They will have to be careful, not be too overly affectionate where they might be seen, not go to the same cafe, the same restaurant, the same museum, more than once, at least at first. They still should be careful not to attract too much attention, lest they raise the chances that, should Jack happen to come to Paris, his questions about two men of a certain description will evoke stories.

They will have to come up with some way to keep tabs on Jack, on Alana, on the FBI. Hannibal sends the thought to the back of his mind to ruminate.

The plane descends, and Hannibal is smiling faintly, outwardly appearing happy to be at the end of a long flight, inwardly simmering with the ever growing proximity to the moment that door to the apartment closes and he and Will can finally devour each other. He can feel the anticipation hot in the pit of his guts, warmly pulsing in his loins. Soon. Soon.

Once the plane has landed and taxied to the gate, Hannibal unbuckles his belt and rises, opening the overhead compartment and removing Will's bag first. As he hands it to him he leans in, as if off his balance and needing to brace himself on the back of the seats, so he can murmur right next to Will's ear.

"Go to a different customs agent. Meet me at the duty-free shop."

Then he straightens again, nods in apology, and takes down his own bag. Since there are so few passengers, they are off the plane relatively quickly, and being directed toward customs.