As when they were in the throes of coitus, Hannibal again has the sensation of physical oneness with the man in his arms. He can imagine the two of them as a single creature, powerful and deadly and calm, at rest. Hannibal is deeply curious about this creature, about it's potential, about what beauty it will birth into the world in darkness and blood. The creature has been long in becoming, and yet it is still remarkable how much it has flourished in such a short amount of time. They had been so close to everything falling apart. Hannibal knows that, had the betrayal continued, completed, he likely would have killed Will. He is grateful that this is what happened instead. That his deep affection for the man could now blossom into a strong, protective love, instead of one that was wounded and cried for vengeance.

Like Will, he wishes to somehow put this love into words, to tell Will what lies in his heart, his soul, even though he's perfectly aware that Will already knows. Words are important, however, and the spoken and unspoken need not make one another unnecessary, but rather can enrich each other. So as he feels Will relaxing into sleep in his arms, he whispers in his ear, words like a prayer. Hannibal bows to no god, but to his Will he will give supplication.

"Inquietum est cor meum donec requiescat in te."