Disclaimer: the characters and concepts in this story are the property of Thomas Harris, Bryan Fuller, and their related affiliates. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: the trap springs too quickly in Florence. Will and Hannibal adapt.
Author's Notes: Thank you for your kind interest in what has now become chapter one! I hope you all enjoy chapter two, which has to lead to chapter three, and so on and so forth until…I have no idea when.
…enjoy!
Two
They play chicken with the other's stamina as they move. What starts as a run oscillates between job and leisurely walk until they are a safe distance from the sirens and Hannibal's car comes into view. He will have to switch it out for another before leaving the city, but he calculates there is enough time left to run the necessary errands.
Aside for several bumps and bruises (the miserable ache in his groin being the worst), Hannibal considers himself unscathed. Will seems to have taken the brunt of the abuse, but he's far too stubborn to let it show beyond a slight limp.
Aware that he's being watched, Will breaks the silence, "Will Dr. Du Maurier be joining us?"
"I expect that Dr. Du Maurier has already fled the country if Inspector Pazzi is aware of who I am," Hannibal replies. He's disappointed to be losing his new life in Florence so quickly. "I doubt I can say the same for Jack Crawford."
"Jack can take care of himself."
"No doubt," Hannibal casts a sideways glance at Will. "Was he waiting for you today?"
"Yes."
The lad's honesty is refreshing. Their last conversation about alliances with Jack Crawford was not quite so revealing. "He won't give you up so easily."
"I wouldn't be so sure. His last words to me were that you and I deserve each other."
Hannibal hums, satisfied with the answer. They do deserve each other. For that, the good doctor slows and finally stops. Will follows his lead. Facing each other, they measure the quiet around them, gauging how alone they truly are with all the open windows. The old stone buildings provide excellent acoustics. They are alone enough for murder. "It seems providence has granted us another arena," Hannibal measures Will's stance and readiness for a fight. "You are here to kill me, aren't you, Will?"
More honesty: "I haven't decided yet. I thought a lot about killing you while I was in the hospital."
"I killed Abigail Hobbs."
"Don't," Hannibal's struck a nerve, "say her name. You don't deserve to say her name."
"I told you a place had been made for you."
Will grabs him by the coat lapels and shoves him up against the wall. "You could have let her go! You…you should have…"
Hannibal doesn't struggle. He invites the outburst, relishing the force of Will's knuckles against him. In fact, he's disappointed when the ferocity drains out of Will and they end up apart, facing each other again. The former agent isn't ready to deal in mortality just yet.
"Death is too good for you," Will sneers, "and it would be a disappointing end for me."
"Even a death orchestrated by Mason Verger? No doubt that's who Pazzi was working for."
"What you did to Mason Verger was justice," the fire returns to Will voice. His eyes smoulder. "What you did that night…to Alana, to me, to Jack, to Abigail…" he has no words for it. Will has to let the words burn on the air between them, an inferno. "That deserves something so much worse than death, even a death that Mason Verger planned."
Hannibal lets the heat of the moment wash against him. "I look forward to what you have in mind," he says, "though I'm not sure if Jack Crawford will continue to support this endeavour, not now that you've abandoned him. You can count on Inspector Pazzi letting him know how you aided and abetted my escape at the warehouse."
"Jack Crawford knows where my loyalties lie."
"You can hardly say the same for the Polizia di Stato. My flight from Baltimore received national coverage, as did yours and Jack Crawford's botched operation to avert it. You were barely acquitted in the United States."
Will finally catches up in the conversation. "Are you asking me to flee the country with you?"
"I'm merely providing the incentive."
"You gutted me."
Hannibal looks to the place he sank his knife so long ago. Will's leg hangs below it the way animals hang in a butcher shop's window. "I overreacted," the good doctor allows himself to admit.
The pause is long and pregnant. Will's gaze can't possibly get any wilder. Hannibal's explanation seems so miniscule in comparison to the carnage he caused. "You overreacted?"
"The intention was to depart from Baltimore with you and Abigail without alarm. I was upset."
Will's grasp on his temper weakens. He lets loose an indignant huff and storms away as well as his bad leg will support him, then circles back. "You know, I stand corrected: death sounds like a perfect punishment for you. I should have let Inspector Pazzi shoot you."
"Then why didn't you?" Hannibal allows the impending revelations to percolate in his mind. He's coming to understand this new Will, the one limping in the aftermath, his motivations. "You came to Florence with Jack Crawford to arrest me, but you prevent an attempt on my life by a zealous police officer and flee the scene instead. You're not even armed yourself, are you, Will? Not even Jack Crawford trusts you enough to give you a gun."
"I knew I wouldn't need one. Not against you."
"Because you knew I wouldn't attack you? Or because you knew you wouldn't use it on me?"
"Both," Will spits. "If I do decide to kill you, Dr. Lecter, I want to do it with my bare hands."
Hannibal can't express the pleasure he gets from the thought of facing Will again, this time in a fair fight. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Perhaps you'll give greater consideration to my proposal to run together after all. We can go somewhere private, just the two of us, and end it the way it should have in Baltimore."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
They can't possibly just stand around all day in a quiet section of Florence, Hannibal knows, and it dawns on him a second later why they might be. He lunges for Will and captures the cell phone safely tucked into the breast pocket of the smaller man's coat.
Will punches him in the throat. Stars dance in front of Hannibal's eyes and the cell phone tumbles across the pavement. The doctor scrambles forward, ignoring his inability to breathe, and throws himself down on Will's exposed back.
The former agent's reaction is more violent than he anticipates, and his cry is more of pain than mere frustration. Hannibal loses his grip from Will's sudden burst of strength, but he still manages to crack the phone with a kick before Will can get to it. Another stomp his foot and the hope of being tracked disappears.
Hannibal gives Will a moment to right himself. He straightens his coat, combs a hand through his hair, cleans the blood of his arm. Blood that isn't his. He raises a brow and scans the area. There are drops on the cobblestone, on Will's shoes, down Will's pant leg.
He blames his rather slow comprehension of the situation on a possible head injury. The limping, the pain, his pallor. Will's gone a shade of pale best reserved for the morgue. He's sweating in spite of the temperature.
"It's a graze," Will said, pressing a hand against his hip. The bullet must have passed through the pocket during their flight through the stacks. No wonder Hannibal can't see the rip.
Will staggers back a step. He barely catches himself. Hannibal, as usual, takes advantage. He stalks slowly towards Will. "It appears your options are dwindling, Will: you can either stay here and hope for rescue, not to mention that the Polizia are willing to believe your story about their Inspector being a hired hand. Or you can come with me, knowing that I have the means to stop the bleeding and save your life."
"I'm not…" the words die in his mouth as a symptom of his condition or the oppressive hopelessness of the situation. "Jack Crawford is going to come looking for me."
"He won't find you."
"He already did once."
"You found me, Will," Hannibal reaches towards Will's hip and applies the same, life-saving pressure to Will's wound that he applied to Abigail Hobbs's neck. The touch revives Will somewhat. He manages to close his mouth and draw a steadying breath. "Of that I am absolutely certain."
The corners of Will's mouth tilt up in a wicked half-smile. His face crumbles a second later – from physical pain or emotional pain, Hannibal's not sure. "I suppose it will be easier to catch you if I'm with you."
Hannibal smiles too. "I'm glad that was your decision. I admit, I was going to wait for you to pass out and take you while you were incapacitated."
Will snarls, "I would expect nothing less, Doctor."
"Put pressure on that," Hannibal directs, then slings one of Will's arms over his shoulders again. Their three-legged gait carries them to the car, where Hannibal deposits Will in the passenger seat. He packs his coat against Will's hip to staunch the bleeding, then rounds the vehicle to the driver's seat.
He makes sure his route takes them directly past Hospital Saint Maria Nuovo. It is, after all, less than two blocks from where they were standing.
"Bastard," Will mutters.
"Don't be rude, Will," Hannibal warns, accelerating.
Happy reading!