Chapter Text
“Do we talk about teacups and time and rules of disorder?”
“The teacup’s broken. It’s never going to gather itself back together again.”
“Not even in your mind? Your memory palace is building. It 's… full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I’ve discovered you there, victorious.”
“When it comes to you and me there can be no decisive victory.”
“We are in a zero-sum game?”
“I miss my dogs. I’m not going to miss you. I’m not going to find you. I’m not going to look for you. I don’t want to know where you are or what you do. I don’t want to think about you anymore.”
“You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself from the delight.”
“You delight. I tolerate. I don’t have your appetite. Goodbye, Hannibal.”
Will was a good liar, always has been. His empathy makes it easier by letting him see and feel the way his words affected others so he can shift his speech easily.
He had never lied so much in his life.
He knew Hannibal would be able to hear if he let his breath shake, if he let any doubt slip through his voice. Hannibal could smell if he let the tears brim his eyes. And so he stood rock solid, not shaking, not breaking. Ignoring the feeling of his heart breaking at the way Hannibal’s face fell and he stood unsure, standing in the middle of the room for just a few seconds before leaving.
It was only when Hannibal’s steps were gone that he let a heavy sigh leave his lungs.
He closed his eyes and took in a shaking inhale, feeling the tears burn behind his eyelids. He did miss his dogs, no lies there. Without them he was truly alone with nothing to comfort him.
Hannibal would never leave him alone by his own accord. He would stay by Will’s side forever, he was sure of it. But how could Will put his feelings above his own morals and everything else?
Not even considering what he had done to others through the years, what he did to Will alone should be more than enough to make him hate him and wanting to kill him or see him in prison for the rest of his life. Not able to have all the luxuries he is used to, no art, no opera, no good food.
Will felt his heart clench tight, this man tried to eat his brain and he is feeling bad because he looked sad when Will told him to leave?
Hannibal made his life a living hell. Manipulated him, messed up with his brain, framed him for his own crimes, sent him to prison for murder and cannibalism; he killed Beverly and Abigail, their daughter, even Margot’s child was taken because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He gutted him and took Bedelia in his place.
Will will never forget that night, forever engraved in his brain. The pain, all the blood, Abigail’s life slipping through his fingers. Hannibal’s face before he saw the knife. Hannibal’s hands felt so gentle in that moment.
He wanted Hannibal to run away, if he could not go with him they would find a way later but he never imagined…
Why did he want to forgive him so bad? No one else would forgive things like these. Hannibal turned him and everyone else who ever ate at his home into a cannibal, manipulated every single person that came into his life, how many people had he actually killed? Hundreds? How many did he eat over the years?
Will turned to the side and laid down, hugging himself. The tears fell on his pillow and he gave a few soft punches on his chest with tight fists. Why, just why? How the fuck could he be in love with such a terrible creature? Why did he not actually think he was terrible?
Will buried his face in the pillow. He was dressed, clean shirt, clean pants. Hannibal had brought him home, carried him in his arms all the way, stripped him out of his dirty clothes, put on new ones and cleaned his wounds. How could someone capable of such awful things able to also be so gentle? So loving…
Will loved him so much. Fuck, he loved him so much.
He sobbed into the pillow, tightening his arms around himself. He could still make it right, he could run after him, run until he found him, say he was sorry, he didn’t mean any of it, they could still run away together, finally be in his arms like he wanted for so long.
But instead he was frozen in place like glued to the bed, tears running down his face, sobbing into the pillow. Would Hannibal take Bedelia with him again? Just keep going with failed attempts to replace him.
Hannibal might be right about him after all. He enjoyed killing, no matter how disgusted it makes him feel at the moment, Will knew they were the same. Just one more reason for you to go with him.
He hissed at those thoughts, he had to be rational, Hannibal is free, he hid himself for so many years he could do it again for sure. He would stay free and not rot in a prison cell, he would continue enjoying his life as he pleases. And Will would do the same. Here, with his dogs, take a break from the FBI and from teaching, find some peace. A wet laugh found its way out of his mouth, was he ever in peace to begin with?
His hands were still shaking, he brushed some hair out of his eyes and turned to face the ceiling. They could not survive separation, Will is sure it would kill them in some way, but yet, he could not move. His body relaxed on the bed, exhaustion finding its way to him and he felt heavy, like he could sink into the mattress. He closed his eyes once again and his mind provided him the image of Hannibal’s face hearing his last words to him, of Hannibal in a rare moment of vulnerability, when he turned to him as if to say something but gave up and left without looking back. He looked so defeated. The weight on his chest was back in full force and he had to force out a breath.
They say there is a fine line between love and hate and Will thought he and Hannibal were the proof. If he only focused on hate maybe he could survive this. Hate would not break his heart every time Hannibal’s face shows up on his mind, it will fuel his anger and make him keep going. Yes, hate him, forget his warm hands and presence, forget his soft tone when soothing him, forget the genuine smiles he only gave to Will, forget how he was the only person that ever really saw him for what he is. Focus on the hate, the blood, the pain. He is a monster.
Will does not know how long he laid in bed but it was already dark outside and he could hear cars coming closer.
He slowly got up from the bed, cleaned his face from any insistent tears, put a jacket and his glasses back on and walked outside.
Jack was coming out of one of the cars with a bunch of people with him.
“He’s gone, Jack.” he said, thankfully his voice didn’t sound so bad as he felt.
“Jack. I’m here.”
Will froze. No, no , he turned his head to the voice he knew so well. Why, why couldn’t he just leave? This is wrong, why-
Hannibal kneeled on the snow before Jack, hands held high in surrender.
“You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack.” he said.
“I didn’t catch you, you surrendered.”
“I want you to know exactly where I am and where you can always find me.”
Hannibal looked at him and Will swallowed the lump forming in his throat. No, no, no, he was supposed to be gone. Will turned away to go back inside, not before hearing Jack saying:
“Cuff him. Put him in my car.”
He didn’t look back at Hannibal, just went inside and told everyone to leave, they already had him, there’s no reason for staying and disturbing him more.
As soon as everyone was out he let the tears run free again. Hannibal waited outside for hours, in the cold, in the snow, all that time, for him. Again, all for him. Now he was truly gone, not free, he would never be free again.
Will tried to remember his plan, hate. He had to focus on the terrible things Hannibal had done to him, why he deserved to be taken.
He went to his cabinet and took out some sleeping pills, he would deal with in the morning or in the next one. He just wanted his brain to shut off. To stop feeling, to stop crying. He laid back on the bed and took the pills dry, his previous exhaustion helping the effects. He closed his eyes and fell into a long, heavy sleep, and if he dreamt of Hannibal and his warm embrace he did not acknowledge it in the morning.
Hannibal would be locked away for the rest of his life and he had to suck it up and continue living.
If only he knew he would have to deal with three years of numbness and of lying to himself everyday.