The car followed the path along the edge of a coast line, and the cool salty air hit Will when he was finally able to step from the cruiser. He glanced around at the barren land around, having passed through forests and now being left with sagebrush and dirt. He meandered after Hannibal who was walking to the edge of the cliff side, ignoring the rather modern architecture beside them.

The sounds of waves crashing was welcome and soothed the edges around Will's soul and he allowed himself a large breath in, the scent of ocean welcoming and making him miss being out on his boat. What he wouldn't give for a warm day on the rocking waves where he could nap and not worry about another living soul.

"The bluff is eroding," Hannibal stated, the conversation holding the tone as if Hannibal were making small talk about the weather, but there was never small talk. It was always disguised as small talk. "There was more land when I was here with Abigail." A painful twinge caught Will's heart and his hands became fists at his sides as he watched the nearly black waves crash so far below them. He had forgiven Hannibal, but that didn't stop the ache that came with the girl's name. "More land still when I was here with Miriam Lass."

Will's attention pulled from the waves to look over Hannibal who had never outright confessed to being the one who took Miriam, though he had never needed to say it for Will to know it to be the truth. Will gave a sigh and returned to the hypnotic waves below.

"Now you're here with me," he said, curious what fate awaited him when the others mentioned had not met ones so kind.

"And the bluff is still eroding." The words were matter of fact and Will waited for the metaphor or mind bending revelation that was always waiting at the end of such simple words. "You and I are suspended over the rolling Atlantic. Soon all of this will be lost to the sea." With those words, Hannibal unoccupied Will's side and Will was left to deconstruct the meaning behind the words.

He followed shortly after, towards the house where the door had been left open for him. The room was bright from the windows that constructed the walls. The space seemed to go on forever, never ending and ever so open. Dark floors caught the fading light as if just polished, as if there hadn't been any time between the last time Hannibal had been here and now, as if time had stopped in this house, just waiting for the owner to return.

A grand piano of rich rosewood was uncovered from beneath a large white cloth as Hannibal pulled it free. He made quick work to fold up the canvas and set it aside to begin pulling the same white fabric from among everything else that was waiting to be uncovered.

Without much thought to the movements, Will began to help, discovering a beautiful dining set, a bar, and sitting chairs while Hannibal revealed more of the sitting area, a coffee table and a television that must have been put in place specifically for Abigail.

Will gathered up his folded canvases and passed them to Hannibal's outstretched hand. "Thank you Will," he said. He walked all of them to a door and opened it to reveal a closet. He placed them on a shelf and closed the door before turning back to face Will. "If you would like to clean up there is a bathroom at the end of the hall and in the closet of the bedroom there should be something for you to change into if you wish." Hannibal pointed towards the respected hall and Will bit back any answer he might have had for Hannibal. "Do you have any opinion on something to eat?"

"No." The word was blunt and received a slight tip of head in question for further explanation. "'I doubt your kitchen will have anything of ample use in it."

There was a flash of a smile from crooked teeth. "Of course, Will." Hannibal spun on his heel and started up the hallway. "A surprise then." His voice echoed as it bounced off the walls.

Will rolled his eyes. "Aren't they always?" But there wasn't an answer. Will gave a sigh and licked his lips, taking in the space that held many echoes in its walls. Some more bitter than others, and he willed them into silence as he started for the same hallway to clean the blood from his body.

The water in the shower heated itself up quickly and it only added another level of suspicion that Hannibal had known all along he would be coming here. Which honestly shouldn't have been a surprise to him. It would make sense that everything was dust free and that there were things in the kitchen for him to cook. He had planned it all, however he was able to know every possible detail Will would never be sure, but he had planned that they would end up here.

The clothes that Will found for him only confirmed it. They were tailored specifically for him and of course they were a suit. Hannibal would expect nothing less, but Will wasn't about to let Hannibal make him a puppet. Not again.

He wore the slacks and pulled on the white button up, but left it loose and unbuttoned at the top, rolling the sleeves up to show the slight muscles in his forearms. He checked himself over in the mirror, fixing his hair as if he needed all of his curls to be absolutely perfect. And maybe he did need them to be perfect, though he wouldn't admit why. Not outloud, not to himself and not to his reflection in the mirror.

Shoes were placed on his feet and with one more look in the mirror for approval, Will left the bedroom, heading for the kitchen where he could hear and smell the beginnings of the meal Hannibal was preparing.

When Will rounded the corner into the spotless kitchen that was just as big as Hannibal's home in Baltimore, Hannibal stopped when Maroon flickered to Will. They looked away to return to his work, but snapped back to Will like they had missed some sort of detail on Will's person. They scanned over Will, who took to ignoring the look and leaning nonchalantly against the edge of the counter with his arms over his chest.

Will's head tipped to the side the longer that Hannibal regarded him, unmoving. He gave a small huff of air that held the hint of a laugh in it and that seemed to pull Hannibal from wherever Will had sent him. Hannibal cleared his throat and turned back to his work.

"Observing or participating?" he questioned, voice holding the faintest strain in it.

"Observe," Will said.

"Very well."

Hannibal's gaze lingered on Will for a heartbeat more before all attention was drawn to his work, finding seasonings for some chicken breasts that were patiently waiting. Will was silent as Hannibal finished gathering his ingredients and turned towards the wine rack.

The moment Hannibal stepped away, Will moved into the unoccupied space and snatched up two of the spices and returned them soundlessly to the cabinet Hannibal had plucked them from.

"I think a pinot grigio will work for this," Hannibal said, returning with the bottle in hand, stopping when he found Will rifling through cabinets. "Next to the sink," he offered. Will didn't even acknowledge him, simply obeyed and returned with two crystal glasses. They clinked as they touched the marble countertops and Hannibal opened the bottle and let it rest on the counter to breathe. "Will, I was-" The sentence stopped dead as Hannibal regarded what was in front of him.

"Yes?" Will asked as he settled himself back against the counter, a finger tracing the rim of one of the glasses in as bored of a manner as he could manage. Hannibal didn't reply, simply went about finding the spices that Will had stolen. With the chicken seasoned a pan was added to the stove top and the heat turned on. "I don't think I've ever heard you so quiet Hannibal," Will commented with a hidden smirk. Hannibal snatched up the wine bottle and filled Will's glass. "I always thought of you as someone who enjoyed the sound of their own voice too much to stay silent."

Will picked up the glass and brought it to his nose to smell, taking in the fruity and citrus notes in it before putting it to his lips to sip. He used the moment that Hannibal was scenting his own glass to causally wander behind Hannibal, hand turning off the stove top as he passed.

"Sometimes silence is just as pleasant as conversation," was Hannibal's answer before he too took a sip from his glass and set the wine bottle aside. He fetched the chicken and added it to the pan, though the normal sizzle that would have come from it didn't happen and Will could see the vein in Hannibal's neck just above the collar of his deep grey long sleeved shirt twitch with annoyance. He washed his hands off in the sink, pushed his sleeves up his arms and turned the burned on once more. "Is there something specific you wish to discuss?"

"No," Will answered, now leaning against the counter on the other side of Hannibal who had pulled some asparagus to him to begin prepping. "Nothing in particular."

"Then is the silence enough?"

Will chewed his tongue in thought. "There are two types of silences," he stated, though Hannibal didn't look at him, just kept his head down as he worked. "Easy silences and tense silences."

"And which is this, Will?"

"Well, now it's a conversation and not a silence."

Maroon danced up for only a single look, before attention was pulled back to the chicken. With Hannibal's back turned, Will took the knife that lay ready and let it slide him in the wooden block it belonged to. Small things would annoy Hannibal more than anything large. Large could always be seen coming, always accounted for, like a car crash set up for a perfect escape. But small things had a way of creeping in through the cracks that had been thought to have been patched up to perfection. Had a way to ruin a whole day.

"And you obviously wanted to say something, but you stopped." Will took another drink of his wine, waiting for Hannibal to turn around again. "What stopped you?"

"Nothing of consequence, I assure you." Hannibal spun back to the counter, his hand going for where the knife had been sitting and when it met the countertop there was a small hitch of breath. Hannibal's gaze flickered around and Will let his brows furrow in fake confusion.

"Your knife block is there," he said, pointing to it. "Is that what you're looking for?"

"Thank you."

"Welcome."

The knife was retrieved and set to work. Will finished off his glass and grabbed for the wine bottle, stopping when Hannibal took it from his reach. "I need the rest of that for the meal. There's plenty of other wine to choose from if you wish to refill your glass." The bottle was placed on the other side of the counter and Will grinned.

"But I want that wine."

"You don't like wine," Hannibal reminded. "There's bourbon and scotch in the bar. I'm sure those would align with your tastes far better."

Will rounded Hannibal, once more turning off the burner as he passed the stove. He snatched up the wine bottle and just let Hannibal stare as he drank straight from the bottle. Hannibal let out a sharp breath from his nose, but didn't say a word. His eyes followed every movement of Will's though as Will poured himself another glass.

"You just said that there was plenty to choose from." Will used the glass to motion towards the remaining wine, amused at the way the vein in Hannibal's neck twitched again. "It shouldn't matter if we finish off this bottle, should it?"

"With that logic, I suppose not." The words were tight, but there was nothing threatening in them. Not until Hannibal had turned back to the stove and stopped. His hands took either side of the counter of the stove and his head bowed in defeat. "Will."

"Yes?" he questioned innocently, wine glass going to his lips.

"Must you always be so exasperating?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you're referring to."

Hannibal straightened up, once more turning on the stove and checking the chicken to make sure it was alright from whatever Will had done to it. "You're acting..." Hannibal trailed off, letting the words die, not wanting to let the fight start, but that only pulled at Will. What was the point of being stuck here with this infuriating man if they didn't at least get to play their normal circling game?

"Acting like what?" Will challenged.

"Nothing."

"Like a child?"

"If you must know, yes," Hannibal agreed with a nod, hand hovering over the pan to make sure it was heating back up before he flipped the chicken over. "And it's starting to weigh on my nerves."

"And what are you going to do about it, Hannibal?" Will stepped closer. "Are you going to frame me for murder again? Let my mind burn me from the inside out? Or maybe you'll leave me gutted on this kitchen floor like you did the last time we were in a kitchen." Will's voice was growing louder with each word that left him, unable to keep the built up anger out of them. Hannibal turned to face him with his arms folded over his chest, his shirt looking so irritatingly soft to Will and he hated the way that he wanted to feel it beneath his finger tips. "Perhaps you'll take a saw to my head or-"

"Are you quite done?" Will's mouth snapped shut, so unused to Hannibal interrupting him. Interrupting anyone for that matter. How perfectly rude of the man. Hannibal must have noticed the outburst and let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Will blinked at the outright apology in shock. Hannibal didn't apologize. He had only ever heard the words said once, when they first met, but they had been swiftly followed up with a but you do it too, so am I really in the wrong here? So Will didn't consider it a real apology. But this was.

I would apologize for my analytical ambush but I know I will soon be apologizing again and you'll tire of that eventually so I have to consider using apologies sparingly.

"That's it?" Will found himself saying in exasperation. "I'm sorry?"

"Is there more that should-"

"What do you think Hannibal? Pretend to be human for once in your life, even though I know it is nearly impossible for you. I'm sorry?"

"I'm not entirely sure what you want from me, Will."

Will opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again when nothing of worth came to the forefront of his mind. He didn't have any quip prepared, nothing at the tip of his tongue to shoot back in anger. He was left with the same question that Hannibal was. What did he want? He was entirely unsure. An apology, but now that it was there, Will was deeply under the impression that he had never truly wanted an apology of any sort. All of Hannibal's actions had been forgiven, justified somewhere deep in the back of Will's mind and he hated himself for it.

The click of the burner being turned off caused Will to blink and return to the silence of the kitchen. The pan was removed from the heat and set aside and Hannibal looked to the floor, searching for something to say, but it seemed that both of them were at a loss.

Instead, Will stepped closer to Hannibal and set his wine glass aside to be forgotten. He didn't find himself reaching for Hannibal often. In fact, he was quite sure that him kissing Hannibal earlier that day to piss the man off had been the first time he had ever allowed himself to touch Hannibal.

He couldn't always allow Hannibal to have all the power, but his hand stilled in its reach before it had even begun and it fell back to his side, the step also going backwards. He couldn't breathe fully, knowing that nothing would ever change between them if he didn't end things here and now, but he froze at the realization that he was never going to quit Hannibal over time. He had tried once and look where it got him now. Right back in front of the same man, right back into their old routines and for the first time in years he finally felt like he was himself again. Like Molly had hidden him from himself, or he had allowed Molly to hide him away and now he was free of it, could see Hannibal for the drug and demon he was.

He had thought of Hannibal as a leech, sucking the life from him, but it clicked into place. The separation had been what was killing him, not Hannibal. He couldn't think without Hannibal interrupting him. He couldn't see anything, nothing but Hannibal. He was in Will's thoughts, his dreams, having taken over everything of Will.

And finding Molly, finding his supposed savor, only made him all the more lost. Was making him give up slowly. Hannibal had been the ghost haunting him, the voices in his head that never went away. But it was clearer now than ever before. It had never been Hannibal. It had always been Will and he had fought so long and hard to ignore it, but now he couldn't. His mind was screaming at him, begging him to pick a side.

I need a fix.

I promise I can deal with it.

Just one more hit.

I'll handle it.

I'm hooked on you.

Quit it.

I can't take it.

Just one more time, then that's it.

Just a little bit more to get me through this.

"Will?" Hannibal's voice called through the mental gymnastics that Will was performing. Will pulled his gaze from the floor and was met with deep eyes so much closer than he had expected them to be. "Are you-"

"Fine," Will replied, waving away Hannibal and trying to take a step back only to find himself pressed up against the counter.

"Would you like-"

"No." Will tried to push himself from the counter, but found himself trapped between maroon and marble. "Hannibal." Will's tone pleaded with the man before him, begging for a way to escape, but none came.

Instead Will's hand finally broke from whatever restrictions he had placed upon it and before he could stop it, the gentle fabric of Hannibal's shirt was pressing into his fingertips. He stared at his own fingers, the movement of them foreign, and they stopped when they found the killer's heartbeat. It was a bodily function that Will had long thought had vanished from Hannibal, certain he was a dead man walking, a monster in a person suit pretending to be alive. But this steady rhythm under his hand was all the proof he needed for the lie to be disbanded from his mind.

A finger hooked his chin and softly pulled Will's face up until Will's eyes finally met Hannibal's. There was nothing hidden in them, no scheming or deep seeded anger from betrayal. They were as calm as the waves outside.

"Do you go to the quiet of the stream when you disappear like that?" Hannibal asked in nothing more than a whisper, the air around them ready to shatter with how fragile it was. The balance hung, ready to be tilted in either direction and it was the fraction of a hair that held them right at the precipice.

Will shook his head and licked his lips. "Just trying to clear up some things I didn't realize I hadn't noticed before."

"Could I help?"

Will shook his head once more with a breathy laugh. "While you were gone nothing felt real. Even the sky looked like it was kept behind glass. But this..."

Will trailed off, the hand against Hannibal's chest turning into a loose fist and knocking softly against Hannibal. The silence once more fell between them, the tense sort of silence that Will had mentioned earlier, everything still waiting for the crash. Will's hand slid up to Hannibal's shoulder and then then to his collar. Hannibal's skin was warm against Will's as Will found an even stronger pulse to follow and memorize.

He trailed it up until it disappeared behind Hannibal's jaw, and then that was caressed. Why had he never done this before? Let himself explore and touch and trust? Because it was dangerous. Far too dangerous. The last time he had tried had ended with a blood bath.

But the memory was wiped clear when Will's fingers moved from sharp cheekbones and to pale pink lips, tracing the cupid's bow there. Lips parted beneath Will's touch and nothing could stop him from taking those lips to be his, to finally close the distance in a kiss. A real kiss. Nothing like the other two fleeting ones had been.

His other hand jumped up, tangling itself into soft greying hair, and pulling Hannibal closer until they were chest to chest. A hand took Will's hip, the other splaying itself strong and warm against Will's spine. The counter dug into Will's lower back, but he ignored the discomfort, far too lost in a feeling he had imagined for years upon years, too full of himself to experience.

He sighed against Hannibal, letting his body conform to the killer's, wanting every inch of himself to be touched. Hannibal's strength was unlike any other that Will had experienced. He could recall moments of feeling it, like when he was taken from Muskrat Farm in a drugged stupor, or after he had been shot and taken back to an apartment, or when Hannibal had helped him display Radnall Tier and had tossed the man over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

How easy would it be for the muscles in Hannibal's arms, now being traced by Will's hands, to pick him up? Would it be a simple task for him? Will had never let the thought pass through his mind, but now that was all he wanted to know. Will was positive Hannibal had had the same idea, because both hands had taken Will's hips and there was pressure there as if he were going to be picked up, but the moment splintered apart at the sound of glass shattering.

Will cursed as the kiss ended and he realized that in his excitement to map out Hannibal, his elbow had knocked his wine glass from the counter and careening to the floor. In an attempt to get out of the way, more glass crunched wetly under Will's shoes and he sheepishly pulled free from being anywhere near Hannibal's heat.

"Sorry," he apologized, a hand going to his head. "Where is the broom?"

Hannibal cleared his throat and ran a hand through his messy hair, putting it back in place. "The pantry."

"Right." Will hurried to the pantry door and opened it, fetching the cleaning supplies and let it lean up against the counter when he found Hannibal on his knees, using a cloth to wipe up the spilled wine. "Sorry."

"Quite alright, dear Will," Hannibal assured, words still as breathless as Will felt. "But I would like to put your wine skills to the test. Would you mind finding another for dinner since we don't have enough of this now?"

"Yeah."

The movements between the two of them were clunky after that. Not their normal dance of back and forth, the steps either forgotten or the music all wrong. Dinner was awkward at best, but as delicious as it always had been and Will had the epiphany that he never wanted to eat anyone's cooking aside from Hannibal's ever again. How he had missed the way the flavors placed him as close to heaven as he dared to think he belonged.

With dinner cleared and the darkness of night having finally set in, Will found himself by the piano, staring out into the night that was so pitch black he couldn't see past the glare of the windows. He knew what he was looking for, who he was looking for. The silence had once more become tense, but a different sort of tense. Not one of destruction, but one of anticipation.

A soft padding of footsteps were behind Will, but he didn't turn, still searching the bluff for some sort of movement, though he doubted he would find anything. The steps grew closer with the familiar scent and feeling of Hannibal along with them.

"You're playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon," Hannibal said, his words and voice once more hidden behind crypticness. Will turned at the clank of a bottle on wood and found Hannibal readying to pour them yet another glass of wine. "Wasn't surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon." As if Will had asked the question. Will simply watched as Hannibal gently cleaned out two glasses, feigning dusting them. "Was it surprising when you heard from him?"

"Yes and no." Stiff. Will's words and body felt stiff. Knowing what was coming but not ready to accept it. Wishing they had just a bit more time between the two of them. Hannibal inspected his work on the first glass and set it aside on the lip of the piano before picking up the second. He stole a swift look over Will, but returned to his work.

"Do you intend to watch him kill me?'

Will opened his mouth, struggling for words, remembering how he had asked that Hannibal die back in his cell. A moment that felt so long ago now. "I intend to watch him change you," he finally got out, each word picked carefully, knowing full well they were being listened to if Hannibal had fallen back into old games.

Hannibal wasn't moved by the phrasing at all. He simply set the second clean glass aside and pulled the wine bottle to him. He pulled at the wrapping around the top, the corkscrew held firmly in his other hand.

"My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will." Hannibal met Will's gaze and Will perfectly understood the meaning that shone in those dark eyes.

I love you. I love you and it's going to kill me.

"If you're partial to beef products, it is inconvenient to be compassionate towards a cow."

Hannibal chuckled half heartedly, twisting the tool into the cork of the wine bottle in smooth and fluid motions. The cork was pulled free with a loud and echoing pop and Hannibal brought it to his nose to scent before placing it aside. Both glasses were lifted in a single hand, and held out towards Will who took the one closest to him.

"Save yourself, kill them all?" Hannibal asked, filling Will's glass with deep red.

Will shook his head, brows furrowing slightly. "I don't know if I can save myself." The truth in those words was deafening. Maroon was curious when Will met Hannibal's gaze. "Maybe that's just fine."

I love you too.

There was a barely there nod from Hannibal before he turned away from Will and stepped across the expanse of the room, finally pouring himself his own glass of wine. "'No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend.'" It was a quote and if Will had to take a shot in the dark, he guessed it came from the Bible before it had been twisted to fit whatever Hannibal wanted it to become.

Will let out a sigh, the glass in his hand heavier than it should have been. He took in the wood of the floor before he turned his attention again to Hannibal. He wanted to say something more as the words clicked into place as did the angle of Hannibal's body infront of one of the large panels of the window.

"He's watching us now." Will wasn't sure why those were the words he chose at that moment. He didn't know why he didn't beg Hannibal to move, step forward to stop whatever was about to happen from unfolding.

"I know," Hannibal acknowledged.

A breath, a heart beat. Will's hand tightened its grip on the glass in it and he could only stare as the wine bottle, still held firmly in Hannibal's hand, exploded into fractures and fragments, spilling red across the polished floor.

In a natural reaction, Hannibal's eyes dropped to a different shade of red now coating his soft grey shirt and suit jacket. The remnants of the bottle dropped from his hand and the window burst apart, falling in time with Hannibal's body.