Anonymous asked you: Can you write about when Will figures out Hannibal is a killer? But they're already together. Thanks!

"You…you lied. Everything was a lie." Will kept the kitchen island between them, the handle of the butcher knife held so tightly the blood leeched from his knuckles.

Hannibal splayed his hands on the granite counter top, careful not to make any sudden movements. Because every line of Will's body screamed anger but more than that was the fear and the hurt and disgust.

"You used me to get close to the FBI," Will continued. "You just wanted to make sure they didn't find out about you."

"That's not true. Think about it, Will," Hannibal said firmly with almost a hint of a plea. "I didn't need to invite you into my home or my bed to gain information. There was Crawford and Bloom who I could have easily used."

"You did this because you're sick," Will shouted as he waved the knife in unconscious emphasis. "You—You, you manipulate people. I needed you and you used that, made me need you. You alienated me from Jack, from Alana, Katz, Keller, Price."

"Because you needed me, Will," Hannibal replied. His voice rose slightly and his lip curled in the slightest bit of visible anger. "Jack and Alana would have you cowering in a corner, treating you like a fragile child and using you only when they needed you."

The doctor moved around the island. Even when Will held the knife out and the tip dug painfully into his stomach, Hannibal stood until there was little more than a foot of space between.

"Stop," Will demanded, his voice shaking. He rolled his shoulder and blinked rapidly in nervousness. "This only ends one of three ways."

"You kill me, I kill you, or what? You turn me into the FBI?" An eyebrow rose in question. "There is always the fourth option."

The profiler shook his head vehemently. "There is no fourth option. I cannot just…stand aside while you murder people. How many pictures of murdered people did I look through not knowing you put them there?"

"Four," Hannibal answered. "I did it to help you. You needed that push and I gave it to you."

Will looked disgusted. "I'm I supposed to be grateful for that? Am I supposed to thank you for killing for me?"

"Of course not. But know why I did it. Will?" Hannibal's brow furrowed with worry as the profiler stepped back with a hand to his chest.

"I can't…I can't breathe. I think I'm going to be sick." But as Hannibal came close, Will stuck, fist to jaw before he sprinted for the back door.

There was only woods surrounding Hannibal's house, a stretch of woods that went on for over two miles. But Will ran as fast as he could, as far as he could only he collapsed to his knees with his head spinning and a vile taste of vomit on his tongue. He sat at the base of a gnarled oak and drew his knees to his chest as he held the knife close.

After a moment he could hear the crunch of leaves, but didn't bother to look up. Having run out in the cold air in only an undershirt and jeans and his heart pumping adrenaline, Will trembled violently.

"I am going to be added to your list? Are you going to bury me here, six feet underground with worms picking at my flesh?"

Hannibal removed his blazer to drape it over Will. "Never. You choose the ending, Will. Whatever you want."

"No, that's not fair. You can't put all of this on me. That's not fair."

"That's life's great flaw; nothing is ever fair."