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: When it's all over, there's intestines swirled on the cobblestones, and Will is suddenly appreciative of the fact that Hannibal gutted him on the ground floor.

Author's Notes: I meant to get this posted this morning! GAH! FANFICTION!

Ahem, this next chapter gave me some pause – hence the delay. I liked the structure but had to consider whether it was superfluous. I can do a lot of superfluous things. I think it works. I hope you do too.

I should warn you, dear readers, that I just copied dialogue from the novel Hannibal in this one. I also included an ad hoc, improvised version of Pazzi's death. As a result, this chapter is still spoiler-y. And bloody.

Enjoy!

Four

When it's all over, there's intestines swirled on the cobblestones. Pazzi's legs dangle like a chandelier in the archway, blood trickling from the soles of his shoes. Florence is spread out on a blanket beyond them, pink and indigo in the falling sun, a stark, unsettling contrast to the macabre image framing the veranda.

Will stands in silent acceptance of the scene. He clutches his stomach sympathetically for Pazzi. Hannibal inquires with a look, chest heaving, as he reels from the fight. "I'm suddenly appreciative of the fact that you gutted me on the ground floor," Will replies humourlessly.

Hannibal turns his attention back to the mess Pazzi's made on the walkway. "You incapacitated Signora Pazzi," he notes.

"She means nothing," Will argues. "If she remembers anything of our visit, she won't be telling the Polizia anything they don't already know."

Hannibal nods. He retreats into the house to clean himself. "We'll be leaving shortly," he tells Will. "Mason's men are not far behind."

"You're not in the mood for more carnage?"

"I'm not in the mood to see Signora Pazzi killed." He doesn't say whether he or Mason's men will do the killing.

Will deserves some food for thought.

A few things that become clear the second Will is settled in the kitchen, coat off and shirt open to reveal the long gash along his hip and lower back.

First, Signora Pazzi and Hannibal are acquainted. That much is clear from their proximity at the sink. He washes his hands, she prepares a bowl of warm water and procures a fresh towel. They speak in soft voices and exchange sentences that Will's mind provides subtitles for: amidst all their chatter about him (indicated by the quick glances he's receiving), they're asking about each other. Signora's eyes gleam; Hannibal's remain darkened.

"She seems perfectly polite to me," Will notes when Hannibal returns to his side.

"Signora Pazzi is very polite," Hannibal says, pulling Will's hand away from his wound to inspect it. Blood spurts anew to fill the gash and Hannibal applies new pressure. Will gasps and clings to his chair for support. "Occasionally, though, life does not afford a rude meal. Beggars can't be choosers."

Will shoots her a concerned look. Signora has the phone pressed to her ear and is speaking hurriedly. "Who is she calling?"

"Her husband," Hannibal replaces Will's hand and sets about preparing a needle for sutures. His medical kit has everything for the living and the dead, apparently. "I managed to convince her not to phone for an ambulance, but I insisted she phone her husband and let him know I was here."

"You told her your name?"

"Signora Pazzi knows me by my alias. Her husband should be along shortly, I expect, once he knows I am here."

"And the Polizia?"

"Inspector Pazzi would not want to share me with them."

Will gasps for breath. The pressure Hannibal is applying drives the air from his lungs. "Mason?"

Hannibal nods his understanding, "Mason has sent men, no doubt, to ensure my capture. I doubt Inspector Pazzi will invite them to his house any more than the Polizia, not with Signora."

The phone appears near Hannibal's head. Signora Pazzi utters something. Hannibal takes it, patting Will's shoulder sympathetically, then ruins the air of calm he's projecting by speaking in English. "Commendatore, how nice to speak to you again. I'm sorry to take advantage of your hospitality, but a friend of mine has been injured and we required a place to recoup."

Whatever Pazzi says is inaudible. Will tries to catch the attention of Signora before she disappears and he fails. Hannibal's demeanor remains unchanged: he is still pleasant with Pazzi, terrifyingly pleasant, even while saying, "On a related note, I am giving very serious thought to eating your wife."

Signora Pazzi returns to the kitchen just in time to hear the death threat, but she makes no sign of comprehending what Hannibal has said. He transitions back into Italian and says something Will can only assume is normal, non-cannibalistic, and even halfway pleasant given that Signora ends up smiling softly.

Hannibal smiles back as he hangs up.

The Italian chatter continues as Hannibal tends to Will's wound. Signora plays nurse as he lances the area with lidocaine and proceeds to stitch the site closed. The medical kit is well-stocked with everything a killer would need: scalpels, hypodermics, vials, gauze, suture kits. Will considers grabbing a blade, but his nausea spikes suddenly – not from the doctor's touch, which he can't feel, but the proximity. The blood loss. The disorienting flashbacks to Hannibal's kitchen floor. He grips his scar protectively, half-expecting to catch a handful of bowel when he does.

"That healed nicely," Hannibal appraises the scar as he works. "Your surgeon did some fine work."

"You gave him a fine wound to work with."

Hannibal does not disagree. "Inspector Pazzi did not. You must have been in pain, Will."

Will closes his eyes against the dizziness. He releases his next breath slowly. "Does that please you?"

The doctor hums. Yes. Will winces as the tracts of his skin are sewn back together. Signora makes a comment and departs for the sink again. Will follows her out of the corner of his eye. Her image expands and contracts at odd, rhythmic angles. "I am not going to let you eat her."

Hannibal finishes with his task and snips the threads of the sutures. He takes Will's hand in his and plants his fingers on the wrist. "Let's not forget what happened the last time we were in a kitchen together."

"How could I?" Will accepts the glass of water that Signora brings him with his free hand. His arm shakes, but he still manages to take a drink. She takes the glass back when he offers. "Are you going to kill the Inspector?"

Hannibal drops Will's wrist. "You need to tell me if you start to disassociate."

"Hannibal."

"However, I'm optimistic that driving in your condition won't kill you."

Will grabs him by the wrist as he rises, "Don't. Please, don't."

Hannibal doesn't glare, doesn't glower, doesn't soften his gaze. He doesn't even take Will's hand off his wrist. He very gently and very calmly waits for the sound of a car arriving in the driveway before walking off down the hall.

Signora heads him off. Will calls her back to the kitchen with a begging quality in his voice. Hannibal doesn't stop her from returning. That's how comfortable he is with the arrangement. Kill Pazzi. Maybe kill his wife. Either way, the good doctor is happy.

"Please," Will begs her, staring her in the eyes, trying to transmit his thoughts across the language barrier. "Please, call the Polizia. Polizia! Please, just call them. Call them now."

She pats him on the shoulders and speaks hurriedly, something Will's sure is along the lines of, "You are delirious. This is the blood loss talking. Would you like more water?"

The door slams into the wall when it is kicked open. Signora nearly leaps out of her skin. She starts towards the hallway again, but Will takes her wrist to stop her.

Will can't tell whether Hannibal survives the three gunshots that ring out from the foyer, especially not when Signora screams. Adrenaline gives him the strength to rise out of the chair and grab her. One hand over her mouth muffles the scream and the other arm around her waist keeps her from struggling. Pain and dizziness become great motivators. He has to hold on because letting go will mean falling apart again. He'll melt to the floor in a pool of his own blood and have to listen to his heart stop beating.

He listens carefully, filtering out the sounds of his own ragged breath and Signora's struggles for signs of life. Very quickly, it becomes clear that Hannibal and Pazzi are both still alive. They are fighting again, this time moving to higher ground. Will can hear them climbing the stairs in battle this time, until finally, a heavy thud drops against the wood and echoes through the house. There's a pause, then the sounds of someone being dragged across the floor overhead.

Signora weeps. Weeps and screams and fights. Will digs his fingers into her neck until she goes limp. He binds her hands with one of the zip ties from Hannibal's murder kit, shoves the rag in her mouth, and buttons up his shirt.

He doesn't think twice about any of it. Hannibal, the bastard, always did manage to bring out the worst in him.

Will is going to interrupt them. Hannibal can hear the scuffling in the kitchen below, can feel the house pulse with the lad's desperation. He has to hurry, though he will not be denied his satisfaction. Pazzi is greedy, and greed is a powerful enough motivator to compensate for the Commandatore's lack of intelligence.

He cuffs Pazzi's hands behind his back, binds his ankles with his shoelaces, and then scans the room for a noose. There's an extension cord running along the wall that does nicely and is fitted around the inspector's neck by the time his eyelids begin to flutter. A fresh pair of socks makes for a decent gag. By the time Pazzi has regained consciousness, Hannibal has dragged him to the balcony and is attaching the extension cord to the rails.

"I have no need to hear your voice, Commandatore, only to have the answers to the questions I provide. Cooperate, and it may be convenient for me to leave Florence without my meal." At that, Pazzi stops struggling. He lets Hannibal balance him against the rails of the balcony. The sounds of the struggle below are starting to soften. Hannibal's knife hand itches. "Blink twice for yes, once for no: was it Mason Verger you sold me to?"

Pazzi glares at him. His glare is rheumy and teary, a world-weary gaze. Time has not been guide to the Inspector. Hannibal brings his scalpel to rest against Pazzi's stomach. "Was it Mason Verger you sold me to?"

Two blinks. Of course. "Are they here now?" Single blink. "Are they on their way?" One blink? Two blink? Hannibal sighs. "Was that a single blink? Now is not the time to be getting confused, Commandatore, not when Signora has been incapacitated." And she has been: the silence from downstairs attests to that. Pazzi smartens up and manages to perform two blinks.

Hannibal smiles and breathes a sigh. Mason's men are on the way. All the more reason to run. He grips a handful of Pazzi's hair in his hand, dragging the Inspector's head back so that he can see the city. "I was content to live quietly in Florence, Commandatore, but if I must die, it will not be by Mason Verger's methods. Your alliance with him is very rude, and I hate rude people." Pazzi struggles, grumbling and cursing in muffled tones. Hannibal lets the Inspector look him in the eye. "Your wife, on the other hand, was very accommodating. Tell me, yes or no, if Mason's men are close, and I will leave without harvesting her lovely circulatory system."
More muffled screaming on Pazzi's part. Hannibal has to dig the scalpel against his throat to get him to focus. One blink greets him. Hannibal's smile broadens. "Thank you, Commandatore. You have been most helpful. One final question," he drags the scalpel down, down, down, lightly grazing Pazzi's chest. "What's it to be: bowels in," he presses the scalpel against Pazzi's abdomen, "or bowels out – like Judas?"

The sight of enraged, furious blinking greets Hannibal. His smile disappears. "Are you confused? Well, I'll decide for you, if you'll permit me."

Pazzi permits. His abdomen splits open around the scalpel, spilling blood over Hannibal's forearm. Heaving him over the rail is a pleasurably sight.

Happy reading!