Grab your tissues.
"Will, I think you should show up for that one."
He'd retorted that he didn't work on crime scenes anymore. That he led a different like, now. But Jack had texted him the address, and his heart had missed a beat.
Hannibal's office.
And thus, Will had broken every speed limit to join his former boss in the centre of Baltimore.
And now… now his mind had gone entirely blank. They both lay there, in a lover's embrace, crimson rivers pooled under their bodies. Peaceful, as if death was just another journey to take together. Hannibal's heart was pierced by a letter opener. A clean stab in the centre of his pristine shirt. A mercy kill ? Was Hannibal sick, perhaps ? Had Franes not trusted them, her family, to support her ?
Beside him, the young woman seemed asleep. Had it not been the pallor of her face and the bloodied arms, he would have sworn he was witnessing an intimate embrace. Hands linked in death, her head upon his shoulder, her blue lips lingered over the skin of his neck.
Will gasped, shaking hands covering his burning eyes. Two friends at the same time, the last link to Arthur's knights was dead. The loss was crippling.
"Will."
Jack's booming voice was low, this time, and full of grief. He mourned for his friend. The team wasn't there yet; they waited outside, rumours and whisperings going full swing in the waiting room.
"She killed him," Jack rasped. "That damn woman killed him."
"He let her," Will whispered, eyebrows drawn. He'd witnessed, first-hand, how devoted Frances was to her husband. She almost died to save his life. None of this made sense. And there were no signs of struggle at all, had she taken him by surprise ?
To Jack, it might have been possible. But in Hannibal's soul lived Tristan, and the knight had been one hell of a warrior. That dagger would never have landed into his heart had Hannibal refused death.
"He was a lovesick fool !" the head of behavioural unit bellowed.
Will flinched and closed his eyes; plunging, once more, in the recesses of his mind. But he'd be damned if he didn't discover what had killed his two best friends. He had learnt from Frances that being a medium gave him the means to see anything given he concentrated enough.
"Do my will," he muttered to his gift. "Show me."
Time ticked backwards as he breathed. In and out, slowly and surely, Will stepped into the room. They stood, facing each other, love and pain writ upon their features.
Frances was singing, she was crying. And Hannibal brandished the letter opener, a tear running down his face. Will wanted to shout, to cry, to rage against the cage of time and save his friend. If only… Hannibal's pain made no rational sense, and he watched, helpless, the psychiatrist slit Frances' wrist.
She did not falter. Husband and wife danced with death the same way they danced in life and he found himself enthralled, watching her chest rise and fall with the song.
Ave Maria. She was singing the Ave Maria she'd performed in the snowy forest in the 5th century. The same song who had opened his eyes to faith, to God. That Ave Maria saved his soul, created the Galahad that legends still sung of. The bright, chaste knight who supposedly found the grail.
Tears fell down his cheeks; he ignored them, watching Frances stumble into Hannibal's arms. He saw the psychiatrist's eyes twinkle as he took in the blood, licking a piece of the trail that tickled down her hand. Feral. He saw the grip he held over the letter opener, positioning it over his own heart as they settled on the ground.
That look… he knew that look. Hannibal was curious. He wanted to see what would happen. Detached… almost, without emotions. There was no guilt, the same cold demeanour he'd always shown. And yet… this time, something was amiss.
"Be honest, little fairy," Hannibal told the dying woman in his arms. "Have courage and honour me."
Honour him ? How ?
Frances' eyes were glazed by pain and blood loss. Yet, she pulled her upper body upwards and pushed on the blade with a broken cry of anguish.
She did not want to do this; her soul trashed in despair. The blade sank into Hannibal's heart like a knife through butter. The psychiatrist smiled at her with pride; he had won the ultimate fight. Frances had killed again, for him. Will started, wondering why that look disturbed him so much.
There were no last words as Hannibal lay upon his back, dying in mere seconds. It took Frances a little while longer as she settled against him.
"Forgive me," she murmured. "I'll see you in another life."
The perfect counterpart to Tristan's parting, fifteen hundred years ago. The little fairy was no more, this time. Instead of seeing the man she loved die on the battlefield, she had killed him and herself in the same breath.
Shocked, Will wanted to kneel and grab them both in his arms. He wanted to shake them, to hurl the contents of his stomach, to yell and tempest. Why the heck did you do this ? Why, why WHY ? Shaking like a leaf, he fell upon his knees and sobbed.
I don't understand.
His mind was in turmoil, his emotions swirling around him like a storm. What could have been so dire that they chose to die, rather than ask for help ? Why had Hannibal considered his death so casually ? Accepted to end the existence of his wife without a fight ?
"There."
Jack's voice called him back to reality. In front of his eyes danced a glass of water, and a letter. His name throned upon the pristine paper, written by Frances' quill. Will pushed the water away and sat; he didn't trust his legs to function. He clumsily unsealed the letter and read Frances' last message to him.
And, as his eyes took in the information, the whole puzzled started to assemble.
"If you find this letter, Will, it means I am dead. You can stop searching for the Chesapeake Ripper. He and Hannibal Lecter are one and the same. I loved him so much that I couldn't denounce him, so I did the next best thing. I prevented him from killing."
The rest were regrets and musings upon her calling, the Keeper of Time turned into a guardian. Apologies.
His stomach lurched again and Will scrambled to gulp down the glass of water. It should have felt far-fetched and incredible, but the pieces were so neatly falling into place that he kicked himself for not seeing. He, the medium, had overlooked that his best friend was a serial killer.
Only then did he realise it was the aim all along; to have both him and Frances kill. To mould them into fellow killers, companions of Tristan's lonely life. The truth twisted his guts, acute pain wrenching his insides. She knew. All this time, she had known what Hannibal was, from the very beginning. He understood, now, why she adamantly refused to have a baby with him.
"Jack, when was the Chesapeake Ripper's last victim ?"
"September 2006."
Will ground his teeth together. His last victim, right before Frances walked into Hannibal's life. The entire world had titled upside down. Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal was a sociopath.
It certainly explained a lot. Tristan had not healed after all, Tristan had only got worse in this life. He knew the knight had taken pleasure in killing in the past. Now…. He'd expressed all his art, trying to lure him into his trap. He remembered, quite vividly, how he'd felt pushed by Hannibal while he suffered from encephalitis. It was Frances who had taken him to hospital for a diagnosis, working against her husband to save his ass.
She had protected him, protected Alana, protected the world. Trapped between the anvil and the hammer. And now, from what she wrote, she had decided to end his life to protect Jack at Bella's behest.
"Will, what does it say ?"
The empath gave his former boss a soulful look. That was a conversation he was not keen on having.
Five Days Later, at the Cemetery
Will threw a fistful of earth over the coffin, hands frozen by the snow that started to cover the surrounding of the cemetery. A certain Lady Murasaki had handled the funeral arrangements, the Japanese lady appearing with another lady in tow to choose the flowers and coffins. Only the best for the Lecter couple.
He had not been able to exchange many words with the strange woman who claimed being Hannibal's aunt; she spoke mostly Japanese and French, two languages he was ignorant about. It did not matter much, though. Will refused to be curious about Hannibal's life, the betrayal burning bright in his chest. Better to channel his anger at the man rather than resent Frances.
A flake caught his eyelash, refusing to melt; he blinked it away. Slowly, dancing icicles coated the landscape with a blanket of immaculate, pure snow. Frances loved snow. His heart gave a pang of regret; the rest of him felt completely numb. As both oak coffins were buried to the ground, Will contemplated the white skies.
Wherever you are, Frances, you did a good job.
The shock of the Lecter's death spread around town like powder. They spun a nice story of home invasion, and none were the wiser that the Chesapeake Ripper had been found, except for the FBI. After all, without Freddie Lounds to expose all their dirty laundry, secret cases could remain secret.
As he watched their joined tomb, Will couldn't help but feel lost. Why did Frances have to die for Hannibal's twisted mind ? No matter how much he loved his former comrade, the empath resented him for dragging the young woman into his folly.
"I still can't believe she killed him."
Will turned to Jack, finding his former boss completely lost. Jack Crawford had not wrapped his mind yet around the concept that Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper. He'd only seen the affable psychiatrist after all; how blind of him! He couldn't help but remember the day Hannibal had stormed into the office to threaten of a law suit. How Jack had not realised how feral the man could be, that day, went beyond his understanding.
Will knew better. Memories of Tristan sometimes surfaced in the depth of Hannibal's eyes; he oozed danger. His greatest error had been to dismiss this part of darkness as being the former knight'. Frances had used this knowledge to her advantage, hiding Hannibal's ways in plain sight. She had danced around his gift with so much skill, giving him no reason to investigate Lecter's character any further because he was her husband, and his friend from another life. Clever woman.
Clever, and so very dead, vanquished by Hannibal Lecter. Dragged by Tristan's soul to the afterlife. Alana's cold hand slid into his, and Will's thoughts went to Elina.
She is going to be devastated. Her Tatie Frog will not even be a memory to her.
"I have more trouble believing he could have been…", Alana swallowed past the lump in her throat. Hannibal had been her mentor, a man she admired and threw into Will's path with blind trust.
"We found the saws in his basement, human meat in his freezer and the card of people killed on his Rolodex."
Proudly displayed, all this time, on his kitchen counter. At arm's length, if only he had had the curiosity to open it, to take a peek.
"… as well as drawings of his kills…", Jack reasoned. "There is just no doubt about it anymore."
There was barely concealed rage in Jack's voice, the wrath of a man who'd been played when the killer paraded in his office for months. To think he'd trusted Lecter, spent Christmas as his house all the while incriminating his wife ! His guts were churning with loathing.
"And there's that inspector from Italy. Pazzi ? He sent us that picture. Il Mostro di Firenze, Alana. It was him, but younger."
Wide blue eyes settled upon Will; Alana couldn't wrap her mind around it. And suddenly, the realisation of how much she trusted Hannibal hit her in the face.
"Oh My God ! I left Elina at their place, I…"
Will engulfed her in his arms and squeezed, hard, setting his cheek against her cold one.
"He would never have hurt her. He would have protected her with his life, Alana."
The young mother pushed away, a frown marring her beautiful features.
"It doesn't make sense. Why ?"
How to explain the concept of wolves pack to a normal human being ? The close-knit between brothers in arms and their brood ? How to explain that, even though Hannibal's psyche was in shambles, that Elina had never been in danger, no more than Bor's ten children had at the time.
"Because she was one of ours. And Trist... Hannibal protected what was his."
"Still killed his own wife," Jack muttered.
Will's eyes returned to the fresh snow, memories of a frozen lake and snow coated forests in the fifth century assaulting his senses. He could still see her, mourning Tristan's death over his grave, singing her grief beside the Dao planted into the ground. An eternal resting place, or so they thought.
"She didn't want to live without him…", he breathed. "Not again."
"Any time you want to start making sense, Will."
Jack's retort brought him back to reality. Baltimore, 2009, United States. How far his soul had come since his days as a knight of the round table. Alana gave him a suspicious look, one that meant they would talk later. But the head of behavioural sciences expected a response out of him, so he sighed ruefully.
"The bond between them went much deeper than that of husband and wife, Jack."
He saw the moment curiosity replaced dejection in Jack's eyes.
"Who was that woman, exactly ?"
"You'd never believe it," Will smirked.
It wasn't an answer; Jack scowled.
"You know things I don't."
The empath's smile broadened; he was sick of hiding who he'd been. And what could Jack do, now that both of them were dead ?
"You have no idea."
"Should I look into it ?"
Will scoffed, squeezing Alana's hand in his gloved fingers. Once he turned away from that grave, he would return to his new life with his companion and daughter. He might even add one or two kids to his family, confident that his skills as a medium were used to save people now. Frances would become another memory, a shooting star in his life, Tristan's wife.
What would be the purpose of unearthing her secrets ?
"Whatever for, Jack ? She'd dead. She took the Chesapeake Ripper down, isn't it enough for you ?"
The broad man shuffled with a piece of rock with his shoe; he almost looked sheepish. The rim of his hat hid his features when he mumbled under his breath.
"Well… I don't like having so many unkowns. I still didn't find a record of her before 2006."
"You never will."
Jack's eyes snapped to his in a long, inquisitive stare. Whatever he found in the depth of his soul seemed to satisfy him, for he sighed in defeat.
"Very well, keep your secrets."
They were hers to tell.
For a moment, Will wondered what would have happened if his shadow protector had not shown up in that fated night of September 2006. It was now too late to ponder. He had a wife and a daughter to return to.
So there it is, the last point of that story. I didn't think It would go this far when I started it; i meant to write a one shot, then a short story. But it kept piling up. The end, though, has always been clear in my mind.
I hope you enjoyed. Please review if you did !