VI

I don't wanna wake up from this tonight

Note : This chapter has a voluntarily ethereal, almost unrealistic atmosphere, because, till the end, Will refuses to think about the situation. He's in denial.

I opened my eyes in the dark, flinching. During endless seconds, I was unable to remember where I was. Then I blindly stretched my arm out to find a switch and flicked on a bedside lamp. The yellow light assaulted my pupils, illuminating the room and my memories. A glance at the alarm clock told me that I had slept three hours at most. I sighed and lay down again, eyes closed, before taking stock of my paralyzed body of pain. My nose was very tender. I was afraid to touch it. On the hand which had struck Francis, two knuckles were blue. My throat was very raw. My neck hurt as soon as I moved my head. Not to mention the rest. Getting up would be torture, but there was a need that surpassed all of this. Hunger. My stomach growled. My senses were awakened then, and I understood why. A delicious smell floated in the air. There was only one explanation. Hannibal was cooking. And I was hungry as a lion.

Gathering my strength, I left the bed. I didn't know where my clothes were. They were gone. Whatever. We had reached a point where I didn't mind exiting the room completely naked and entering the living room. The first thing which struck me was the absence of Francis' body on the ground. In the place where it should have been, the blood had soaked the floor. A fire burned in the fireplace. On the couch, my jacket had not been moved. But still no trace of my clothes. Resigned, I went deep into the mansion, following the scent of spices and clinking of utensils that I could perceive now.

The kitchen was huge, just like the house. Behind the work surface, Hannibal seemed more in his element than anywhere else, even though he was only wearing boxers. On the stove, dishes slowly simmered in a pressure-cooker or crackled in a skillet. This was from where the aroma was emanating that that made my stomach twist again. Hannibal raised his head and noticed me. His gaze pierced me and I froze on the spot, until he raised a mocking eyebrow, letting his eyes travel up and down the expanse of my body. A crooked smile appeared on his thin lips and I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't find my clothes." I justified myself, walking towards him.

"I burned them, as well as mine. They were covered in blood." He told me, by seizing the handle of the frying pan to stir ingredients.

"What's for dinner?" I asked, motivated by an unhealthy curiosity.

"Shepherd's pie of Dragon's heart seasoned with whiskey." He said, with some pride in his voice. "But before you sit at the table, you should go take a shower, so I can examine your wounds. The bathroom is there." He added, showing me a door leading to a hallway.

My empty stomach didn't like this idea, but I could only imagine my current appearance. The dried blood on my skin, bruises ... So I followed his advice and left the room, refusing to think too much about what was happening.

The bathroom was large too. There was a spacious shower with a glass divider against the wall opposite to the entrance. To my right, a black double vanity unit contrasting with the white walls. To my left, an antique full-length mirror which featured cracks spreading from its center. The fragmented reflection which it sent back to me made me jump. Besides bruises, I found a multitude of bite marks, hickeys and scratches. I turned to expose my back. It didn't offer a better scene. Without thinking about how the marks got there, and especially because of whom, I hastened to get into the shower and turn on the water. The steaming jet struck my shoulders and my muscles relaxed immediately. The water was colored with red, carrying away my anxiety to the drain. Then the door opened behind me.

Without looking back, I knew he was coming into the room, and I shuddered when his skin came into contact with mine. Two warm hands caressed my shoulder blades and then seized a shower gel and a washcloth, before tending to me. The cloth soaked with water and soap finished cleaning me.

"Show me your face." He whispered in my ear.

Slowly, I faced him and he gently dabbed at my nose, before examining its bridge carefully. A groan of pain escaped me.

"It's not broken. It will be painful for a few days. I'll give you an analgesic later. "

I nodded just before he grasped my chin, to raise my head and look at my neck. I grimaced with pain.

"The mark of strangulation will soon disappear, but you will certainly have an irritated throat for a while. I don't think that you would need a neck brace."

His fingers lowered to grab my left hand, before lifting it. He inspected it carefully, ignoring my wedding ring.

"Haematoma at the fourth and fifth metacarpals, but I feel no fracture. Do you have any other wounds? "

"Except the damage you've caused? No, nothing else."

And a little carnivorous smile stretched his lips, before he leaned down to kiss me. Apparently he wasn't at all sorry for that. I had expected nothing less from him and found the flavor of his tongue on mine to be electrifying. Then he pressed our foreheads together, his hands on my hips.

"We cannot dwell here too long." He whispered. "I'm going to find us some clothes."

He kissed my cheek before exiting the shower, wrapping a white towel around his waist and opening the door, while I seized a bottle of shampoo to wash my hair.

"Hannibal?" I called him, before he left.

"Yes ?"

"Is Argentina far from here?"

In response, he simply smiled and then left the room.

...

When I came into the kitchen, wrapped in a gray bathrobe too big for me, Hannibal, dressed in simple black pants and a burgundy red V-neck sweater, was making mashed potatoes. I had stayed much longer than necessary in the shower, to convince myself that my initial plan was still on track and that I was doing all this only to earn his trust. It could have worked ... If I could forget the desire for him that he had awakened in me. Moreover, he was right. I could hardly to exculpate myself. Especially now. I was guilty of four murders, one of which had been premeditated. I didn't really have much choice. I would have to accept his help. It wasn't as if I could go back home. It wasn't as if I could be with Molly anymore. She had made her choice, and so had I.

On the central kitchen island, one pill and a glass of water was waiting for me and I hastened to swallow it realizing how thirsty I was, before my interest was drawn to the pile of clothes folded on a stool.

"I think that they're almost your size." He said, crushing the potatoes with a fork before adding the milk.

I didn't bother going somewhere else to change my clothes. There were some graphite grey khakis, a white shirt and a thick deep blue sweater that warmed me immediately. The set was several sizes too large but comfortable. Hannibal flambéed the meat with whiskey and hunger reemerged at the forefront in my mind. Not wanting to remain inactive, I opened a few cupboards and the cutlery drawer to find what I wanted, before putting it on the island. He had already taken two wine glasses and opened a bottle of red that he had found heaven only knew where in the house. He turned off the stove and arranged a cylindrical cookie cutter in the middle of a white plate, before raising the dish and sprinkling it with chives. I sat and watched his slender hands repeating the maneuver with the same meticulous precision. It was far from the sophisticated dinners which he had organized in the past but it didn't prevent him from doing his best. He wiped away a drop of sauce from the ceramic with a clean cloth, before put the dirty dishes in the sink and sitting down in front of me.

"Bon appétit." He said, serving us wine.

"Thank you." I whispered, by seizing my fork, before planting it in the puree.

I also took some pieces of meat and inhaled deeply, before putting the fork in my mouth. I expected nausea but the flavors exploded in my mouth. It was creamy, tender and spicy. Ingredients blended into perfection. And I had to force myself to eat slowly and savor every bite. I looked up at Hannibal, who seemed to be waiting for my verdict, and sincerely smiled for the first time in years. He appeared satisfied and he seized his glass, before smelling his drink and dipping his lips there. I knew nothing about oenology, but he visibly appreciated the taste of the wine, so I drank mine without apprehension.

The meal took place in comfortable silence. There were many things we had to discuss, but none of us felt the need to talk. Our relation had never been so clear, so unclouded. No more pretense, no more double games. I wasn't on a mission for Jack anymore and Hannibal didn't hide behind a mask. I had become his equal.

...

The sun rose and reality caught up with us. We had lingered here enough time. At any moment someone could come ringing. Francis wouldn't be going to work today and it would eventually be noticed. No one knew the identity of the Red Dragon, except us, but this didn't necessarily mean that we were safe in his house.

However, we didn't want to leave places without restoring his magnificence. In the attic which we had discovered while looking for equipment which could be useful for us, we moved back to admire our first real collaboration, finally satisfied. Hung by the shoulders and wrists on the exposed beams, completely naked and arms spread, Francis Dolarhyde had finally become what he wanted to be. The raw skin of his back was stretched on two wooden structures to form two majestic wings whereon we could discern his big tattoo.

My left hand hurt a lot and I tried to forget it, while we packed our suitcases. But Hannibal saw me wince.

"Go put some ice on it."

These were the first words he spoke for hours. And I listened to him, leaving the living room for the kitchen where I opened the freezer to take an ice-cube tray and empty it in a cloth, before applying it on my knuckles. The cold did a world of good to me and I waited for a few minutes before glancing at it to notice that they were swollen again. My eyes drifted to my wedding ring. It shone with a gilded brightness under the light. Carefully, I removed it while gritting my teeth and then placed it on the work surface. It rolled on the ecru marble. I left it there and went back to the living room.

"I'll drive." He said, seeing me come back.

He wore a black leather jacket which he had found in Francis's wardrobe. It gave him a wild side. I imagined him, for a moment, on a bike, and I liked this idea a little too much for my own sanity.

"It's no big deal. I can drive." I answered.

"You almost didn't sleep."

"And you, not at all."

He sighed because I stood up to him.

"Fine. We'll take turns." He concluded, taking a bag before walking towards the exit.

I grabbed him by the arm and he looked at me. I caressed his smoothly shaven cheek with my good hand. My thumb slid on his high cheekbone and he closed his eyes.

"Are ... are you in love with me?" I whispered.

He swallowed and I followed the bobbing of his Adam's apple. He gave me a long and deep look.

"Yes." He said against my lips before kissing me.

I put my arms around his waist, his bag crashed to the ground and he took my face in his hands. I ached for him as he ached for me. Our embrace slid slowly toward something more carnal, more animalistic, and he moved away before losing control of the situation. We needed to get out of here. I took a bag and Hannibal was going to do the same, when he suddenly grabbed my wounded hand. The move surprised me but I realized what had drawn his attention. He simply looked at my ring finger, caressed it slowly, before releasing me and going to open the door.

The winter cold invaded the hall immediately, and I quickly put on my jacket before joining him on the steps. At this very early hour, the street was deserted. So I closed the door behind me and we walked up to the car. Hannibal slid in behind the wheel, while I threw our bags in the trunk. His stubbornness made me smile and I finally decided to take the opportunity to sleep a couple of hours. He started the car and I settled down in my seat as comfortably as possible, before leaning my head against the window. The vehicle rushed on the road and I watched the landscape pass us by, while the sun shone with a new brightness.