The lights never completely go out in prison. Will is surprised by how much he misses the dark. That sweet all concealing blackness, the nearest thing to oblivion.

Impossible here. The lights in the corridor are never turned out, even at night, a constant stream of chilly artificial light creeping in through his window. Will tries sleeping with the blanket over his face, but he wakes at night convinced that he has been buried, gasping and clawing his way out from underneath the cloying mess of sheets.

"There are ways to take control of your surroundings," Hannibal says. "Techniques to drown out outside interference. I can teach you, if you like."

Will looks up. Several weeks without sleep have left him groggy. Or perhaps it is the medication. He blinks. Why doesn't he remember Hannibal arriving?

"No." he says. "I don't want – I'm good."

Hannibal makes a disapproving tutting sound under his breath.

"I tire of watching you fall apart, Will."

"And yet you still keep coming."

"I'm only sorry that I can't see you more often. I could prevent you getting into a state like this."

Will turns his head to look at him. Hannibal is standing very close to the glass this time. There is a tension in his shoulders that in any one else would read as genuine concern. Will closes his eyes again.

"Do you remember out agreement?" he asks.

Will can hear Hannibal shift slightly, feet scraping a little on the concrete floor. He clenches his fists, trying to quiet the flood of suggestion his mind is calling up. Talking to Lecter is a strange kind of war and he needs to focus.

"I never forget anything you tell me."

"Hah." Will opens his eyes again at that, tilting his head back. Lecter looks at him, an expression of mild hurt on his face.

"Do you wish to begin today?" Lecter asks.

"No time like the present." Will says, with vicious brightness.

There is a silence that grows and fills the cell around him. Deliberate, Will thinks. Hannibal wants Will to break, and look at him. And Will won't. He won't. His nails dig deep into his palms. He can feel the crescent shaped ridges of scar tissue forming where he'd cut into them before.

"Perhaps," Lecter says and Will can't help it. His eyes fly open, landing on his psychiatrist and taking in everything, the neat twist to his paisley tie, the concerned wrinkles in his brow, everything.

"Perhaps we should view this as a new beginning. Wipe the board clean and start again."

"Perhaps." Will says.

"Conventionally speaking, therapy begins by determining one's goals. What do you hope to gain from our discussions, Will? You have set the parameters. What is your intended object?"

Will glares straight at Hannibal. "I want my freedom."

There is a short silence in which Hannibal stares unblinkingly at Will.

"You specifically prohibited me from lying to you during the course of this little game. Am I to take it you don't play by your own rules?"

"I'm not lying."

Hannibal's lips curve slightly, a humourless approximation of a smile.

"You don't find it peaceful in here? Away from all the clamour and din of human expectation and disappointment, that was once so painful to you?"

"You've already asked one question." Will says. "It's my turn now."

Hannibal inclines his head slightly, a gesture of amused acquiescence.

"Tell me," Will says. "About the first time you went hunting."

Hannibal tilts his head in apparent puzzlement. "You think that I hunt?"

"I know you do." Will says.

A faint dimple appears in the corner of Hannibal's cheek, eyes glinting with genuine amusement.

"I was at school," he says."I was feeling rather under stimulated. It seemed like a way to pass the time. There was what seemed like an appropriate hunting ground nearby. Easy prey. I'd read on the subject of course. In retrospect my methods were rather crude. Luck rather than skill enabled me to track and disable my prey."

"Did it fight back?" Will asks.

"It didn't see me coming." Hannibal says. "Deer can be very stupid animals."

Will fights the horrible and unanticipated urge to laugh.

"How would you describe your current problems?" Hannibal asks suddenly. "In your own words."

"Let's see," Will says. "I've been framed for multiple murders, and I'm looking at spending the rest of my life in prison or worse, with you and Chilton poking at me."

"A very serious circumstance." Hannibal says, mildly. "You do not mention any difficulties with your mental health."

"I'm no more crazy than I have always been," Will says.

"And that particular brand of insanity no longer concerns you."

"I didn't kill anyone." Will says stolidly.

Hannibal lets out a soft sigh.

"Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

"I believe there would be a kind of truth in saying the man in front of me did not kill anyone." Hannibal says. "But you are not always yourself, Will."

"No," Will says. "Sometimes I'm you."

Hannibal looks up at him, a particular gleam in his eye.

"It's my turn to ask a question." Will says, and find himself inexplicably breathless.

Hannibal opens his arms and bows his head, a theatrical gesture of subjugation. "Be my guest."

"Why do you keep coming back?" Will asks. "What is it that you want from me?"

Hannibal raises his head a little, tipping back on his heels thoughtfully.

"There are many reasons. As a psychological study you are quite unique. Your reactions fascinate me."

Will looks away, mouth curling in disgust.

"But that is not the only reason." Hannibal says, more gently. "I consider you – a friend, perhaps more than that. A member of my family, not by blood perhaps but somewhere under the skin. Sometimes I see a version of myself in you. If I had had a different life, been less fortunate in my early experiences, perhaps… perhaps our fates would not be dissimilar."

"You're wrong." Will says. "We aren't alike at all."

His words seem to echo strangely, and Will looks around a little disorientated. The room seems somehow darker than it has been, the shadow of Hannibal at the window looming unexpectedly large.

"How long have we been talking?"

"Are you having difficulty keeping track of time?"

"In here? I think anyone would."

Hannibal says nothing. He continues to look at Will, until every inch of his skin prickles with discomfort.

"I want you to go now." Will says. "I don't have any more questions. And I don't want to say anymore."

Hannibal says nothing but continues to stand and stare at Will for a long time. When he finally departs he does it silently – Will does not notice him leave.