Pain.

Will opened his eyes reluctantly, dragging himself back into the present. The pain was in his ankle, dull and constant. It hadn't been there before. His whole body was sore; he had been stabbed in the side last night. A shallow wound, but he had lost a bit of blood and it had hurt like hell.

He was in an unfamiliar bedroom. He sat up groggily, finding himself quite naked in the bed. He looked down at his side. Someone had dressed the wound. Hannibal.

Memories flooded Will. Some were false, some he had dreamed. Others, he wasn't sure about. He had been attacked last night, taken to a barn somewhere. His attacker had been unknown to him. It had looked grim. Then, Hannibal had arrived.

Hannibal. Dressed ready to kill, literally for once. He hadn't known Will was there; that had been obvious from the expression on his face. Looking over his would-be killer's shoulder, Will had read Hannibal's face clearly for the first time. Everything had snapped into place as he watched Hannibal kill the man brutally.

Shit.

Will covered his face with his hands, clawing at his skin in frustration. He was annoyed with himself for not seeing.

Hannibal had put him into his car. Will didn't remember anything after that, but it was safe to assume this room was in Hannibal's home. What had happened to his ankle? Frowning, he pushed the sheets down to look at it: swollen, purple. Broken.

"Good morning, Will." He stood framed in the doorway, posture relaxed. He was wearing no jacket, shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. In the early morning light, his skin looked golden.

Will struggled to know what to say first. He was feeling a great many things. Fear, oddly, was not part of the cocktail. "You broke my ankle?"

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "No 'thank you for saving my life, Hannibal'? How rude."

"Thank you for saving my life, then breaking my ankle," Will said, voice laced with irony. He realised too late that he was sat uncovered, and reached for the sheets again, feeling blood rushing to his face.

"I had to ensure that you couldn't leave. Not until I decide what to do."

It was the most honest Hannibal had ever been with him. Will looked at him hard, struggling to articulate himself. Will had shared himself freely with this man, trusted him in a way that he had never trusted another person. He was Will's closest friend, not that he had a lot to choose from. And he was a serial killer.

"It's my job to find people like you," he heard himself saying, "and I never guessed- I never suspected-"

Hannibal held a hand up to silence him. "Don't. Feelings of guilt are unnecessary. I am very good at what I do." It was a statement of fact, but there was a small hint of pride in Hannibal's voice.

Will leaned back against the pillows. He rubbed at his face again; he was getting another headache. "Why are you doing this? Why not let me die?"

Hannibal blinked, cocking his head slightly. "You think I could just let you die?"

"What I think about you doesn't matter. The person I thought you were doesn't exist, Dr Lecter." Will shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes.

Hannibal didn't reply. Will heard his light footsteps approaching. He wondered what was going to happen; maybe he had changed his mind, realised he had made a mistake and was going to quietly kill Will now. Will felt surprisingly little about that.

The bed dipped as Hannibal sat down. Will felt light fingers ghost across his cheek and he opened his eyes automatically to see Hannibal's face near his own. He could smell cologne and toothpaste, and felt a strange sense of embarrassment over what he must smell of.

"You are taking this very calmly, Will."

"I'm sure I'm just repressing it. I'll probably have another breakdown later." He smiled humourlessly. "At least I can't go wandering about now."

Hannibal leaned closer, his face blank. "You do not fear me?"

"I've never feared you. To be honest, I'm not sure I can feel fear for my life when it's worth so little. Why, do you want me to fear you?"

Several emotions passed through Hannibal's eyes. Will wondered what the honest answer was. Hannibal's fingers on his face tightened slightly before he stood up.

"Would you care for some breakfast?"

Will's eyes widened as he made yet another connection. "You're eating them. And you've been feeding them to us." He felt a vague sickness in his stomach.

Hannibal smiled faintly at him. "Just coffee, then?"

"If you'd be so kind," Will managed.

When Hannibal left, Will surveyed his surroundings. His bloodied clothes from last night were nowhere to be seen, although his glasses sat on the bedside table. They'd been in his shirt pocket. He reached for them and put them on.

This was certainly not the greatest situation he could have ended up in. Positively, he was still alive, and he owed that Hannibal, no matter how he felt about that. Unfortunately, he was trapped in someone else's house with a broken ankle and a cannibalistic killer. A killer who also happened to be his best friend. He wasn't sure how this could end.

Hannibal returned with coffee in two steaming cups. He sat down again and passed one to Will.

"Thanks," Will muttered, taking a large gulp. It scalded his throat.

"I will take you to hospital later to get that ankle attended to correctly. I have already contacted Jack and Alana to let them know you are staying with me for the foreseeable future, until it heals."

"You've told people I'm here?"

"Yes."

"So you're not keeping me hostage?" The words sounded silly as he said them.

Hannibal sipped his coffee delicately. "I am keeping you here. I assume it is against your will. However, that is not how I intend to present it to the outside world."

"If you wanted us to spend more time together, all you had to do was ask. Breaking my ankle wasn't a necessity." As Will said the words, he thought for the first time that morning of the dreams he had been having recently about Hannibal. Not the dreams about the feathered stag, although he now realised those dreams were about Hannibal, too. Other dreams, of skin and sweat and lips. The images made him colour again.

To his surprise, Hannibal smiled at him. It was a warm smile, and it looked genuine. His teeth gleamed at Will. "I confess I never planned this, but it has proved quite interesting, don't you think?"

"Interesting?" Will mused. "That's why you do everything, isn't it? To see how people will react?"

Hannibal didn't respond, merely took another calculated sip.

"Am I reacting how you'd predicted?" Will prompted, feeling irritated.

Hannibal looked into the distance. "I have often fantasised about the reactions of those closest to me if they learned the truth. I knew you would still care for me, but you did surprise me last night when you embraced me. I expected that you would reject me." Hannibal looked back at him. "Another disappointment in your life."

Will recalled throwing himself into Hannibal's arms after he had been released, craving the closeness and protection of his friend. Hannibal had described himself as another disappointment, but Will didn't feel disappointed. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Anger at himself for not seeing the truth.

He was pleased he had managed to surprise Hannibal. He had always been vaguely annoyed by the older man's ability to appear unfazed by life. Without thinking, he reached out for Hannibal's cheek, rubbing his fingers over the freshly-shaved skin. It was softer than he expected.

Hannibal's expression didn't change, but his eyes widened. He was surprised again. Will smiled slightly despite himself, revelling in the unusual feeling of having the upper hand, despite everything.

"What are you doing?" Hannibal asked quietly.

Will leaned forward. He was aware of his heartbeat in his throat, painful and quick. He was playing with fire and he knew it.

"Surprising you," he replied gently, breathing the words against Hannibal's cheek.

Hannibal chuckled and stood up suddenly, shaking his head. Will felt both relieved and rejected.

"Don't play games, Will. You won't win," Hannibal warned.