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When Hannibal asks Will to come to dinner the night before they're to have their fateful meal with Jack, Will thinks maybe it's one more evening of planning, another few hours for Hannibal to be sure that Will is really ready to do what he says he will in regards to Jack's murder. As usual they talk around each other, neither one admitting anything, touching on things just enough to avoid being untruthful, never really saying anything. But the nothing they say is heavy with intent, and the moves they make are like a game for which neither of them knows the rules.

Hannibal asks about Jack, finally, and the question is framed in such a way that Will can easily deflect rather than answer directly. But even as he says what he does, about Jack's fate being preordained, he thinks that there's a part of him that could do what he's told Hannibal he can, could help Hannibal kill him. He doesn't cherish the idea of murdering Jack, doesn't imagine it will give him the rush of power he felt when he put ten bullets into Garrett Jacob Hobbs, when he nearly shot Clark Ingram in the head, when he broke Randal Tier's neck. But he's started to lose sight of where his reality ends and his deception begins.

Letting Hannibal in, giving him permission (and invitation) to be close, has given Will new insight. There's something in the vulnerability they've shared, even if some of it had been manufactured on Will's part, that makes some part of Will loathe to turn on Hannibal as was his initial design. It's not as if he's forgotten what Hannibal did to him, because he hasn't. But he's starting to understand why, to see the flesh and blood behind a man who is most certainly a monster. Hannibal can be cold and calculating and cruel, but he's passionate as well, he has the ability to be broken hearted, and the capacity for love.

Before he'd brought up Jack, Hannibal had talked about an imago, and the more Will considers it, the more he starts to realize that maybe Hannibal is hinting at something. He has in his mind his ideal for Will, a partner, Will thinks, someone he can share his intellect with, his thoughts, dark and light, someone who can and will understand him. But it makes Will wonder if Hannibal's seen through the cracks of Will's deceit, as fine as they are, if he knows betrayal awaits him when Jack arrives tomorrow night. It makes bile rise in the back of Will's throat, not because he's afraid of what Hannibal will do, but rather because the idea of hurting Hannibal in that way squeezes at his heart in a manner he never thought possible.

Will takes a sip of his wine in an attempt to wash the guilt down, but it sticks in his throat, burns in his sinuses. He can hear the intake of Hannibal's breath, ready to speak, but the words that come out of his mouth aren't what Will expects.

"We could disappear now, tonight," Hannibal suggests, his voice low and honest in a way that Will can feel vibrating in his bones. "Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana, and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."

There's a long silence then, spun out between them, and Will's instinct is to deflect again, say something that isn't a no or a yes, just words to fill the space. But, in his heart, all he wants is to agree, to leave all of this behind and run away with Hannibal, for better or worse, whatever that means. Jack would see him as a traitor, a liar, Alana would know it was weakness, giving into Hannibal's designs (because she knows exactly what that feels like), but, besides having to leave his dogs, Will has nothing to lose. He doesn't feel loyalty to the FBI, he doesn't have Jack or Alana's complete trust. He doesn't have Hannibal's either, and there's always a chance that Hannibal will kill him as soon as they get away, but Will suddenly understands that he doesn't care. This life, the one he's been pretending to live these few months, is what he wants. He's never felt more alive, has never understood himself better, than when he's with Hannibal.

"Yes," Will says quietly, his eyes meeting Hannibal's as he nods softly, his gaze clear and unburdened for the first time. "Let's go tonight. I want to," he adds, wanting his intentions to be completely understood, nothing disguised by the veil that usually hung between them.

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Hannibal smiles as Will awakes, still stroking his cheek. As much as Hannibal would like to hold Will and let him recover, perhaps sleep together, they don't have the time. So he's luxuriating in the moment, quietly enjoying Will's presence, his scent, the sound of his breath and the beat of his heart. Still, there are things he should do to make sure Will is all right. While he's confident in his abilities to render someone unconscious without causing permanent injury, he is still responsible for ensuring that things have not gone awry, that he hasn't inadvertently deprived Will's brain of too much oxygen.

"Tell me who and where you are," he says softly, brushing Will's hair back from his forehead and peering into his eyes. It's an echo of the litany he recommended for Will when, unbeknownst to him, his friend was still under the sway of encephalitis. It's a good way to test his mental capacity, as well as bring his mind soundly into the present.

Hannibal's eyes are dark and handsome, the lines around them only enhancing the effect, and Will realizes that he's almost always felt at ease meeting Hannibal's gaze, having no need to look away. The same is true now and he watches Hannibal's eyes as Hannibal strokes his cheek, allowing himself to enjoy the fondness he sees there, the tenderness.

And then Hannibal speaks, and Will can't help the soft laugh that comes out of him when he contemplates his answer, old memories rising to the surface of his mind. Even the way Hannibal touches him, palm against his forehead, pushing his curls away, is intensely reminiscent of a time not so long ago, the first moment of shifting tides between them.

He licks his lips, his eyes still smiling. "My name is Will Graham," he says, his voice a low murmur, his swollen vocal cords giving it a rough edge. "It's probably about eight PM, and I'm in bed with Hannibal Lecter," he adds with a bit more of a smile before he finishes, "in Baltimore, Maryland."

Hannibal smiles back at Will, his lover. He's not exactly relieved, since he wasn't truly worried, yet he's still pleased that Will seems to have surfaced with his intellect intact. Will's answer to his call is precisely what he was looking for, and the fact that Will seems happy at the memory is interesting. Will had been in the midst of the most intense of Hannibal's manipulations when Hannibal had him say those words to bring himself fully in the present. And yet it is also a part of their history, a part of their friendship, of Hannibal's growing fondness and growing vulnerability. Someone else might think Will crazy for thinking fondly of that time, but they didn't understand Will, Hannibal, or their relationship. Their history even includes mutual murder attempts, and yet even that has drawn them closer.

Hannibal finds himself most pleased by the idea that Will's place is in bed with him, at his side. There are places where Hannibal feels he belongs, but more often than not he is in an exile with no true home. Even his birthplace is tainted so much that he can never return. But now he has a place. A home. He belongs at Will's side, as Will belongs at his. He has never considered himself as belonging to anyone, and in truth would have resisted the idea, finding utility in being completely independent. But, as in so many ways, Will is different.

"Are you feeling well?" he asks, his hand coming to rest on Will's cheek.

Edited 2016-02-07 21:17 (UTC)

Will inhales deeply, testing his breath, and though it hurts, nothing feels further encumbered. He feels lucid, remembers everything, and there's something intensely comforting about the realization. There have been so many times when his reality has felt clouded where Hannibal's concerned, where Hannibal's words and gestures and manipulations have cast a heavy shadow of doubt over Will and what he truly feels.

But now, in this moment, in Hannibal's bed, he feels like he can take things at face value. Hannibal's expression isn't meant to deceive, it's genuine. The fondness in his eyes, the concern for Will's wellbeing, they're not an act. Finally, with Will's confession and Hannibal's forgiveness, with the physical act of consummation they've just experienced, they are equals, partners on the same path. When they leave this place together they'll cease to be two individual entities, heading in opposite directions, and instead they will be united by common desires and and mutual love, trust, and respect.

"My throat hurts," he tells Hannibal, being honest, his voice rasping. "And so does my ass," he adds, just the spark of a smile in his eyes. He takes a breath, his eyes darkening as he prepares to go on. "I can feel your come leaking out of me," he says, his voice dropping in tenor, clearly aroused by the sensation.

Hannibal is far more deeply relaxed than he typically is able to be in the company of others, not needing to spend the effort of playing even the most seemingly effortless of games. Only now it isn't only that he wants to be seen by Will; he knows he is seen. He and Will are deeply united, as he has never been with anyone else. Respect he has had for any number of people before, but trust has been rare, and love all but nonexistent. Now Will has all three.

When Will's eyes go dark, the smile that spreads on Hannibal's face is slyly amused, and he hums his approval, his hand leaving Will's cheek to trail his fingers along his side. The idea of part of him still within Will, drawing out the pleasurable effects of their encounter for the next few hours, pleases him.

"Both your throat and your ass will recover with time, although it may be twenty-four hours or more. If we are expedient, we may be in Paris by that time."

Will nods as much as he can, his head on the pillow, his mind filling with the possibilities of Paris. He thinks about the flight as well, sitting by Hannibal's side for all those hours, journeying to their new lives together. It brings a dozen questions to mind, and while he knows they should be on their way soon, Will can't help wanting to lay here, naked in Hannibal's bed, a while longer. It doesn't help that Hannibal's hand is stroking up and down Will's bare side, a touch that's soothing and arousing all at once, this kind of attention from Hannibal making him feel loved and wanted in a way he never has before.

So he allows himself to ask a question, reaching out to trailing his fingers through Hannibal's fine chest hair. "What's our story?" He means the cover that Hannibal's created for them, the fantasy they'll maintain whenever they're in public. Knowing Hannibal, he's probably come up with something intricate but easy to adhere to, something that will make it difficult to be trapped in their lie. Whatever it is, Will's eager to heart it.

Hannibal would likewise prefer that they had the time to enjoy this closeness, this beginning of their deeper relationship, yet he knows that in the interest of continuing the relationship...or, at least their ability to be together, to speak and touch without glass between them...they need to surrender that time. But not yet. They can allow themselves this, if just for a moment. He's aware that his hand trailing along his lover's side is as arousing as it is soothing, and it is part suggestion and part promise. Their sexual experience, the touch says, will not be limited to the one encounter.

Will's gentle touch is sweet, and Hannibal's hand leaves Will's side to brush against it. "I will be a professor of classics on sabbatical. You may be a colleague or a student, as you prefer. I had thought student, but while the Parisians are typically of a live and let live philosophy, and a relationship between two men may in fact for that reason grant us some additional privacy, the relationship may attract negative attention if it is between a teacher and pupil. "

The story is exactly the sort Will expected from Hannibal, perfectly suited to Hannibal's talents in a way that will allow him to be an effective chameleon. Will's much more worried about his part, though the fact that Hannibal had two options for him in mind is intriguing. It speaks of Hannibal's hopes versus his pragmatism. Being realistic, Will being his student would establish a benign relationship between them, something with boundaries that they could easily fall safely within. But allowing an alternate option, one that would allow for the addition of the ability to be openly romantically entangled spoke very deeply to Hannibal's hopes for them.

"Then I'll be your colleague," Will replies, his fingers mapping the lines and planes of Hannibal's broad chest, learning each inch of his skin, every freckle and scar like a star chart. "And your lover," he adds, lifting his gaze to Hannibal's face, his eyes making contact with Hannibal's to convey how much he needs for Hannibal's status to be known to everyone else, how he needs to possess Hannibal as much as Hannibal needs to do the same with him.

"Have you arranged aliases for us?" Will asks, the tips of his fingers grazing one of Hannibal's nipples, knowing the touch is just on the edge of what he'll be allowed for the time being, the last bits of physically sexual intimacy between them until they arrive in Paris.

Hannibal meets Will's eyes and smiles, once again moving to cup his cheek tenderly. There are, of course, three ways to address their relationship in public: hide it, accept it, and flaunt it. Flaunting would of course be rude, and Hannibal is certain Will would not wish that sort of attention. Hiding it might be prudent, if just because of the possibility that a homosexual relationship may still attract undue attention. Yet Hannibal understands Will's desire to be open about it, to be public about the fact that they are both taken, that they belong to each other. Hannibal is unfamiliar with the feeling of being possessed, and yet he finds it deeply satisfying to belong to Will.

"My lover," he confirms softly. "And I am yours."

When Will's fingertips brush over Hannibal's nipple, Hannibal closes his eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath, savoring the sensation, before opening them again. "My passport and documents are under the name of Giacomo Reyer. Yours are under Peter Beckett. We may keep or discard those names as we see fit in Paris. Although of course if we discard them, we shall have to acquire new papers."

It's a word Will's never used before to describe a partner, though it's been a long time since he's had the need to use any words at all, considering how infrequently he's been involved in a relationship approaching something romantic. But he likes the use of lover between himself and Hannibal. It encompasses a lot of things, emotional and physical, a bond that's deeper than anything Will's shared with another person before in his life. He doesn't plan to use it excessively in mixed company, but he likes the idea of having in his pocket for those moments when he might feel the need to demonstrate his claim on Hannibal. He's giving up his life for this man, and gladly, but as such he has no intention of sharing Hannibal with anyone else.

It's less a worry about Hannibal straying, because now that they're here, the only way Will can see Hannibal leaving him is by killing him. It has to do with anyone else who might get an idea that Hannibal might be available. He knows there might be times where Hannibal's ability to attract and sway another person will be quite the asset, but at the end of the day he wants to be the only one sharing Hannibal's bed.

By accepting the term Will knows Hannibal has similar feelings about him, and Will is more than a little glad for it.

"Giacomo," Will repeats, a small smile touching his lips, amused not only by the fact that Will will be able to call Hannibal Giac as an endearment (the irony coming in that it sounds very much like 'Jack'), but also in that it's the same name given to the infamous Lothario Casanova. Will licks his lower lip, then drags his teeth over the flesh as he watches Hannibal's face. "I like it," he says, reaching to cup Hannibal's cheek in kind, moving forward until he can kiss Hannibal's lips gently. He knows it's time to go, and he's more than ready to embark on this voyage, but getting out of the bed seems like an enormously insurmountable task.

Hannibal has used the term "lover" before, in relationships which were for the other party deep and genuine, but for Hannibal were utilitarian. He wonders if Alana might consider Hannibal her lover. He has a certain fondness for the doctor, but the intimacy was predominantly for the purposes of manipulation. This is, then, perhaps the first time he truly means the word on its face, with no machinations beneath the surface.

The fact that Giac sounds so close to Jack is not an accident. The war for Will's soul has long been between Hannibal and Jack Crawford, and claiming that name as a corruption (or, rather, a refinement) of Jack's own is a victory. They may not follow through on their plans to kill the man (indeed, considering the context that particular well has been poisoned) but in Will's confession and subsequent cleaving to Hannibal Jack has lost all his power. He will undoubtedly pursue them, but Hannibal is confident that Will shall never again be his man. Will belongs, heart and soul, to Hannibal. It's hinted in the name Hannibal chose for him: Peter, the first amongst the disciples, who denied Christ yet followed him for the rest of his life; and Beckett, a word for a brook or a stream, the place within Will's mind in which he feels at peace.

Hannibal returns the kiss, just as gently, letting it continue for a few quiet moments before finally pulling back and, regretfully, pushing himself up to sitting on the edge of the bed.

"We must put our plans into motion if we are to leave this evening."

Edited (Gah! Sorry about that.) 2016-02-10 14:48 (UTC)

Will nods, though Hannibal can't see it with his back to the center of the bed, and he shifts to sit as well, his body protesting a little as he does. His hips and hamstrings are sore from the position he'd been in while Hannibal was fucking him, from the level of engagement he'd required of them in order to push back into every hard forward thrust, and his asshole aches in a different way, the sphincter stretched unnaturally, brutally. Will finds he likes how it feels, all those points of pain but particularly the last one, the sensation of it sending a little shiver through his limbs.

Will stands, feeling the slickness along the split of his ass, and he hopes Hannibal won't want a shower before they depart. It's probably a little filthy, but Will likes the idea of going through with their plan still messy and freshly fucked. They can bathe in Paris.

Will also likes the idea of leaving his clothes in the middle of Hannibal's bedroom floor, but he doesn't have anything else to wear here, so he reaches down to retrieve his boxers, slipping them on. Getting dressed feels strangely pedestrian now, in the light of the things he and Hannibal have just shared, the future on which they're embarking. He wonders if Hannibal will want Will to replace his wardrobe once they're in Europe, if he'll want his man more impeccably dressed. Will doesn't mind either way, but he'll happily do whatever Hannibal asks.

"What time is our flight?" Will queries as he bends down to pick up his pants, stepping into them with first his right leg, then his left, then zipping and buttoning up the front.

The idea that Will would be feeling the effects of their rough coupling for some time pleases Hannibal, as it is the result of a very physical claiming and surrender, something that goes deeper than mere words. He also enjoys the idea of Will remaining filthy beneath his clothes. Hannibal enjoys the contrast of outer image versus inner reality, the man-suit over the beast, and it amuses him to think that Will shall likewise be concealing a secret, the slow leak of Hannibal's come, behind a socially acceptable facade.

Hannibal likewise rises and goes to fetch and put on his own clothes. As they are right next to Will's, the motion takes him quite close to his lover, and Hannibal breathes in the heady scent of sex that's clinging to them both.

"There is a flight that leaves a little after midnight," he answers as he pulls on his own pants. "We shall have to purchase tickets at the airport, but that particular flight is never full, so there should not be a problem."

When Hannibal moves to dress as well, standing in front of Will as he does, Will's hands still and he lets his eyes move over Hannibal's naked skin. He knows he needs to get his act in gear, and that he'll have plenty of time to admire Hannibal without his clothes on once they settle in Europe, but he's feeling greedy and impatient, so he allows himself a hungry look.

Laying in bed together he'd mostly focused on Hannibal's face, his eyes, seeing his neck and chest in peripheral. But now he watches Hannibal's limbs move, lets his gaze linger on Hannibal's genitals for a moment, noticing how well endowed Hannibal is, even unaroused.

Once Hannibal pulls up his pants, Will spurs himself back into motion, grabbing his shirt and slipping it on, working on the buttons. When he gets to the bottom he finds the last two buttons missing and breathes out a little hotly at the memory of what happened to them, torn away in Hannibal's hurried desire to get Will out of his clothes. He swallows as he tucks the tail of the shirt into his pants, then goes to work putting on his shoes and socks as well.

"Is there anything else you need to take care of here before go to feed my dogs?" he asks, wanting to get an idea of their timing. At his house they'll have to feed the dogs, of course, and write a quick note for Alana. Will's hoping he'll have time to pack a bag quickly as well, not that he needs much, just a few additional clothes and his basic toiletries. He realizes he won't be able to take his gun, no way to get it on the plane, but he's sure he'll be able to replace it eventually, assuming he'll even feel the need to do so by the time they're in Paris.

Hannibal sees that hungry look in Will's eyes as his lover gazes at his body, and Hannibal smiles, slowing his motions to give Will those extra few fractions of a second to enjoy the sight of his naked body. Hannibal would not consider himself overly prideful, even though he would contend that pride is not a sin. Rather he has a pronounced aesthetic appreciation for anyone's physical appearance, including his own. He's well aware he's attractive physically, and enjoys when people in general, and Will in particular, take notice. He is looking forward to seeing Will's entire body as well, and has in mind the idea that when they are safe and alone in the flat he owns in Paris he will strip his lover bare and take his time examining every inch of his body. He will wait, though, his hunger sweet in the anticipation of satisfaction.

"I only need to gather our papers and take my suitcase." He nods toward the wardrobe as he buttons his shirt. "I've had it packed for some time now."

His shirt buttoned, he goes to the wardrobe and opens it to contemplate his selection of ties. The one the used to strangle Will into unconsciousness he will leave on the bed along with the semen-spattered duvet. It will be their own crime scene, and the thought of Jack interpreting the evidence they have left makes him smile.

Will notices when Hannibal starts to take his time dressing, and he's grateful for that little gift he's given, the first glimpses of a body Will hopes he will get to know very, very intimately. It will give Will something to contemplate on their long flight, cultivating ideas of what shape their sex life might take, considering what Hannibal might like in bed, beyond what they've just done. He knows by the time they they land in France, go through customs, and get transportation to the place Hannibal has planned for them to stay they're both going to be exhausted, but the desire they have for each other will be honed to a fine point, all those hours of thinking about each other this way without being able to do anything about it. Will imagines the sex the have their first night in Paris will be frantic and desperate, and afterward they'll sleep for hours.

Will nods as Hannibal tells him what's left, and he's sure Hannibal's bags have been packed for months, ready for him to go on the run on his own, not with Will. The fact that Will is a part of this now is relatively new, but not enough so that Hannibal isn't prepared to have Will there by his side. While Hannibal goes to his closet, Will takes a look over the room, seeing the very slight mess they've left, the duvet mussed, a wet stain where Will's come is drying, probably some of Hannibal's there as well, leaked out of Will as he rested on his side, and the tie, cast aside in the middle of the mattress.

Will knows the FBI has both his and Hannibal's DNA on file. They'll be able to see who the semen belonged to, the epithelials on the bed, all over Hannibal's tie. Jack could guess that this whole thing was staged, but he knows Jack will see the truth, will know exactly what happened here. He imagines the look on Jack's face when the realization dawns, how Jack might look at them if he ever manages to catch up to them.

Patiently, Will waits for Hannibal to finish in the wardrobe, suitcase in hand. Hannibal sets it down, then moves across the room to where Will assumes the documents are being kept securely. Will's starting to feel anxious, not because he's worried but because he's ready to get started.

Hannibal has been simplifying things in his house in anticipation of leaving, so there are only two things in the safe: an accordian folder of documents and a stack of three bundles of hundred dollar bills. Hannibal takes the money out first, putting it in his suitcase for the moment, then the folder, with which he does the same. At the moment the documents are only for Will and himself, but he has set into motion the creation of papers for Bedelia duMaurier. He had planned to bring the psychiatrist with him had Will gone through with his betrayal, as a companion and a project. He saw in Dr. duMaurier many of the same things he saw in Will, most importantly an innate capacity for and an aesthetic appreciation of exquisite violence. He has long been fond of her, but that fondness has always been dispassionate, sterile, his desire to be seen more like a game to lead Bedelia step by step down a dark path.

Prepared, Hannibal left the bedroom to head to the door, trusting Will to follow.

"We'll take your car to your home, then to a place where we'll leave it and take a taxi to the airport."

Will, out of necessity, has always been adaptable, flexible, and ready to move at nearly a moment's notice. Growing up as the only child of a single parent who was also a drifter, Will learned to cope with instability very early on. He doesn't own many things, and most things he does possess don't carry much in the way of sentimental value. He's good at traveling light, and letting things go, which makes the decision to run away with Hannibal that much easier.

There are his dogs, of course, and he does care for them, much more than he cares for most of the human companions in his life. Abigail is gone, and any feelings he'd carried for Alana had been quickly rendered inert the moment she'd entered into a relationship with Hannibal. It wasn't so much that she'd chosen Hannibal over Will; it was that, at the time when they'd begun their romantic tryst, Will had still been futility trying to make both her and Jack believe that Hannibal had framed Will for murder.

Of course everyone will know the truth very soon. But they'll also know that, despite what Hannibal has done, Will has chosen a place at Hannibal's side.

Will follows Hannibal out of the bedroom with one finally glance back at the bed, burning the memory into his mind for later. The dining room gets similar treatment, Will's eyes moving over the table, dinner course still laid out and half eaten, a tableau of a meal interrupted and forgotten. In concert with the state of the bed, the story will be easy to tell: a dinner, a conversation, a decision, and a consummation. And then, of course, an escape.

As they move to the front door, Will finds that he has more regret about leaving this house than his own. While his home carried a lot of comfort for him, Hannibal's was a beacon of transformation, the primary location of his becoming. He knew he'd be able to recall the way it looked when he needed to, but not being able to exist in its physical space again after tonight was a small weight on his finally free heart.

Typically Hannibal would spend the time to tidy up, clear the table, wash the dishes. It's only proper, after all. But tonight is different. Tonight the incompleteness tells a story that he wants those who will come in search of one or both of them to hear: that Hannibal chose to abandon this place, this life, so that he could claim Will.

When they reach the doorway, Hannibal pauses for a moment, turns to Will, reaches up to cup his cheek, and kisses him one last time, his lips gentle. They may be able to indulge in a few small gestures of affection as they make their way to safety...touching fingers, perhaps holding hands...but anything more than that is likely to be more trouble than it's worth, at least for now.

Will isn't expecting the kiss, thinking they'd left that level of intimacy back in Hannibal's bedroom with Will's DNA and Hannibal's tie, and it's not much more than a gentle brush of lips, but it makes Will's heart tumble a little in his chest. Afterward they disconnect again, putting on their coats and walking out to Will's car, Hannibal putting his suitcase into the backseat and Will starting the engine.

It's a long drive, from Baltimore to Wolf Trap, nearly an hour, and they're quiet for a long while, the radio off so the only noise in the cabin of the vehicle is the sound of the tires on the pavement and the purring noise of the running engine. Will's mind is oddly blank and calm, his eyes watching the road behind the lenses of his glasses, the dashed line zooming by. It's a little funny, because the idea of running sounds so rushed and frantic, and while they are on a timeline now, needing to catching a flight, Will isn't speeding, there will be no mad dash toward the airport or a sprint onto the plane. It's almost too respectable and normal to be an escape, as much as that's exactly what it is.

Glancing over, Will sees Hannibal's looking forward, his expression on the thoughtful side of neutral. Will knows his mind isn't quiet; it never is. The silence in the car isn't maddening, but Will feels like he needs to hear Hannibal's voice, a stepping stone on their way out of this life into the next.

"Is this how you imagined it would be?" he asks, keeping his eyes on Hannibal for a moment longer before looking back toward the road.

Hannibal prides himself on managing his life so that everything is elegantly in place and looks perfectly natural and effortless despite the machinations behind the scenes. Even when putting his victims on display he aims to be cultured, refined, such as displaying the lovely Beverly Katz as a Hirst-like work of art, regardless of the ugliness that brought her to that point. Their flight, their escape, would likewise appear effortless. No one will suspect that there is anything unusual about the two men flying to France together, despite it being quite the coup d'état.

Will's question is amusing. "There are few scenarios I have not imagined when it comes to how you and I might move our acquaintance into a new dimension. It is the proper response to the multiplicity of factors. I have pondered many if/then possibilities." He tilts his head slightly. "However," he admits, "this possibility arose rather later than most others."

Much to his disappointment, he had not foreseen Will's betrayal.

The comment makes Will wonder when Hannibal had uncovered Will's deception, where the fork in the road came in, because it had all felt seamless to Will until tonight. Hannibal's suggestion they leave without carrying through with their plan to murder Jack had been a line cast out to see how Will would react, if he'd take the bait or swim away uninterested.

It reminds Will of the metaphor he and Jack had used on the other end of this path they're on, about how to make a fish bite, even when he's not hungry. It makes Will wonder if Hannibal had any tactics he'd planned to use if Will hadn't bitten, something to entice him into doing what Hannibal wanted, to make Hannibal's lure be the one thing he wanted, despite everything he knew. But none of that, of course, had been needed. It turned out that Will was hungry after all.

"You knew, before I told you, that I'd been working for Jack these last few weeks," Will says, and it's not a question because they both know it's true. "How did you know?" Will asks, turning his head just enough that his eyes can move over the side of Hannibal's face, try to see his expression. It's just to sate Will's curiosity, to see where he'd misstepped, what accidental evidence he'd let Hannibal find.

Hannibal stares forward in the dark, watching as the road passes swiftly under them. His offer that night had been one of redemption. Will had that one chance to repent, to decide of his own volition where his loyalty, his heart, his soul, truly lay. Hannibal is glad that Will chose the way he did, because had he followed through with his deception, his betrayal, then things would likely have gotten very messy, and Hannibal could not say with any certainty what state Will might be in afterwards, alive or dead. Surely their friendship would have been shattered. Many might think that Hannibal has no heart to be broken; that situation would have proved them all wrong.

This...leaving together, each choosing the other, committing to each other...is the far preferable outcome.

Hannibal glances at Will, his friend and lover, and remembers with sadness in his eyes what it was like in that instant that he knew. Remembers that mix of emotion: some admiration for a game well played, some disappointment that he had allowed himself to be so blinded...and the pain of betrayal, of offering up himself only to be so thoroughly rejected.

"Freddie Lounds has a quite distinctive scent," he answers, turning his head to again face forward. "When I caught it mingled with your own, I knew that she was alive. From that untruth I was able to construct the outline of your intentions. That you were laying a trap for me, and using our increasing intimacy to lure me into it."

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.

Hannibal believes Will when he says the intimacy was real. It's unclear, however, whether that makes it better or worse. There's a certain comfort in knowing that someone you trusted and cared for never truly cared for you. Yet when someone cares and yet still chooses to betray you, to take your life, your freedom, the wound is so much deeper. Still, Hannibal finds satisfaction in that he did not misread the situation so terribly that wanted to be seen by someone who couldn't care less.

With the car stilled and silenced, Hannibal turns to Will as well, meeting his eyes in the darkness. "Your motivations for luring me into a trap? For taking my life? How were they different tonight from when you first made your plans with Jack?" His voice is for the most part calm, curious, but with a very faint undercurrent of hurt.