A/N: Thank you for all the follows/favourites/reviews, and sorry for the minor delay! I had real life responsibilities to take care of. (Your girl is now officially a law and criminology student who spends her free time writing about a fictional cannibalistic serial killer and his boyfriend).

I hope the beginning of the new year was good for everyone! If not, I hope it gets better.

hurt me

there's two of us

bristling with desire

the pleasure's pain and fire

burn me

Jack wastes no time when they arrive at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, ushering both Will and Hannibal to Dr. Chilton's office before being shown the crime scene.

Hannibal stands just in front of the door, watching intently as Will steps forward and surveys the scene. Seeing the nurses' cooling body, he admits to himself that Able Gideon did a rather good job at recreating what the public knew to be the Ripper's last victim.

Far too good a job, really. As far as he can remember, wound patterns had never been released.

"Were there any other signs Dr. Gideon was the Chesapeake Ripper before now, Frederick?" he asks quietly, eyes drifting away from Will to look at Dr. Chilton.

"He fits the profile," the other man replies, gaze trained on Will as the profiler bends to examine the body. "When did they get you involved on the hunt for the Ripper?"

Hannibal's lips turn upward ever so slightly, "They didn't."

"Then why are you here, Dr. Lecter?"

"For Will's sake."

Chilton's head snaps towards Hannibal, and the man cocks a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "You are Will Graham's psychiatrist?"

"Of sorts."

"Of sorts?" Chilton repeats, head tilting slightly. "For how long, Hannibal?"

"A few months."

"And you hadn't thought to let me know?"

"Frederick," Hannibal chastises, smirking. "You know that's unethical."

"Screw ethics," Chilton murmurs, leaning in closer to the other doctor. "You have to know Graham's a hot topic in psychiatric circles."

"I am well aware of what is said about dear Will," Hannibal tells him. "I have no wish to add fuel to the fire, as the saying goes."

"Why not? If I were in your position, I'd be exploiting the opportunity any way I could."

"Which," Hannibal says slowly, eyes moving back in the direction of Will, "Is exactly why we're lucky you are not in my position, Frederick. There are enough people in Will's mind as is, he does not need you writing journals about him."

Chilton huffs a laugh, arms folding over each other as he leans against the wall. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you cared about him, Hannibal."

Hannibal opens his mouth to reply, but closes it again when Will gasps loudly, his breath coming in erratic, unsteady puffs as he emerges from whatever thoughts had been clouding his head.

"As far as we know, it's been two years since the Chesapeake Ripper killed?" Will asks, still not turning away from the mutilated body.

"That's correct," Jack replies.

"When was Gideon admitted?"

"Almost two years ago."

Will nods slowly before finally turning and looking towards Chilton, "Can I speak with him?"

"Not now," the doctor replies. "But if you could come back tomorrow—"

"Yes," Will interrupts impatiently.

"What do you think, Will?"

"It…looks like the Chesapeake Ripper. I'll need to speak with Gideon before I can give a proper profile. Sorry."

"Very well. I'll call you tomorrow and we can discuss it."

Will offers a tight lipped smile before asking, "Can I leave now?"

Jack nods once and Will moves immediately towards the door. Hannibal steps forward and reaches an arm out, the palm of his hand moving to rest gently between Will's shoulder blades.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Frederick," he murmurs before nodding his farewell to Jack and leading Will away from the room.

Lost in his own thoughts, Will is only vaguely aware of Hannibal's touch directing him from the building and to the doctor's parked car.

He definitely doesn't notice the pair of eyes following them.

Hannibal opens the passenger door for him when they reach the black Bentley, remaining silent until he himself is in the car. Starting the engine, he turns towards the other man, "Are you alright, Will?"

Rather than replying verbally, Will offers a jerky nod before closing his eyes and leaning against the leather car seat, his leg bouncing anxiously.

"Perhaps it would be wise if you were to stay with me tonight."

"I need to think."

"I won't stop you."

"No—I…I'll be stuck in my head. Not very good company."

Hannibal allows himself to smile fondly, "You don't need to be good company, Will. I'd much rather you think in my guest room, where I'll be able to help if I need to, than all the way back in Wolf Trap."

"I…yeah, okay."

"Good," says the doctor, finally pulling away from the hospital.

True to his word, Hannibal leaves Will to his own devices, only interrupting him once dinner is ready. The meal is a rather casual affair, in comparison to what dinner with Hannibal is usually like. The dish has a name Will can pronounce, and Hannibal sits across from him, suit jacket and vest discarded as he takes measured bites of food and carries the conversation.

"Are you feeling any better, dear Will?"

Will hums, swallowing a gulp of wine. "I'm thinking clearer now."

"And what is it you're thinking?"

Will sighs, "I'm not completely convinced that Gideon's the Ripper."

"No? The notion seems plausible."

"I know, and he could be," Will tells him. "It definitely looks like the Ripper's work, but I need to talk to him before I make up my mind either way."

"Are you having your usual trouble with understanding the Ripper?"

"Not really," Will admits. "I mean, this killing isn't exactly…hard to understand. It's part of the reason I don't think Dr. Gideon's the Ripper. It's just—I… it feels different. Something's different. I don't feel how I usually do."

"How do you usually feel?"

Will pauses, contemplating. "It's going to sound weird."

"Tell me anyway."

Sighing, Will says, "I feel connected, almost. I may not always understand him, or see him as clearly as I wish to, but I can feel the Ripper."

Hannibal leans back in his chair, wine glass held up to his lips, as he murmurs, "That must be unnerving."

"I'm not afraid of the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal. I like being able to feel him, it just frustrates me that he's hard to understand."

Indulging in a smile, Hannibal asks, "Have you always been drawn to a challenge, Will?"

Will laughs, shrugging briefly before swallowing his bite of food, "If I deem the challenge worthy."

"And you believe the Ripper to be worthy?"

"I want to understand."

Hannibal's smile widens, "I want you to understand, as well."

Despite Will's protests, Hannibal lends him a pair of expensive, cotton pyjamas to sleep in. They're navy blue with white threading, and he takes them from Hannibal's hands with a resigned sigh. He doesn't want to let Hannibal know what he usually sleeps in, so he puts on the oversized clothes and wears them to bed. They're warm and soft against his skin, a small blessing in the freezing cold night.

Hannibal smiles when he emerges from the bathroom, his gaze appreciative as he lets Will know he'll be just down the hall if anything comes up. Will nods and mumbles a thanks, collapsing down onto the guest bed as soon as Hannibal closes the door behind him.

Even if something does come up, Will's pretty sure he won't go to Hannibal for help. His nightmares have been affecting him oddly lately, and he has no intention of embarrassing himself in front of the other man.

Pulling the thick duvet around him, he allows himself to wish he was curled up with his dogs, their calm breathing lulling him into sleep. The thought makes him feel stupid, though, juvenile, and he sighs, burrowing his face into the oversized sleeve of the nightshirt, the unmistakable scent of Hannibal filling his senses as he drifts into sleep.

Images of gushing blood and shimmering shadows play behind your eyes, flashes of light and remnants of screams and moans accompanying them.

You feel…disorientated. Foreign. You don't know where you are, or what you're doing, or who you're with, or if you're with anyone at all. The screams don't have a recognisable voice, the shadows have no faces, and the blood seems to be gushing out of no one, out of nothing.

There's something else, though. An all-consuming emotion. Making its way through your body, through your mind and your stomach, until it's overwhelming you.

It isn't unpleasant, but you wouldn't call it pleasurable, either. It's just there, like a little voice in the back of your head. A bit like a guilty desire, or an unpleasant arousal.

You think, perhaps, your own screams and moans are matching those of the nameless voices and faceless shadows. You're not exactly sure if they're from fear, or something else entirely.

You don't feel scared.

None of it makes sense, and you're too incoherent to even try to understand. It's easier to just give in to whatever it is, so you do. Twisting and turning and rutting and screaming as everything consumes you, as you let it consume you, alighting each and every one of your nerves on fire until—

The sound of his own scream draws Will from sleep, his sweat soaked body trembling as he comes down from his orgasm. The scream on his lips fades until he's left panting, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to make sense of things.

Disorientated from sleep and arousal, it takes him a moment to sense the presence on the other end of the room, standing just inside the door way. Will curses his body, face flushing as he fights to urge to pull the bed covers over his head and hide from Hannibal until it all goes away.

He figures it's best to get it over with, though, so, turning in the direction of the other man, he asks, "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," Hannibal murmurs, finally moving towards the bed. "I was unsure if it was safe to touch you or not."

Will watches as Hannibal sits on the edge of the guest bed, close to Will's trembling form, but still not touching. He looks entirely too put together, Will thinks, especially at whatever ridiculous hour it is.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Will can't bring himself to meet Hannibal's eyes, afraid of what he might find there.

"For waking you up," he whispers, voice hoarse from screaming. "And…and for ruining your pyjamas, probably."

Hannibal waves a hand dismissively, lips tilting into a smile.

"Nothing a good dry clean can't fix. As for waking me up, you needn't worry. I thought you were having a nightmare," Hannibal tells him. "Evidently I was wrong."

Will shakes his head, sheets rustling underneath his curls, "It was a nightmare… At least, I think it was."

"What do you mean?"

"I…there was blood…and shadows, and people were screaming, and I—I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I react like this. They're not—I'm not—"

"Will," Hannibal cuts him off, an authoritative tone in his voice that makes Will shut his mouth quickly, the flush returning to his cheeks. "Our bodies often react in ways that seem odd to us. There is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand me?"

Will nods, though he doesn't agree, not really.

"Use your words, Will."

"Yes."

Hannibal nods once, pleased, and gently swipes his palm over Will's sweaty forehead, his long fingers combing through the messy curls. His smile widens as the other man sights happily at the touch, Will's body still oversensitive after the draining dream.

"Perhaps another shower is in order?"

"Okay," Will agrees, allowing Hannibal to help him up from the bed and back to the guest bathroom.

When Will emerges from his second shower, Hannibal has laid out another set of clothes – this time a simple white t-shirt with plain, black pants – alongside a glass of water and a sleeping pill. He dresses quickly, downing the pill and the glass of water straight after. He intends to go back to sleep in the guest bed, despite the fact that his sweat had soaked through the pyjamas and onto the bedding.

However, Hannibal appears at the door just as he's pulling the cover back, a frown on his face.

"Will?"

"Mm?"

"What are you doing?"

Will looks towards him, slightly confused. "Going back to bed?"

"Not in there you're not. It's drenched."

"I really don't care, Hannibal. I do it all the time."

"I care," Hannibal tells him, matter-of-factly. "You can sleep in my bed with me. We've only got another three hours before we should wake up."

Will stares at him, surprised at the offer. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Or," Hannibal says slowly, once Will's taken too long to reply. "You could sleep on the couch. There's another guest room, but unfortunately it's not currently suitable to be slept in."

"No, no, I, um," Will stumbles, feeling suddenly awkward. "I don't mind sharing."

Hannibal smiles, and Will sees his eyes shining in the light that streams through from the hallway.

The next time Will wakes up, there's a muscular arm wrapped firmly around his torso, a solid body pressed against his back. He lets out a content sigh, smiling as his body, muddled with sleep, burrows into the warmth offered. He can feel warm puffs of air ghosting over the back of his neck, and the steady rhythm almost lulls him back into slumber.

"We should get ready for the day," Hannibal murmurs, the movement making his lips brush against Will's skin.

Tensing, Will's eyes snap open, suddenly overly aware of the situation and how they got there. He moves to sit up and Hannibal sighs, removing his arm before rolling onto his back.

"Umm…"

"Yes?"

"I…"

"How about you get ready while I make us a quick breakfast, hmm? We'll leave for Frederick's after that."

Will nods slowly, palm rubbing at his face.

"Okay."

"How much do you know of Will Graham?"

"Enough," Hannibal responds, moving to look at the books resting behind Frederick's desk.

"You're really not going to share?" Chilton asks, cocking an eyebrow from where he sits, lounging on one of his office couches. "Come on, Dr. Lecter. It's unlike you to keep your thoughts quiet about this sort of thing."

Hannibal sighs, plucking a leather-bound book from the case and flipping it open to a random page.

"I've already told you, Frederick. Will was rather reluctant to trust me with his mind's inner workings. I have no intention of ruining that now."

"Always the gentlemen," Chilton mutters, rolling his eyes and standing. "What is it you're reading?"

"Your staff records," Hannibal replies, eyes trailing over addresses and phone numbers of employee after employee, his mind soaking the information like a sponge in case it ever became useful.

"Rather boring."

Hannibal hums, either in agreement or disagreement, and says, "Isn't it dangerous to keep this information in a book? Should it not be digitalised, where, if someone were to escape, it would be harder to access?"

"It is digitalised. I merely keep the book for aesthetics," Dr. Chilton tells him, sitting at his desk. "And no one would be able to escape, Hannibal. The security here is unbelievable."

"If you say so," Hannibal murmurs, eyes trailing over the address of a Brown, Matthew before finally shutting and replacing the book.

"Tell me more about Mr. Graham's thoughts on the attack," Frederick says, indicating for Hannibal to take the seat across from him. "Surely you're willing to discuss that?"

Hannibal takes the seat, folding one leg over the other and leaning against the wooden back. "Will has mentioned doubts."

"Doubts?"

"Mm," Hannibal hums, tilting his head slightly. "He is not entirely sure Gideon's attack is that of the Ripper."

"Why not?"

"He's not exactly sure why. That's the reason he wished to speak with Dr. Gideon," Hannibal tells him.

"You saw the crime scene, Hannibal. Of course Gideon's the Ripper."

Hannibal's shoulders lift in a light shrug, "Is there any way you could have planted the idea, Frederick? Lead Dr. Gideon to believe he was the Chesapeake Ripper, simply because that is what you yourself believed?"

Chilton mouth parts slightly in surprise, his brow furrowing as he addresses the other psychiatrist, "Are you accusing me of unorthodox psychiatry, Dr. Lecter?"

"Merely asking," Hannibal replies, lips lifting in a barely there smile. "No need to fret about it. I myself have been known to indulge in the unethical, when the situation calls for it."

Chilton sighed, "We discussed the Ripper's work in our sessions together."

"Did you allow Gideon to see classified information?"

"I would not go that far, Hannibal," Frederick answers, yet Hannibal thinks he detects a lie.

When Will emerges from his chat with Able Gideon, Hannibal is waiting for him. Despite the awkwardness of their night, he's glad to see the doctor. There are a million thoughts running through his head, ones he wouldn't want to share with Jack or Alana, and definitely not Chilton. Not at that moment, anyway.

"How was it?" Hannibal asks, voice quiet in the empty hallway.

Will waits until he's right in front of the other man before answering, "Interesting."

"Still having doubts?"

Will sighs, a hand running across his stubbled cheek.

"I'll admit the scene looks like the work of the Ripper. The wound patterns, the scenario, Gideon's surgical history. It's easy to understand why they'd think he was the Ripper."

"But…" Hannibal prompts, eyes trained on Will.

"I see the Ripper," Will tells him, blue eyes staring into maroon. "But I don't feel the Ripper."

Hannibal watches as Will moves to lean against the wall, hands reaching under his glasses to rub at his eyes, irritated.

"Are you alright?"

Will shrugs, "I think so."

"Why don't you feel the Chesapeake Ripper, Will?"

"I…he…I just don't. There's something about it that doesn't…fit," he answers, pausing for a moment before whispering, "I could feel the Ripper in my head, with Spencer. Really feel him. Like…like he was a part of me, lingering in the back of my head. I don't feel like that now."

"Perhaps the Chesapeake Ripper—"

"Ugh," a voice calls from the end of the hall. "Not you two as well."

Both men turn in the direction of the voice, Hannibal cocking an eyebrow at the young man who walks towards them, dressed in an orderly's outfit.

"Excuse me?"

"All this talk of the Ripper," the man responds, sighing. "I don't understand the hysteria. He's hardly the greatest serial killer."

Will turns towards Hannibal, watching carefully as the man's eyes darken and his lips purse.

"Oh?"

"If you ask me," the man says, eyes trailing over to Will. "The hype around the Chesapeake Ripper emerged more from the FBI's inability to catch him, rather than any particular skill."

"Then it's a good thing we didn't ask," Hannibal replies, his voice perfectly polite as his hands fold together to rest in front of him. "It's impolite to entre conversations uninvited."

Will suppresses a smile at Hannibal's words before turning his gaze to the orderly.

"You really don't think the Ripper has skill?"

"His murders are pretty – but there are better serial killers to waste your time on," the man replies, shrugging. His eyes flick towards Hannibal before returning to Will, a small smile tugging at his lips as he continues, "Just as there are better people to spend your time with."

Will makes an odd, half laugh, half almost-choking sound in the back of his throat and stares at the man in front of him, eyes wide. He thinks maybe, perhaps, he might be hallucinating, because, well, really?

"Ah, what?" he asks dumbly, eyes flicking towards Hannibal.

Hannibal isn't looking at him; rather, his eyes are trained solely on the man in front of them. Will wishes he could see what they look like – see if there's any emotion there or if his expression is as perfectly resigned as it usually is.

"How very rude," Hannibal murmurs, and although his voice has an almost dangerous quality to it, Will can see his lips tilt into a small smile. "And who may you be?"

"Matthew Brown," the orderly replies, and Hannibal's smile widens.

"Thank you for your input, Mr. Brown," Hannibal says, placing a hand on Will's shoulder. "But my companion and I really must get going. I suspect we'll be seeing you later."

Matthew waves at them as he watches them leave, winking at Will when the man turns around to look back at him before following Hannibal from the building.

They're barely out the doors of the BSHFTCI when another voice calls out to them. Will recognises it immediately and rolls his eyes as Hannibal stops and turns to look at the flame haired woman walking towards them.

"Called in again, Graham?"

"Wasting my time again, Freddie?"

"You should help me out. I could help you clear your name, you know."

Will refrains from rolling his eyes again, "How very generous of you. Are we forgetting the fact that the only reason my name isn't clear, is because of your articles?"

Freddie smiles, "Minor details."

"No."

"I could delete them all."

Will lets out an exasperated sigh, "What do you want?"

"The inside scoop," Freddie tells him. "I want to know what the FBI's favourite little toy thinks of the Ripper's latest crime."

"No," Will repeats, turning to leave.

"It would work in your favour."

"You've already told people I killed someone, what else could you do?"

"That murder was somewhat justifiable, my readers know that. There are other damaging facts to spill," Freddie says, smirking to herself when Will turns back around to look at her, confused.

"Like what?"

"FBI pet Will Graham, forced to see psychiatrist for reasons unconfirmed. Some sources claim it's because he's unstable, others say it's to repress his urges to kill again."

"What?" Will asks, moving closer to Freddie, Hannibal following suit.

"Miss Lounds," Hannibal murmurs, drawing attention to himself for the first time during their encounter. "Is it not horribly unethical to blackmail information from people, especially when the blackmail material is false? Do you care nothing for the truth?"

"Of course she doesn't," Will mutters.

"Of course I want my readers to know the truth," Freddie says, ignoring Will and looking towards Hannibal. "They deserve to know when the person allegedly keeping them safe is as dangerous as the killers he tries to catch."

Will chuckles humourlessly, "It's not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living, Freddie."

Freddie's face breaks out into a grin, and Hannibal sighs, placing his hand back on Will's shoulder.

"Perhaps we should leave."

"Why?" Freddie asks. "Scared he'll say something else that could ruin his career?"

"I have better things to do," Hannibal tells her, gently pushing Will in the opposite direction. "Good day, Miss Lounds."

"Do me a favour," Will says once they're both back in the car.

"Mm?"

"Run her over on our way out."

A laugh escapes Hannibal's mouth in a puff of air, and he shakes his head, "I'm afraid we'd easily be caught."

"I'll take the blame."

"Will," Hannibal reprimands, still smiling.

"She annoys me," Will says, crossing his arms. "She gets off on ruining people's lives."

"Be that as it may, what you said could be interpreted as a threat," Hannibal tells him quietly. "You might want to be more careful."

"I'm sure I'll hear all about it from Jack when she inevitably publishes it," Will sighs, repressing the urge to bury his face in his hands and scream. "I just want to go home. I need to feed my dogs, they've been alone for too long."

"Very well, I'll take you to your car."

The only contact Hannibal receives from Will over the next few days is a rushed text letting him know he's being overworked, and that he's sorry but he probably won't be able to make their next appointment.

That's why, when he opens his office door with the intention of leaving for the night, he's surprised to see Will there, pacing anxiously with a hand tugging at his curls.

"Will?" Hannibal asks slowly, and Will's face snaps towards him. "Do you want to come in?"

Will doesn't respond, instead he just pushes past Hannibal and into the now familiar office. Hannibal watches on, eyebrow cocked, as Will moves to sit in his usual chair. He shuts and locks the door quietly, removing his coat once more, and moves to join him.

"What's on your mind?"

"Jack's annoyed at me. He read the article."

"I know," Hannibal tells him. "He called. Said I should have known better than to let you say it."

Will snorts, "I don't need someone censoring what I say."

"I know that. I trust you to speak for yourself."

"I meant it, you know," Will admits, face tilted towards the roof. "She's going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person one day. And she'll get what's coming."

"I'd say so," Hannibal agrees, and the room quiets. Hannibal waits for Will to speak, but when the silence stretches for a moment too long, he prompts "Will, why are you here?"

Will sighs, long and loud, and he head drops forward again, his eyes locking with Hannibal's.

"Serial killers like keeping trophies."

"They do."

"The Ripper likes taking organs. A sign of his medical history."

"He does."

"Gideon had no organs stored in his house when they caught him for the murder of his wife. He didn't take any from the nurse."

"Facts that contribute to your theory that Dr. Gideon is not the Chesapeake Ripper."

"Of course, Gideon may have later disposed of the organs."

"Or he could have stored them elsewhere."

Will smiles, head tilting to the side, before saying, "Or he could have eaten them."

Hannibal's face does not change; he remains as perfectly composed as he had been before, sitting with his back straight and one leg crossed over the other.

"Also a possible theory," he murmurs.

"I went back to the hospital and spoke with Gideon again. Jack made me," Will tells him. "Matthew Brown was working, he walked me to his cell."

"How was it?"

"Interesting," Will says, scratching at his neck. "Matthew went on again, about how the Ripper was…subpar. Gideon heard all of it. I thought he would react badly, you know how serial killers tend to take pride in their work. Someone like the Ripper would have definitely reacted badly. He goes to all that trouble to create beautiful art out of his victims, and then someone tries to tell him he's inadequate? He would have at least been defensive."

"How did Dr. Gideon react, Will?"

"He shrugged it off."

"And, in your mind, that is the conclusive factor in deciding whether or not he is the Ripper."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"The Ripper would not dismiss Matthew Brown's comments so quickly. It's probable he'd want to hurt him. To turn him into a masterpiece in the hopes that Matthew would grow to understand what makes him such a unique killer. The Chesapeake Ripper likes to put on a show because he wants to be seen, but he wants his work to be seen as beautiful, not subpar."

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"I haven't really slept much since we last spoke."

Hannibal nods once, fingers linking across his knee as he asks, "What have you concluded?"

Will sighs again, pausing for a moment before finally saying, "You have a surgical history, don't you, Doctor Lecter?"

"Yes, I do."

"You were awfully offended by Matthew Brown's comments. It was obvious."

"I was. He was incredibly rude, Will."

Will grins, small dimples indenting his cheeks as he looks at Hannibal, mild disbelief colouring his features.

"You're the Chesapeake Ripper."

"Remarkable, dear Will," Hannibal whispers, a faint smile on his face. "You figured it out very quickly."

"If I were to try and leave right now, to tell Jack Crawford and the FBI of my conclusion, you would kill me before I reached the door, wouldn't you?"

"I would."

Hannibal's voice is strong when he says it, matter of fact. There's no room for a debate there, Will knows he'll die if he tries to move. It makes his smile widen.

"Then it's a good thing I have no intention of leaving."

"Why not?" Hannibal questions. "Any sane person would."

"I want to understand you, Hannibal," Will says quietly. "To see you, and feel you, and understand you, all at the same time. That's what you want as well, isn't it? You know I'll appreciate the beauty."

Hannibal's eyes close briefly, his tongue emerging to swipe at his bottom lip before he swallows audibly.

"Yes."

"And I'm right, aren't I? You want to kill Matthew. To turn him into a piece of art, to put him on display."

"Yes," Hannibal says again, eyes wide open now, as they stare into Will's. "And you want to do it with me."

There really is no point denying it, Will thinks. Not anymore. Hannibal knows him too well by now.

Gaze trailing over Hannibal's face, the still calm composure of the man, he echoes Hannibal.

"Yes."

The talk Will has with Gideon is just what we saw in the actual show (s01e06), so I decided not to write it. It's occurring during the Frederick/Hannibal office scene.

Kudos/feedback appreciated. You can hmu on tumblr (snaxo).