Freddie. It had been a calculated risk, going to see her just before he'd gone to Hannibal, but he knew it was the only chance he'd have to speak to her about Abigail, to beg her not to sully the young woman's name in the pursuit of notoriety. There's a chance it won't even make a difference, because Will trusts Freddie's word less than he trusts most things, but he had to try. If he couldn't save Abigail's life, he'd at least try to honor her memory.

"Our increasing intimacy," Will repeats, and he itches to reach over and touch Hannibal at that moment, like an outward acknowledgement of where that had taken them now, the first step toward something extraordinary, something shapeless that was full of unknowns, but that Will wanted desperately. He licks his lips instead.

"It started as a trap," Will admits after a moment of silence, taking the turn onto the dirt road that lead to his farmhouse. "The longer I played the game, the less I was playing. And the intimacy," he says, pausing as he stops the car outside his house and cuts the engine, flips off the headlights, "It was real."

Will knows Hannibal might not believe him, the reality and the deception so closely aligned it's sometimes difficult even for Will to sort one out from the other, but with the car parked now Will can turn in his seat and look at Hannibal, able to meet his eyes. "My motivations changed," he says, his voice low in the silence of the car.