(no subject)

[adaptevolvebecome]

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.

Comments

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal has been referring to Alana by her formal title to create a sense of distance, of sterility. He's well aware that his dalliance with her will be an uncomfortable subject, one that is likely to come up eventually, and he would like to delay that while they are in this first flush of their evolved relationship. In truth, Hannibal has always been fond of Alana. Surely his feelings for her are not nearly as deep as those he has for Will, but his affection is not entirely an act, even though he was using her for his own purposes. He keeps her blind to protect himself, but also to protect her. He would prefer not to come calling on her if it can be avoided, and if it came to a crossroads, he would offer her a path of redemption, just as he had offered Will. The difference would be that her path would be to walk away.

He watches Will pack, appreciating the simplicity. As much as Hannibal appreciates fashion, he finds a certain elegance in Will's understated, utilitarian sense of style. While he can imagine Will in a three piece suit and a trinitarian-knot tie, it's an image that he doesn't wish to force upon his friend.

When Will speaks, Hannibal falls right back into the conversation as well. "That should be sufficient. What will you tell her?" He's very curious how much truth Will would reveal.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will contemplates Hannibal's question for a moment, knowing he wants to say something that will tell Alana what he's done, not where he's gone but who he's gone with, and that he won't be coming back. But he doesn't plan to offer any apologies or explanations, doesn't have any interest in wishing her farewell. She'd had a choice when he'd been in jail, the opportunity to trust him, to believe him, but she hadn't. If she'd been blinded by her feelings or her desires, he didn't know; all he was certain of was that, ultimately, she'd chosen Hannibal over him. And now he was doing the same.

He doesn't tell Hannibal what he's going to say, only goes to the phone on his desk, standing close enough to where Hannibal is seated that his knee brushes Hannibal's bent one as he picks up the receiver, leans to dial Alana's office number. It rings six times, clicks over, and her outgoing message plays, instructing him to leave a message.

"It's over," he says once the tone plays. "Pandora's box has been opened, there's no turning back. Don't try to look for us, don't try to find us, don't think about us anymore. Walk away, Alana. It will save your life."

He replaces the receiver in the cradle then, and while he doesn't have any strong emotions about Alana, no regrets or fears tied up in her, no lingering desires, there's a finality of it that causes him to pause, exhaling a long, calming breath.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal finds it interesting that Will has essentially offered Alana the same choice that he would have: walk away, stay blind, stay alive. He is of course well aware of Will's (former) affections for Alana. It was one of the dynamics Hannibal played with when he seduced the doctor, to further isolate Will, further separate him from the support system that surrounded Jack Crawford's sway. There's satisfaction in how Will has essentially severed whatever relationship may have remained, with no explanation nor apology. It is likewise satisfying that while he leaves a message for Alana (however dismissive), there is no such message for Jack Crawford himself, or at least not one aside from the clear message left in Hannibal's home and on Hannibal's bed, that would be clear for all to see, likely in the morning when Will's message to Alana triggers an investigation. Of course, they will be in Paris by then, safe for a while from the reaches of those who would take their freedom.

Hannibal rises and curls a hand around Will's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "Are you ready?"

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will takes a breath, looking over the interior of his little house, his dogs scattered through the room, some laying in their beds, one at his feet, another, Winston, standing expectantly by the door. Some people say that animals sense things that humans cannot, that they understand things on a level beyond body language and vocal communication. Will has always had a tendency to believe that, which is why he's almost always felt more comfortable with dogs for companions than people. There's no way to lie to a dog, no way for a person to hide their true nature. Will's dogs trust Hannibal, which might be a strike against that notion, but what does a dog care about the life of a human being they don't know? Will's dogs know that Hannibal won't harm them, and that Hannibal won't harm Will, and so, as far as they're concerned, he doesn't pose a threat.

The notion is comforting; Will himself has come to trust that Hannibal won't kill him, at least not anytime soon, but having tacit confirmation from his abstract family only further eases Will's mind.

The dogs also know that Will's leaving. Most of them seem to understand that Will won't be leaving them without someone to care for them, but Winston in particular seems skeptical. Will wishes, of all of them, he could take Winston with him to the new life on which he's embarking with Hannibal. He knows it's impossible, and that's the only thing that makes him regret having to leave.

"I'm ready," Will finally says after he reconciles those feelings, grateful to have Hannibal's physical support in that moment. He reaches up and touches Hannibal's hand on his shoulder briefly before he disengages, going to the bed to pick up his bag. He doesn't pet any of the dogs as he walks to the door, having already said his goodbyes, and he locks up behind them, knowing Alana has a key and not wanting to leave the dogs vulnerable if it takes her a day or two to retrieve them.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal prefers not to cause harm to innocent lives without purpose, so he might object to leaving the dogs locked inside were he not certain that Jack will visit Wolf Trap tomorrow in search of his fugitive profiler, and Alana will care for the dogs from that point on. He reaches down and pets Winston once on the head as he passes by, and then goes to the car as Will locks up, opening the door to the backseat so Will can put his bag in before climbing into the passenger seat.

He directs Will to drive into Baltimore and park on a side street with on-street parking. Then together they walk a couple blocks before Hannibal pulls a burner phone and calls for a cab to pick them up on the corner.

As they stand waiting for the taxi, their breath curling into the cold air, Hannibal turns to Will.

"Have you ever been to Europe?"

[adaptevolvebecome]

Everything is back to being pragmatic and succinct once they leave Will's house, and Will appreciates both that and Hannibal's meticulous direction as they drive back into Baltimore, not requiring Will to speak. Hannibal must know that Will is coming to terms with leaving the few small parts of his life that made him feel secure behind, his small, safe farmhouse, his collection of strays. Will doesn't regret his decision to run away with Hannibal even a fraction, and he's never been encumbered by sentiment, but he hadn't been prepared to leave everything behind when he'd arrived at Hannibal's hours ago, and he needs a few minutes to process the new direction and let it all go.

The evening is cool, a cold front rolling in, and Will thinks there will be rain tomorrow, though he and Hannibal obviously won't be there to see it. It's a strange notion, but Will's looking forward now, the idea of being in Paris next time they go to bed making the last of his lingering connections to Virginia falling away.

"I haven't," Will answers Hannibal's question, and it seems unfathomable that a worldly man like Hannibal Lecter should want to take up with someone who only left his home when he was directed by his job to do so. "I always felt like there'd be a time when I'd get the chance," he adds, sparing a glance in Hannibal's direction. "It appears that time is now," he says, offering an expression very near a smile.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal enjoys cool evenings. Even in the warmest of weather he wears three piece suits, bearing the discomfort with his usual effortless grace. When it's this cool, however, he is comfortable, and can even add a long wool coat and gloves to his look. He can smell the imminent rain above the baseline of urban Baltimore, the ozone stealthily increasing, the air becoming pregnant with moisture. Every place has its own unique scent, and Hannibal has that sensory dimension in his mind palace. Someday he will be able to close his eyes and remember this moment, remember the scent of Baltimore, the scent of rain, the scent of Will, his usual bouquet with undercurrents of the sweat and semen of sex. His anticipation of Paris came with its own scents, of the city, of the people, and of Will, the scent of sex fresh and strong and mixed with the headiness of arousal.

Hannibal answers Will's near smile with an easy one of his own. "It would appear that now is the time for a great many things," he muses aloud. There are so many things he wants to show Will, that he wants his lover to experience. The glorious freedom of his true nature and the beauty of darkness, violence, and death, is but one. Fine food, rough and violent sex, and the ancient yet vibrant cities of Europe are all on the very close horizon.

[adaptevolvebecome]

There are many meanings and a lot of promise in Hannibal's smile, in the words he carefully says in reply. Will is already starting to feel the itch of impatience now that they've gotten this far, secure in the knowledge that the few important loose ends will be tied up in the next couple of days. His mind is already hours and miles ahead, anxious to learn what Hannibal has waiting for them on the other side. He knows there will be lodging ready, and at least a few days spent laying low to be sure that their scent has been scattered well enough that Jack's bloodhounds won't be able to track them down.

Hannibal has done everything he can to ensure their departure is as invisible as possible, but there are, of course, factors beyond his control. They'll buy their plane tickets with the cash in Hannibal's folder, but that in of itself will be unusual, which means they need to be otherwise as unmemorable as they can. Which means, at least until they're safely on the airplane, they'll need to stringently avoid physical contact, or any telling topics of conversation.

Will's mind is swirling with possibilities, thoughts about architecture and public transportation, of markets and cafes, of the ways Hannibal might indoctrinate Will into his darker rituals, how they'll engage in them together. And of course this newest facet of their partnership, the physical desire that Will has felt burning just under the surface of his skin since they crossed the threshold into Hannibal's bedroom hours ago. There are so many new pleasures in which they'll partake together, but the one most insistent in Will's mind is the basest of them all.

"Tell me about where we'll be staying in Paris," Will says, needing something concrete to occupy his mind lest his imagination get the better of him. His body has already begun reacting in sympathy to his cursory thoughts; anything more detailed will only aggravate the situation to the point of being outwardly noticeable.

[tablewithoutpity]

Having to not touch Will, to not give in to the deep urge to tear off his clothes and have him right here and now, is delicious torture. For the moment denial is sweet, and Hannibal is anticipating a million little ways it will become all the more painful and all the sweeter. Sitting next to each other, so close, in the taxi, on the airplane, on transport in Paris. They will likely sleep on the plane, and even the idea of Will simply resting his head on Hannibal's shoulder causes a small flush of frustrated desire. Hannibal is enjoying every moment, while also knowing that this pleasure will be far, far exceeded once they have reached Paris and can have their ways with each other.

Will's question elicits a wistful smile from Hannibal. "I have a top floor flat in la rive droite, a mere three blocks from the Louvre. It's spacious for a Parisian apartment. It has been in my possession for some time, even though it has been years since I've last visited. The furnishings are sparse for the moment, but that will give us the opportunity to purchase furniture together. Of course we'll also have to stock the pantry, purchase china and silverware...we'll have plenty to keep us busy for the first week."

He lifts an eyebrow in silent recognition of what they both know they will be doing the moment the door closes behind them.

[adaptevolvebecome]

The idea of shopping for furniture and china gives Will momentary pause, not because he thinks Hannibal is brushing off their obvious mutual desires but because of the very clear (and likely intentional) parallel the concept makes. Furnishing a home, buying dishes and flatware, is something a new married couple might do together. This escape, the two of them running off to Europe side by side, is very indicative of an elopement. When they arrive in Paris, they will start their new lives together as, essentially, newlyweds, with all the associated benefits.

Hannibal's raised eyebrow is all Will needs to see to know that their first act upon crossing the threshold will, in fact, be a consummation of their union, and in exactly the same fashion they would if they were legally bound in matrimony.

It makes Will think that Hannibal truly sees their future in that light, that their partnership is founded on many things: friendship, understanding, desire, and love. And, though striving for discretion, they will appear as companions and lovers to anyone who might pay close enough attention, and it causes a strange hope to surface in Will, a burgeoning yearning to someday be presented to the world as Hannibal's husband. He doesn't imagine they'll ever celebrate actual nuptuals, but the idea of them both wearing wedding bands has a appeal that Will can't deny.

"I can't say I'm not looking forward to some of those impending errands," Will remarks, and he takes a small step sideways into Hannibal's direction, something that looks like an easy shifting of body weight, but he's close enough now to brush his fingers over the back of Hannbai's hand where it hangs at his side, He wants to touch more, to drive Hannibal back into the shadows and feel him, press their bodies together. The further they get into their journey the more Will craves contact, the harder the lust for Hannibal is to contain. He already knows he'll be aching the entire flight, at least as long as he's awake, that by the time they arrive in Hannibal's exquisite, Parisian apartment Will won't have an ounce of patience left.

He imagines their first time in France will be desperate and messy, mostly still dressed and crude, rutting bodies and biting kisses culminating in their collapse in the middle of the floor, sticky and panting. Will shivers at the thought and swallows hard, both anxious for the taxi to arrive and hoping it's delayed a little longer, allowing them a few more precious moments alone.

[tablewithoutpity]

If Will shared his observations about the parallels with marriage, Hannibal would be taken aback. He has never thought of marriage as anything but a facade. After all, one of his contingency plans had been to bring Bedelia with him in Will's place, to play the role of her husband, and her of his wife, even though their true relationship bore no resemblance to marriage. There is some degree of satisfaction in the notion of a mutual promise, a mutual dedication, but at the moment marriage is still just a show, a shadow play. They will publicly be companions and lovers because they are in private companions and lovers, not as a show. Declaring himself "married" to Will, or even just wearing wedding bands, doesn't really cross his mind. Perhaps in the future he will come to realize that it is a natural extension of what he and Will have, the friendship, desire, loyalty and love, but it will surprise him, just as this true friendship surprised him, just as this true love, both likewise sinking past the mere outward appearance.

For the moment, though, Hannibal's desires to shop for these things together stem from his desire to share the finer things with his friend, to get a sense of Will's taste and coax it gently in more refined directions. He wants Will to appreciate the particular shade of blue on a particular set of china, to find a measure of joy in the swoop and curl of the wood of a baroque style chaise lounge. These motivations are entirely internal, entirely speaking to the reality of their relationship rather than to any metaphysical classification.

When Will's fingers brush against his hand Hannibal glances down for a moment, a faint smile on his face. He looks up again and moves his own fingers slightly to brush against Will's in return. The contact isn't relief from his torment; quite the opposite. It makes him ache all the more to drag (or be dragged by) Will into an alley and shove him to a wall, or be shoved to a wall, and make frantic, furtive love to each other, penetrative or no, perhaps even without removing their clothing save for unbuttoning and unzipping their trousers. It would be messy and hard to hide when the taxi did come, when they got to the airport, clothes stained, the scent of sex detectable by anyone. It would be a very, very bad idea.

But that doesn't mean Hannibal craves it any less. He just pushes the craving forward, letting their first encounter in the flat in Paris carry more and more weight. They will abandon everything but their long-denied lust and rut until they climax, probably more than once, until there is no strength left in their bodies, until they have fucked each other weak and senseless and sated.

The idea makes Hannibal's smile deepen.

[adaptevolvebecome]

The return touch sends a twist of desire up Will's spine that has him arching minutely in sympathy, his mouth going dry. It's almost not a touch, the barest graze of fingers on fingers, but there are so many nerve endings, and the meaning is so entirely clear, that it makes heat pool in Will's groin and spread through Will's chest. He has a half formed thought about calling to delay the taxi, taking those precious extra minutes and learning what it feels like to have Hannibal's cock in his mouth or just find something solid and press Hannibal's back to it, kiss him until they're both breathless and rumpled. But the timeline they're on is tight as it is, and even a ten minute delay might find them missing their flight. As appealing as that might be, forced to stay in a hotel until the morning, there's too much in motion already behind them; an extra night in Baltimore would almost certainly mean their capture.

Will's heart is pounding hard enough that he can feel it in his wrists, his throat, between his legs, and while he knows where the lines are at the moment (and won't cross them), he can't stop himself wanting. He takes a breath and looks in Hannibal's direction, knowing Hannibal can see right through him, knows he's half hard in his pants and remembering what it felt like to have Hannibal moving inside him. Even just the thought makes Will's asshole clench, and he can feel the dampness there, Hannibal's come still slowly leaking from him.

"How long is the flight to Paris?" he asks, not bothering to clear the huskiness out of his voice or mask the desire in his eyes.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal looks at him, and sees everything. He sees wide pupils, flushed cheeks, red lips parted in quick breath, neck twitching with quick pulse. He sees his lover's face contorting in pleasure, in pain, in agony and ecstasy, in transcendence. He sees his lover on his knees as Hannibal thrusts his cock into his mouth, on his hands and knees as Hannibal again fucks him from behind, and on his back as Hannibal fucks him face to face, Will's legs up and pressed back to his chest. He sees his lover spread-eagled, or bound with silk ropes in intricate knots, or trussed like a pig ready to be slaughtered while Hannibal holds a knife. And he sees Will's face as he thrusts his cock in Hannibal's mouth, as he takes Hannibal roughly from behind or face to face, as he binds Hannibal and tortures him into such sweet, sweet ecstasy. He sees all of it right there in the face of the man he loves, and it is glorious. He wants so badly to cancel the taxi and figure out some way they can just do it all now, now.

But they can't. They won't.

"A little over nine hours," he answers, his voice smooth as always, but his own wide pupils, flushed cheeks,and parted lips telling their own truth.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will has avoided prolong eye contact all his life. He tells people it's because he finds eyes distracting, and he does, but one of those distractions is being able to read a person's true feelings. It can be extremely useful when trying to determine if someone is being deceptive or honest, but when he's not profiling, when he isn't working, looking in someone's eyes can derail him, confuse him, or affect his perceptions of that person. It's what got him tangled up with Alana, lost in feelings that didn't do anything but muddy the waters, what started to make Will loathe to trust Jack, the closer he got to Hannibal.

Hannibal's eyes are unlike anyone else's. Will isn't sure how he learned to do it, but Hannibal knows how to make his eyes shallow, like staring at glass, or worse, into a mirror. He can make a person think of feel whatever he wants without them even knowing he's doing it. He's done this to Will many times, twisted up Will's feelings about him, hiding behind a mask. But that veil fell away awhile ago, when Hannibal started to trust Will, to let him see beneath the person suit. It wasn't until the first time Will looked into Hannibal's eyes and saw depth that he realized he'd been seeing a false image until that moment, and he started to see when the blinders snapped in place, when they were around Jack or Alana, any time they weren't alone.

In Hannibal's eyes now Will see's a reflection again, but it's not because there's anything there between them. It's because Hannibal wants the exact same things Will does, both of them suffering quietly in the agony of barely contained desire. Hannibal's face is as open and earnest as it was when they were laying side by side in Hannibal's bed, postcoital, and Will memorizes the every variance in his features, his blown pupils, the dilated veins that cause his face to color just enough that Will can see it, his lips parted to give Will a glimpse of his teeth. Will aches to kiss him more than anything else in this moment, a thank you for allowing Will to see Hannibal's pure, unmasked hunger for him.

Will's brain does the math quickly, ninety minutes until the plane is scheduled to depart, nine hours in the air, customs on the other end, transportation to Hannibal's flat, then a round up for unknown delays, and he comes up with thirteen hours. It will be late once they're at cruising altitude, and Will hopes he'll sleep, at least some, because once they're on the ground in France, sleep is the last thing he wants to spend his time on.

Will hears the distant sound of tires on pavement, the taxi en route, and he inhales sharply through his nose, turning to Hannibal and lunging into him, stealing a hard, hot kiss from his lips. It's a whim, and a risky one, but he's back in place before the beams of the cab's headlights reach the asphalt on the street in front of them.

"To tide us over until Paris," Will says as the taxi rolls to a stop before them.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal sees it coming just a fraction of a second before Will lunges, so he is able after another fraction of a second to kiss Will back. Time seems to slow as he absorbs the heat and hunger of Will's lips, this last bit of passionate contact, before Will has to pull away. With a smile on his face he shifts away from Will, putting some distance between them, not so much as a reproach for the kiss as much as an assurance that anything the taxi driver might possibly have seen is entirely negated by their positions upon his arrival and closer inspection.

The taxi driver pops the trunk and gets out to put their bags inside before Hannibal and Will slide into the back seat and they're on their way. It's dark, and the driver is thankfully not chatty, so Hannibal sits silently, gazing calmly out the window, acting as if he and Will are barely acquaintances, perhaps co-workers on their way to a conference sharing a cab for cost purposes.

Yet in the dark he slowly moves his hand closer toward Will, to slowly for it to be noticed, wondering if Will is doing the same thing without either of them looking.

[adaptevolvebecome]

It's late, quiet and dark, and the driver doesn't say much beyond the usual pleasantries, has the radio off in the vehicle, so the only sound in the cabin is the road noise of the tires on the pavement and the steady hum of the engine. The vibration of it calms Will's nerves a measure, and he follows Hannibal's lead as far as their body language is concerned, sitting beside him in the backseat like they've only just met, asked to travel together by a third party. The disparity of their act and their real first meeting amuses Will, thinking about the way Hannibal had immediately started testing boundaries, commenting on Will's behavior and making assumptions about his intellect.

Even that first day Hannibal had gotten under Will's skin. Their relationship from there has taken a lot of sharp turns, and fast enough to make Will's metaphorical stomach bottom out, and while he doesn't suspect their path ahead will be straight and easy, he feels like they're running on the same track.

A quick glance in his periphery finds Hannibal's gaze is directed out the window, though Will has a feeling he's not really seeing anything, just letting his eyes go blurry while he mind works on plans for what's next. Will doesn't turn his head toward him, just continues to look toward his own window, his focus relaxed so he only sees lights bleeding into indistinct auras. He isn't sure when he did it, but he finds his hand's resting on the seat between them, his fingers spread and stretched toward Hannibal's body beside him. A second later he feels one of Hannibal's fingers bump into his ring fingertip, the notion of it being accidental washed away when, instead of pulling back, Hannibal's hand slides minutely closer.

Will swallows, takes a breath, and moves the end of his finger so it brushes over the fingernail on Hannibal's. It's a bare touch, but it's not remotely benign, the calm Will found before tilting a little at the contact. An amazing amount of intimacy can be conveyed in subtle ways, and while Will's finding it difficult to decide exactly what this means, all of the possibilities cause his heart to tumble in his chest.

[tablewithoutpity]

As Will's finger carefully caresses Hannibal's, he smiles, letting the sweet hunger the touch piques wash through him. He shifts his hand a small amount closer and hooks one finger around Will's, to hold instead of to stroke. It would be so much easier if he just forswore all contact until that door closed behind them in Paris. And usually that would be so easy to do, since Hannibal is usually in control of his emotions and their expressions. But now he wants, needs, that physical connection, for as long as it can be hidden by the darkness. He doesn't move after that, letting the smile fade from his face into a weary neutral of a man about to catch a red-eye flight for business. The city slides past them but all Hannibal sees are shades of light and dark as he turns inward to map out the airport in his mind, how they would enter, the counters they'd go to for tickets, how to best go through security without attracting attention.

All the while his finger is hooked with Will's.

When they near the airport he releases Will's finger and straightens, leaning forward a little to direct the cab driver to the Virgin Atlantic departures gate.

[adaptevolvebecome]

When Hannibal hooks his finger around Will's, Will nearly turns his head to look at him, to find his eyes in the dark, but he quickly thinks better of it, outwardly maintaining his facade of exhausted detachment. But he does bend his own finger in kind, linking them together, and the contact causes an overwhelming feeling of relief to bleed up Will's arm into his chest.

Up until tonight physical contact between the two of them was sparse and intentional, initiated by Hannibal strategically. But now, ever since Hannibal offered Will his hand to help him out of his chair at Hannibal's dinner table, it's become an undeniable craving. Worse is knowing they can't have it in any meaningful way for more than half a day, that even careful brushes and incidental contact has to be kept to an absolute minimum to lower their profile.

Here, in the back of this taxi, they're doing the closest thing they can to holding hands. Handholding is such a tender, loving gesture, and Will has never before thought of Hannibal as either of those things. But it feels so close to natural in this moment, clinging to each other, desperate for every last second of touch they can get from each other.

Will barely manages to fight off a sigh when Hannibal finally has to release him, but he does turn his head toward Hannibal when he speaks to the driver, getting to see his full profile for the first time since they got int the taxi. They pull up to the gate and Hannibal pays their fare while Will gets out and retrieves their bags from the trunk.

Hannibal's in his stride now, and Will follows him to the ticket counter. They have to wait in line just behind another couple, a man and a woman in their early fifties with a European air about them. He imagines they're going home to Europe, and he realizes that Hannibal is as well. Just for the moment he allows himself to revel in the fact that Hannibal's taking Will, his American lover, to see his home.

Then he reminds himself of his alias name, of Hannibal's, practices saying it inside his head, rehearses the indifference he has to maintain until they've boarded the plane, remembering that Giacomo is his colleague, one he doesn't even know particularly well. When the desk agent calls them up, he makes sure he stands a step farther away from Hannibal than he normally would, he puts on the well worn act of being socially anxious, tipping his head so the rims of his glasses cut across his eyes when he looks at the person on the other side of the desk as he allows Hannibal to conduct the transaction needed to purchase their plane tickets.

[tablewithoutpity]

There have only been two places in the world that Hannibal has considered "home." The first is his childhood home in Lithuania, and while Will might go there himself one day, Hannibal never can. His exile, is, in his mind, absolute, and whatever truths Will might one day seek there he will have to do alone. But his other home, the place in which he came into his own as a man, as a killer, is Florence. And after they've spent some time in Paris, lying low, letting their trail run cold as they explore every inch of each other, Hannibal will take Will there and show him everything, the place where he came into his own, perhaps a place where Will's true self could be further refined as well. The Botticelli had been such an inspiration to Hannibal. Perhaps it could be an inspiration to Will as well.

When it is their turn at the ticket counter Hannibal steps up and gives the woman behind the desk a warm, easy smile. "Good evening. I would like to purchase two tickets, for myself and my colleague..." He turns his head slightly and nods toward Will. "On the 12:10 Virgin Atlantic flight to Paris."

"Certainly," the woman says, beginning to type. "May I see your passports?"

"Of course." Hannibal removes his passport from his coat pocket and hands it to the woman. He's an old hand at using aliases, at presenting whatever identity is most practical and appropriate for the situation. He turns to Will, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for him to hand over "his" passport, wondering how he will present himself.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will nods as Hannibal looks at him, the motion curt, like he's obeying a silent command from a superior. Reaching into his inside pocket, he takes out his own passport that Hannibal had given to him as they waited for the cab, handing it across the counter to the ticket agent with minimal eye contact but not trying to hide his face as she compares it to the picture inside the document.

Peter Beckett's US passport was issued in Maryland, but his city of birth is Ann Arbor, Michigan. It's benign enough that there's no need for Will to pretend he has an accent, but it has no connections to any places in Will's life, keeping it from pinging on Jack's radar. It's a big enough city that Will doesn't have to speak about it in any detail, or feign knowing anyone who might also, at one time, have lived there. It's perfectly generic, artistically so, and Will makes a note to compliment Hannibal on the mastery of it when they're safely alone in Paris.

"Giacomo," Will says as the gate agent looks down at her computer screen, typing in their information, his voice low and politely conversational. "Do you think we'll have time to get a coffee before we have to board?"

The question is meaningless. Will doesn't care about the answer, doesn't want coffee (he'd prefer to sleep if he can, wanting some rest before they arrive in France, much better things that sleep on their agenda there), but he is establishing their rapport, easy and companionable but not overly friendly, using Hannibal's alias in situ, letting it roll of his tongue like he's said it dozens of times before.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal catches Will's intent, and his heart swells with pride. He plays his part, though, and looks at his watch. "The coffee shop in this terminal closed at eleven," he says, his voice polite but weary. Hannibal has never been to this terminal before, but he's researched it, and wants the woman behind the desk to think that he's been here so many times that it's boringly routine. He glances at the woman, and her body language is relaxed, tired, bored. They haven't raised any red flags for her yet. Good.

"Will there be coffee available on the flight?" he asks her politely.

"There will be breakfast and lunch served as well as a beverage service." she answers by rote, not really paying close attention. When their faces appear on the news in the days and weeks to come, Hannibal is fairly certain that this woman will have difficulty even recognizing that they came through her terminal.

Or would have, if not for this.

"How will you be paying, sir?"

"With apologies, I shall be paying cash." The woman glances up, eyebrows raised. Hannibal smiles. "Our department functions on a number of grants that are often tangled in bureaucracy, and the funds for our travel have been delayed. They were able to pull together enough cash for our flights to Paris, and then the travel account should be able to cover our flights home in a few days." He lifts his own eyebrows companionably. "I hope that isn't too much of an inconvenience."

She says it isn't, but they have at least some of her attention now. Hannibal wishes it wasn't necessary, but the FBI would have an easier time tracking down the accounts he has set up for their use in Europe if he uses them while in the states.

The transaction takes a little longer than it would if he were merely using a credit card, but not terribly so. Once done, tickets in hand, Hannibal leads the way toward security, dragging his suitcase behind him.

[adaptevolvebecome]

When Hannibal replies, employing the civil tone of a coworker combined with the long suffering of someone less than enchanted to be traveling with his much younger colleague, Will has a difficult time containing his delight. They've both been just as guilty of utilizing deception for their own purposes in the past, but this is the first time they've engaged in it together, cooperating to achieve the same end goal. It's the first taste, Will thinks, of what their life will be going forward. Hannibal has taken Will behind the curtain into his world, and this journey will be his chance to show Hannibal how well he can play the game.

He's equally pleased with the way Hannibal explains away the fact that they're paying with a stack of one hundred dollar bills. They're crisp and new, probably having been taken from the bank in smaller varying increments over a period of several months, staying under the radar so any random checks of Hannibal's financial activity wouldn't bring up any red flags. But they're fresh enough that it seems reasonable that the money was taken out today in preparation for this trip, handed over by a governing body of the university that they appeared to work for to cover their funding until the appropriate grants were deposited. It's a well constructed cover story, and it's absolutely sold by Hannibal's European charm. The ticket agent has taken notice of them, but she doesn't seem in any way alarmed or ready to flag their names in the system as the potential purveyors of fraud.

Will is quiet through the rest of the transaction, playing at looking bored and tired even though he's alive on the inside, enjoying their game so immensely that for the first time he's glad they'll have a few more hours in these roles before they arrive in Paris. They stand in companionable silence in the security line, reasonably short due to the hour, having their boarding passes checked and going through the ordeal of removing their shoes and their coats so some low tech machines and underpaid humans can declare that they aren't terrorists.

Will has a thought while he watches Hannibal go through the process ahead of him that, despite not carrying a single weapon, Hannibal is infinitely more dangerous than anything TSA could ever catch with a backscatter x-ray and a metal detector. It makes him feel a little smug for some reason, even though he knows Hannibal doesn't plan to cause any trouble on their flight.

Security theater show concluded, they proceed toward their gate. They haven't really spoken in a long time and Will finds he's missing Hannibal's voice, the nearness of him. He knows anything he does that's unplanned will increase the chances that they'll be noticed, so he manages to keep himself at a distance from Hannibal as they walk, occupying his mind with impossible notions, like being able to take Hannibal into a bathroom and lock the door, just have a few minutes of rushed groping and kissing to satisfy his growing appetite.

At the gate, he settles for looking at his watch, then asking, "What time do we board?" just to hear Hannibal speak to him.

[tablewithoutpity]

Hannibal also has the same amused, smug thoughts as they go through the song and dance at security. He is quite adept at presenting a mild, harmless exterior while at the same time being capable of swift and lethal violence. How many of his victims have been lured into his web due to trusting that comforting exterior? He takes pleasure in watching the TSA agents vet him, declare him safe, just as he enjoys feeding his guests intricate dishes that held corruption at their core. Hannibal is feeding them the reassurance of being unarmed, yet is all but certain he could take down a plane if he wished it.

Will is doing a fantastic job of maintaining their cover, and Hannibal is both proud and unsurprised. They are both aware of each other's propensities for wearing masks, projecting a facade, and have used their skills on each other quite a bit, Will up to this very night, at the dinner table, when he decided to lower his mask and allow Hannibal inside. Hannibal has long thought that he and Will together would be magnificent and dangerous, their minds and souls united as a dark god of vast destruction. He looks forward to exploring that potential almost as much as he looks forward to exploring Will's body. While Will fantasizes about frantic intimacies, Hannibal's mind is filled with images of he and Will prowling the streets of Europe, reveling in the beauty of the blood-soaked darkness.

Hannibal has planned it so that they will have as little wait time as possible, so when they get to the gate and Will asks his question, Hannibal barely has the time to say, "Soon," before a flight attendant gets on the microphone and starts calling rows. It's a very late flight and a weeknight, so there are relatively few passengers. Hannibal and Will are on the plane within ten minutes, and when they reach their seats Hannibal puts his suitcase in the overhead compartment, then turns to take Will's bag and put that up as well, being a courteous companion.

Hannibal had requested the two seats closest to the aisle, both for Will's comfort and for ease of escape should some dire situation require it. Hannibal settles into the seat second from the aisle, buckles his belt, and sighs, relaxing and closing his eyes for a moment, the picture of a weary academic. In truth he's measuring his breathing to calm the deepening desire for the man who must, for these next ten or so hours, be little more than a colleague.

[adaptevolvebecome]

Will's nudge to get Hannibal speaking only just barely works, and he only gets a single word for his trouble, but he supposes it's better than nothing, and probably safer that they continue to playact as weary travelers with almost no relationship of which to speak. He imagines when they arrive in Paris and get through customs, away from Charles de Gaulle, they can begin assuming their more intimate interactions, at least verbally. They'll have to remain in character, of course, but the two colleagues who barely know each other will become ones that know each other very well.

Will's grateful that Hannibal's reserved him an aisle seat, no doubt knowing that sitting next to a stranger on an international flight would leave him anxious and unpleasant by the time the wheels touched down in Paris. It's helpful for his cover as well, allowing him to remain detached instead of panicky; a panic attack on the plane would bring far too much notice, even if Will managed to mostly contain it.

Settling in beside his companion, Will buckles his seat belt and takes a moment to calmly survey their surroundings. The rest of their row save one seat at the other end is thankfully empty, meaning the reading lights will be off and their seats allowed to remain in complete darkness, and no one will have to disturb them in order to answer the call of nature. The jet is a standard Boeing 777, eight emergency exits and five lavatories in coach. Based on the ratio of passengers to empty seats Will doesn't think anyone will ever have to wait long for an open bathroom. His mind wanders for a moment, wondering how much money is lost on a mid-week flight like this, based on how much fuel a jet this size must require and the sparseness of the passenger population.

It also makes their haystack smaller; international flights from BWI the night of his and Hannibal's disappearance will be Jack's first target, and though their aliases and having paid in cash will make it more difficult to track, it's impossible to say if there are any other parties including two men on this flight tonight. Will wonders if it might have made more sense to pay separately, but then their window was small and two men paying for the same flight in cash within minutes of each other would have undoubtedly raised red flags.

There's nothing they can do about the trail they've left now. By the time Jack decides this flight might be one to investigate they'll be in the wind, traveling by their aliases, but Hannibal's flat is surely rented under a different assumed name, his accounts in Europe possibly under a third. If they low long enough they should be able to travel within Europe without even their alias names showing up anywhere prominent enough to appear on the FBI's radar.

By the time Will's managed to quiet his mind he realizes he's missed the entire safety presentation and they're just lifting off the runway. Hannibal's still relaxed in his seat beside Will, eyes closed with every appearance of relaxation, but Will knows his mind is busy too, making plans for when they land. Will takes a breath and removes his glasses, sliding them into the inner pocket of his jacket and closing his eyes, letting the feeling of the plane climbing to cruising altitude calm his thoughts even more, bringing his focus to the ambient sound of the engines, the soft and steady breathing of his companion beside him.

[tablewithoutpity]

There are ways that the FBI would be able to learn that Hannibal and Will left this night, on this plane, and flew to Paris. But that is where the paper trail ends. The apartment in Paris had been under another name for a long time, as have the bank accounts, both contingencies for just this possibility (or, perhaps more truthfully, eventuality). The only thing the FBI will have at that point is the vain hope that they will be able to comb through a city of millions for two people who are motivated to stay hidden and know how to do so. Once they leave this plane, they are in the wind...and there's no reason for anybody to even start looking for them until Dr. Bloom gets Will's message on her voice mail, by which time they will either be landed or very near to it.

Hannibal ponders the practical concerns of their arrival and time in Paris, everything from the method of transportation to the apartment (taxi to a nearby hotel then walk from there) to how they will stock their larder (several small shopping trips by each of them alone to stock up, and then only infrequently as absolutely necessary). He settles on a few tentative plans, then his mind goes quiet and alert as they lift off, as they depart the United States for, hopefully, a long time, if not forever. Once the plane has leveled out into its cruising altitude, he opens his eyes to glance over at Will and assess how he's doing, a casual glance from a casual traveling companion disguising a concerned one from a friend and lover. Will is taking all of this very well, but it would not surprise Hannibal if he had some difficulty at some point. Some stress or panic or the like. After all, he has just left his entire life behind to throw his lot in with a man he had once sought to murder. Hannibal does not doubt Will's loyalty for an instant, but some cognitive dissonance would not be wholly unusual.