adaptevolvebecome | (no subject)

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.

Threaded | Flat

From:

tablewithoutpity

Hannibal knew of Will's treachery, or knew enough that the details were easily deduced. The scent of Freddie Lounds had caused a shift in his perceptions of Will, in his understanding of his actions and his motivations. In truth the revelation inspired in him a certain amount of admiration for the man sitting across the table. Hannibal took great pleasure in the game, and even a move made against him, particularly one made so well, was thrilling. And were his opponent anyone else, that thrill would have been the extent of his emotional reaction. Yet Will was different, and Hannibal's sense of admiration could not quell the deep sense of betrayal. Hannibal hadn't merely taken Will into his confidence, he had allowed himself, his true nature beneath the person-suit, to be seen. While he considered the opinions of others merely points of data to consider in his manipulations, how Will saw him, how Will felt about him, had deep significance. He could be, and had been, hurt by this man, his friend. He had thought Will's actions were to likewise deepen the intimacy between them, to likewise be seen, be known, as he came into the fullness of his true self. But the scent of Freddie Lounds had put all of that into question. Hannibal did not know how deep the deception ran. He had been blindsided by the betrayal, having not been able to read the signs until the scent of perfume gave him the key. Had everything, from Will's transformation to their growing intimacy and shared vulnerability, been an act? A clever ruse with no true substance? Had he truly been that blinded by his desires to know and be known?

He invited Will to one last meal together to watch him, to find out if it all was a lie. As they ate and spoke, dancing around each other with hidden meanings and coy insinuations, Hannibal gently prodded Will, to see what kindled behind his friend's eyes. Speaking of living in his mind palace were he to be captured to provoke some reaction concerning his friend's likely intention to have him caged. Speaking of Jack's forgiveness to see some sign of where Will's loyalties truly lay.

And the imago.

An imago is an image of a loved one, buried in the unconscious, carried with us all our lives.

He watched Will, trying to see some sign that he understood, that he knew his image was buried inside Hannibal, some sign that Hannibal's image was buried inside him. Were they truly part of each other? Or had Hannibal opened his chest to show Will everything that was truly inside him only to have his friend tear his heart out? How willingly Hannibal would hand it to him, still beating. But no. Will would do worse. Will would merely walk away, not wanting the heart he had been offered.

Will's reactions gave Hannibal some hope that there was sincerity there beneath the deception. So he gave his friend a choice. A chance at redemption.

We could disappear now. Tonight.

Hannibal didn't expect Will to say yes. Perhaps didn't allow himself to expect it. Yet when he does, the look in his friend's eyes speaks far louder than the words on his lips. Hannibal still can't be entirely sure of Will's intentions. Nevertheless, he finds himself smiling faintly.

"It would be a shame to skip the dessert I have prepared." His voice is casual, even if his meaning is not. "However, perhaps it would be prudent if we left as soon as possible. After we have finished this course."