hands sliding down Hannibal's chest as his clouded mind tried to think.

"I, um—have to go home," he heard himself mumble, and felt Hannibal lightly tense under him. He glanced up, meeting Lecter's unreadable features, and sighed. When he pulled away, a flare of panic burned his chest.

"Wait—"

Hannibal stopped, still mere inches away from Will.

"I—I'm confused," admitted Will, glancing away. "I've never been this… close to someone before." He ran his hands over his face and dipped his head. "God, this is—embarrassing—I'm sorry—"

Hannibal tilted Will's chin up, gazing at him steadily. "Do not apologize to me, Will," he said calmly. He stepped closer, legs brushing against Graham's. "I overstepped my boundaries out of selfishness and made you uncomfortable. Forgive me."

Will glanced aside, swallowing. Lecter stared down at him evenly.

"I-I—didn't want you to stop," Will whispered so quietly that Hannibal took a second to process his words. Will's heart thrummed, and he shakily inhaled, not knowing what he was asking for. "But not—I'm not—ready. I need to breathe."

Hannibal nodded and stepped away, collecting his wine glass and sipping, the faint taste of Will still on his tongue. It made him smile faintly.

"Do you like me, Will?"

He received a groan, and when he looked over, Will's brows were furrowed. "You really aren't going to make me admit that, are you?"

Hannibal chuckled, taking another sip of wine. They lapsed into silence, Will staring down at the carpet while Hannibal examined the recesses of his office: the ladder sloping up to the upper floor; the whispers of the long curtains at the ornate window; the seats that they always conversated in. His attention returned when Will shifted beside him, posture grave.

"I do," he said very quietly.

Hannibal tilted his head, his human heart swelling unwarranted. A smile fell on his lips, and Will glanced over at him, gaze weary.

"That doesn't make things weird, does it?" Will awkwardly chuckled. "Not my official therapist, and all…"

When he glanced back up, Hannibal shook his head. "Why don't you join me again for dinner?" he invited. "I'm making breakfast."

Will gave a crooked smile. "Breakfast for dinner." He found himself nodding. "Okay."

Hannibal smiled and stood, finishing the rest of wine. "I'll leave you here to give you some space," he said, and with that, he left the office, leaving Will sitting on his desk.

He took a deep breath and huffed, heart still racing faintly. After realizing what had just happened, his face burst with color, and he laughed to himself.

"He kissed me," he breathed, staring down at the floor. "Hannibal Lecter kissed me."

He shook his head in disbelief, fingers hovering over his lips.

But is he just curious, or does he feel the same way?

The thought dampened his mood.

Thank you everyone so much for reading, and have a great day!

-Kassian