Chapter Text
Will didn't really know what he was expecting. There was no ceremony to the moment he heard a delicate knock on his motel room door, seemingly indistinguishable from any other, but completely familiar to him somehow.
It was late, but he hadn't been able to sleep. He had known that Hannibal would come for him tonight.
This wasn't the plan he'd originally put together, but he'd known that the moment Hannibal saw the dog he'd impulsively given to Klara, he would put two and two together. A photo of Catherine clinging onto the little pooch as she was led from Buffalo Bill's lair by a torrent of FBI agents had been splashed across the media for weeks. Hannibal had known Will had consulted on the case, so it was a simple step for him to figure out that she had helped him somehow.
Will knew that if he stayed with Catherine for long, her chances of survival would be rapidly diminished. For all that he had manipulated her into helping him, he still cared about her and fully intended to try and keep in touch, if possible. He couldn't bear the thought of her being in danger on his account.
So he'd asked her to drop him off a roadside motel and gave her one of the tattered business cards from the front desk. "When Hannibal Lecter comes, give this to him. Tell him... I'm waiting for him."
It was raining out, heavy sounds of rattling against every cheaply made window setting his nerves on edge. There was no way to sleep or rest; all he could do was anticipate that knock.
He still answered it very slowly.
And there he was, standing under a large umbrella with a carved walnut handle, looking at Will with the same expression he had worn so many years ago when he had first walked into a Minnesota motel room Will was staying in and fed him the lungs of the victim he was investigating.
"May I come in?"
Will turned back into the gloom and sat down on the edge of his bed, arms splayed out, expression weary. "What took you?"
"This place was difficult to find, given the weather." Hannibal strolled inside and set his umbrella against the dingy room heater. He removed his jacket and carefully set it over a chair in the corner.
"Where's Klara?" Will asked.
"Alana is taking care of her tonight. Precious too, of course."
Will felt a wry smile tugging at his lips. The entire situation was just about absurd enough to tip him over some sort of edge he hadn't known he'd been teetering on. He watched Hannibal set down the bag he was carrying and then take off his wet shoes. He took a moment to align them perfectly together, as if he were a welcome guest, reinforcing the strange unintentional humour of the situation he was in.
"Are you going to kill me?" Will asked, calmly.
"Why would I wish to do that?"
An insane and horrid bark of laughter escaped the tatters of Will's throat. "The Chesapeake Ripper doesn't tend to leave loose ends."
It might have been his imagination, but Will thought he saw a note of hurt pass across Hannibal's features.
"Moreover, you don't exactly have any further use for me now, do you? It would have amused you to keep me as a locked up pet in your home, watching me pretend to be docile and obedient for the sake of our child. This unexpected diversion was not your design." Will swallowed, hard. "I'm not going back to Baltimore, Hannibal. Never."
Hannibal settled himself on a wooden seat next to the small table by the window, angling it towards Will. The room wasn't large. Will knew he had to save the few hundred dollars Catherine had been able to lend to him and extend it as far as possible, so he'd picked the smallest, dankest double available. As a result, if Hannibal leaned far enough forward, he could have touched his knee. It was uncomfortable for Will's senses but he maintained his control all the same.
"I do not plan to kill you," Hannibal said.
"Then why did you come?" Will snapped, anger bursting out like steam from a heat pipe valve. "Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"
It took a long time for Hannibal to choose his words. "I missed you. I don't want you gone from my life, now that you are part of it again. I want you to continue to know our daughter."
"Our daughter, ah yes." Will stood up, arms folded, pacing the sparsely carpeted floor. "Our daughter, who you feed human meat to and god knows what else. Tell me, Hannibal, how long did you know you were pregnant? Was it before or after you framed me for murder?"
Hannibal was about to speak, but Will stopped him before a sound was made.
"Actually, no. Don't tell me. I can't believe a word you say."
Hannibal tilted his head as if trying to understand. "I wouldn't lie to you Will. I had no idea, of course."
His gentle tone of voice only served to infuriate Will more. "You're so full of shit," he growled. "So here we are. I'm an escaped mental patient on the run and you get to keep on killing whoever you want..."
"Will, please calm down."
"You don't have the right to tell me to do anything! You destroyed me!" He pushed Hannibal back in his chair and leaned in at him, menacingly. "You fucking destroyed me. Are you happy now? Is this why you came, to gloat? Does it make you feel good seeing me like this?"
Hannibal stared at him as he yelled, frowning. When Will stopped, he suddenly gripped him by the shoulders and held him tight as he kissed him, taking full advantage of Will's gasp of surprise to deepen it and force his tongue into his mouth.
"No!" Will yanked out of his grip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, accusing him with his eyes.
"I'm... I'm sorry Will. I should go."
Will slowly sank back down onto the bed and watched Hannibal's usual grace and precision of movement flutter into chaos in his attempt to put his shoes back on. He looked, for want of a better word, startled by his own actions. It was odd to see in a man who made calculating his every move an artform.
The anger Will felt melted and pooled into something else. He realised that it was curiosity. "It... it wasn't all an act, was it? That night... the night we... I felt something real and I thought you did too. Was I wrong?"
Hannibal seemed to be watching his own reflection in the shine of his shoes. It took a long pause before he seemed to be able to answer. "No."
"Then why? Why did you do this to me? Five years, Hannibal!"
"At first, it was only ever to help you to see the things Jack Crawford needed you to see. As for the rest... it's simply my nature. I knew you would see me eventually. I feared my own loss of freedom and so I traded in yours."
Will nodded, sadly. "You're insane," he said, his voice breaking.
"No more so than the world itself is." Hannibal slowly rose to his feet. "Will, if you believe nothing else I say, I would have you believe that I never feigned my regard for you. I wanted to shape you into someone capable of understanding me. I wanted you by my side, even knowing everything. Klara was... not intended in any way. Some inters are able to bear children very late in life but it is rare; it did not consider the risk. When I discovered my condition, there was no choice but to walk away from you for her sake." This time, it was Hannibal's turn to swallow hard, finding it difficult to speak.
Deflated, Will leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his face fall into his hands. "This is such a mess."
He heard, rather than saw, Hannibal pick up his coat and umbrella.
"What do you plan to do now, Will?" he asked, gently.
"Let's see now," Will responded through his fingers. "What do people do when they have no home and no place to go, when they've been betrayed by the one person that really mattered to them, when they have no way to ever see their only child again?" Again, that bitter laugh was trying to break free of him. "Who knows what they do."
Hannibal's hand on his shoulder startled him. The man had moved across to him silently. He hated that he reaction, rather than revulsion, was to lean in as the tears started to fall from his eyes. No matter how hard he fought it, desperate as he was not to cry in Hannibal's presence, they simply wouldn't stop.
Before he knew it, Hannibal was pulling him up into what started as a hug but which quickly turned into another passionate kiss, the umbrella clattering to the floor from his hand on one side, his coat landing in a heap on the other.
It was as if he was trying to devour Will's pain, hungry to take it in. Will had no idea what he was doing anymore but his strength was leaving him. It was the first time anyone had really touched him for so many years, the rush it produced in his system was overwhelming. He groaned through the kiss, not knowing whether to push him away or simply stop breathing and surrender.
Things progressed too quickly for decisions to be made. Hannibal clawed at his clothes with an urgency he hadn't shown even on that one night of passion all that time ago. Will knew then that Hannibal hadn't lied; there was something, intangible, terrible, irresistible, that curled inside them both like snakes waiting to strike.
Will was passive only long enough to be divested of the poorly fitting clothes that had one belonged to an ex boyfriend of Catherine's but had been left in the back of her closet, gathering moths. Then he fought back, tugging and pulling at Hannibal's finer ensemble, determined not to just to remove them but to ruin them. He wanted Hannibal to walk out of there like a man torn apart, buttons missing, fabric tattered and soiled.
He pushed Hannibal down into the centre of the bed and roughly landed on top of him. There was no question that, despite Hannibal initiating things, Will was the one in control now. Their bodies slotted together perfectly, bellies filled with fire as heated skin slid against heated skin. Will pinned Hannibal's hands down over his head as he moved, not caring if he was pushing hard enough to bruise him. Will had no idea what was happening, lost in a whirlwind mix of hate and anger and unreasonable painful love. Everything centred on the need to punish Hannibal and show him what he'd taken from them both.
Hannibal tongued at the scar on his neck, lapping at it, making Will hiss and surge against him. He drew back and dragged Hannibal down the bed a little by his legs, tilting his hips upwards. He didn't much care if Hannibal was ready or not for what he needed, but when he reached down to ease himself forward, he discovered Hannibal was near dripping with arousal, his body crying out to be filled up.
It was nothing like it had been the last time. There was no gentility to be found. No real finesse or care. Will slid himself home with a sharp push of his hips and then opened him up so hard Hannibal would have been torn if he had been less wet for him. Nothing was going to stop Will from claiming his prize, hips snapping back and forth and rutting in a blind fury. Hannibal was having the wind knocked out of him but he was still moaning into Will's mouth with furious pleasure, taking everything Will had to give and still begging for more. When he released his hands to get greater purchase, he hissed at the feel of Hannibal's fingernails digging into the creases of his back, marking him.
Through the haze, Will found himself pressing his hands around Hannibal's neck in retaliation, restricting his air. Hannibal didn't fight him. He watched Will closely, still moving in time with him. This careless act had no possibility of lasting very long, but even Will was surprised by how fast he was overtaken by his need to come. He pressed in hard and flooded Hannibal's insides with no small amount of triumph, then grimaced through the semi-orgasm it triggered in return.
The edges of Hannibal's vision were beginning to fade to black, his face red and bulging, by the time Will decided to release his throat and let him breathe again. Then Will was crawling down his body like a spider, licking the sweat from his skin, pausing to worship his overly soft and sensitive belly with his hands and his tongue, until he was positioned to be able to draw Hannibal's throbbing hardness into his mouth to finish him off.
It didn't take long at all, but Will wasn't done there. Instead of swallowing his release, Will climbed up to him and launched into another deep kiss, making Hannibal drink it all down, tongues sliding together around the viscous fluid as he did. Finally, Will let himself collapse, panting, on the other side of the bed.
They lay there for a while together in silence, no longer touching, the sound of the raindrops on the windows filling the room with something tangible to focus on. Eventually, Hannibal rolled aside and started putting his clothes back on.
Will watched him, exhausted from seeing his anger burn so brightly and then fizzle out at last. "I guess this is goodbye," he muttered when Hannibal looked about ready to leave. The words were ashes in his throat.
Hannibal's gaze lingered on him for so long it made him feel a little queasy. "Stay here, in this motel, for a few more days. You will receive a package. I think you will want to see the contents."
"What if I don't want your package?" Will tried to sound defiant but he wasn't up to much now. He felt completely burned out.
The only response he received was a sad sort of frown. It was shot in his direction as Hannibal pulled at his overcoat, trying to disguise the ruined state of his clothes underneath. "It will be from Klara, not from me," he said, and then left.
Will stared at the flimsy door for a while, trying to rationalise what had just happened. It hadn't felt triumphant, exactly, to satisfy his anger by satisfying the lust that lurked behind it. More, it felt righteous somehow. Like he had been owed it.
He reached over to his nightstand and pulled the necklace Klara had given to him out of the drawer. He stared at it for a long time, wondering what to do.
In the end, the decision was an obvious one, if not an easy one.
EPILOGUE
The ocean really was the same shade as Will's eyes. He'd imagined it was a number of times when he'd last sat on the porch of his private vacation home in Florida, but now he was able to do a like for like comparison, it seemed even more poetic.
Living in a beach home, in a sunny climate, with a small patch of private beach, had transformed Will Graham. He had arrived there a pale and unkempt creature, still rattling the invisible chains that gave him nightmares, and grown into a tanned siren with the musculature of someone who was used the more physical work of fixing boat engines for a living. His long brown curls had taken on a windswept grace and his face looked alive again. He was, for want of a better word, breathtaking.
Will was still guarded around Hannibal. That much would never change, Hannibal knew. But there had been a lot of progress.
Hannibal reflected on his decision to encourage Will to start a new life here. He'd sent a key and an address card to that cheap motel, wrapped in a bow, with some extra money and a note from Klara rolled in for him to read, hoping he had remained there long enough to receive it.
Dear Will,
Father asked me if I wanted to see you again and I said yes. So he has given to you a house so I can come and visit lots. It is a secret.
Thank you for the puppy I have named her Dora. Her leg will be better in three weeks.
Klara
It gratified him to learn that Will had kept that note. Hannibal had found it in a drawer in the house on his first visit to see Will there, with Klara, and smiled at the memory of how freed he had felt when he'd decided to cast logic and wisdom to the wind and act on his feelings instead. He had so many reasons to kill Will Graham but, in the end, it didn't matter anymore. It would be difficult for Will to expose him now. And Hannibal wanted him around enough to take the risk.
It had become remarkably like a custody arrangement. He drove down to Florida a least two weekends in every month now, and had even allowed Klara to stay with Will for a few weeks when her school went to recess. She had returned to Baltimore a committed vegetarian (for a few days), but generally the arrangement was amicable. Will loved her too much to risk Hannibal not bringing her to visit him, so he was careful not to rock the boat.
While Will could be quite moody towards Hannibal sometimes, his emotions constantly vacillating between love and hate, the tone of their occasional lovemaking just as unpredictable, there was no denying that he was proving himself to be a capable father to Klara. Hannibal enjoyed watching them together, playing catch on the beach with Dora nipping at their heels, building sandcastles, taking dips in the ocean. It filled him with a curious sort of warmth that he didn't quite know how to name.
He was looking forward to seeing it a great deal more often, given that he and Klara were going to have to remain there for a while longer than scheduled, though he hadn't yet broached the subject with Will.
Hannibal sipped at the lemonade he had made and took a seat on the porch, in the shade, where he could continue to watch his unexpected family interact. He was a great deal more placid and contented than normal, his system adapting once again to the instinct to protect instead of hunt, leaving him happy to lean back on a recliner and stroke the subtly expanding curve of his belly. He was quite certain that Will would be pleased by the news; if not right away, then at least after being given some time to get used to the idea.
The sound of his daughter and her daddy laughing together as they played was remarkably soothing to his ears.