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Will woke to a tremendous pain in his head. It took him a second to orient himself, but he soon realized he was sleeping sitting up. He groaned softly. Great, now not only would his head hurt, but his back was going to complain all day as well. He opened his eyes slightly, squinting at the unfamiliar silhouette of a room in dim light.
True panic set in when he tried to get up and found himself unable to, securely restrained to the chair. He could already tell there was no sense in struggling. The bonds were strong and he was weak. The air smelled of salt water.
The scent brought everything rushing back to him. The feigned turned real escape. The fight with Dolarhyde. Hannibal’s eyes glittering in the darkness, his heartbeat impossibly steady where Will rested his head on his chest. “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will… For both of us.” The moment Will realized what he had to do. His only escape, not from Hannibal, but from himself.
The cliff.
Shit. How was he not dead? Was Will’s luck just that bad? And if he was restrained, that must mean–
A crack of light as an outside door opened across the room and an all too familiar shape stepped through. The figure froze when it saw Will was awake. Two glittering eyes watched him in the dark. Will stared right back. Finally, after what felt like years, the figure stepped forward. Tall, broad, approaching him cautiously like he was a wild animal. Hannibal Lector stepped into the light, revealing his enigmatic face and confirming what Will already knew to be true.
“Hello, Will. I am relieved to see you are awake. You had us worried.”
Will was not the only one who survived.
The injuries Will sustained in the fight with Dolarhyde had been treated and stitched with a professional hand. Of course, Will would expect no less from Hannibal. Hopefully, he had treated his own bullet wound with as much care. Hopefully? Did Will really mean that? But of all the ways Will had imagined Hannibal’s end, a long drawn-out death by infection had never featured in his fantasies.
Now, the former surgeon finished redressing Will’s facial wound and applied clean bandages. Where did he get those? Hannibal let out a pleased hum at his own work, and his hand moved up Will’s face to the scar on his forehead, which he stroked softly with his thumb, a possessive glint in his eye. Will felt a squirming uncomfortable sensation in his chest.
“Why didn’t you just kill me?” he blurted out.
Hannibal’s serene expression turned to a frown, and he sat back, studying Will as he considered his answer. “I have realized that you were right, Will. Neither of us can survive without the other. Yet as long as one of us lives, neither of us is truly gone from this earth. That is why you pushed us over the edge, isn’t it, Will? You could not live without me, but neither would I truly die if you were still breathing. It had to be both of us, or neither.” He focused his attention on Will's chest wound. Hannibal’s hands were gentle as he tended to him, but then Hannibal was always tender with Will, even as he disemboweled him, or sawed open his skull. “I for one happen to be glad it was neither.”
Will wanted to touch him. Caress his face, strangle him, tear out his heart with his teeth. But the restraints held firm and Will’s fingers could only twitch with the impulse. Hannibal caught the motion and his eyes lit up in a way Will knew he was laughing at him. Will scowled and closed his eyes. “I’m not.”
A hand patted him fondly on the head. “Well, you’ll have to learn to live with it.” Hannibal, for his part, seemed almost cheery. Will felt his absence as he stood up and walked across the room. “Do you still prefer your eggs over hard?” The sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing. “I don’t have much to work with here, though I suppose I shouldn’t complain that Chiyoh neglected to provide quality ingredients. It would be incredibly ungrateful, considering she was the one who fished us out of the sea.”
“How kind of her,” muttered Will. “Where the fuck did she bring us?”
Hannibal tutted at Will’s bad language, and Will heard something sizzle against a pan. “I believe this is where she’s been staying since she arrived.”
“The owners?”
“I do not think we have to worry about them.”
Will’s eyes shot open. Hannibal pretended not to see the accusatory glare as he flipped an egg with perfect form. For a few long moments, he let Will stew in the idea that either he or Chiyoh had killed the people in whose kitchen they now resided. To be honest, Will was less horrified than annoyed, which only darkened his mood.
Hannibal finally turned off the stove, and brought a plate over to where Will was tied up. The smell of it (amazing, obviously) turned his stomach. Hannibal gave him an amused smile. “Snowbirds, Will. They have flown their little wings back down to Tampa for the winter months. Now, eat up.”
In the end, it was more embarrassing to refuse the food, with Hannibal’s infuriatingly patient eyes gazing into his own, his thumb and forefinger holding Will’s chin in a grip that was both gentle and firm. Hannibal held the fork up to Will’s lips and cajoled him to take one bite after another as one would a fussy toddler. “Come now, Will, you must regain your strength for the coming journey. It will not be easy on you.”
Will scoffed between bites. “When is it ever?”
Days passed. It was hard to tell how many days, since his sleep was irregular and the medicine Hannibal kept him on made his brain fuzzy. Hannibal would have told him, he’s sure, had he asked. Will didn’t ask.
The whole situation should have panicked him, reminiscent as it was of his time with encephalitis. But Will didn’t panic. It was too easy to slip into a mindless daze, to let Hannibal feed him and change his bandages and sponge him down when he got too gross. If Will tried hard enough, he could almost believe he had been successful and was occupying some sort of purgatory. In any case, he was done resisting. He had used up the last ounce of his resolve pushing the two of them off that cliff, and he had nothing else.
So Will didn’t try to escape. He didn’t try to escape when Hannibal escorted him to the bathroom to piss. He didn’t try to loosen his bonds in the night, when Hannibal slept. When Hannibal fed him his pills, he didn’t try to hide them in his cheek to avoid swallowing, though Will knew they were not just the antibiotics and painkillers the other man claimed they were.
Occasionally he saw Chiyoh, though she tended to ignore him, and Will certainly didn’t try to engage her in conversation. She replenished their supplies and updated Hannibal on the FBI’s investigation against them. Well, against Hannibal, in any case. Apparently the going theory was that Hannibal had killed Dolarhyde and kidnapped Will. Which, to be fair, wasn’t too far off from the truth. Will wondered what Jack thought.
Jack was probably in a load of shit anyway, for the disastrous operation that got all those agents killed and let the Chesapeake Ripper escape. Sure, at least the Great Red Dragon had been taken care of, but no one suffered under any delusion regarding which of the two was the bigger threat.
“I have something for you, Will.” Hannibal was at the sink, filling up a bowl with warm water.
“Well Merry fucking Christmas to me.”
“Actually yes,” answered Hannibal, as he brought over a tray with the bowl and several other implements. Perhaps Hannibal was going to attempt brain surgery on him again. Not that it would make much difference to Will if he lobotomized him. But to Will’s surprise, the tray held on it not the tools of a surgeon, but a barber: shears, a comb, a straight razor, high-end shaving lather, and a hot hand towel.
“Well, Christmas Eve,” corrected Hannibal as he began to comb Will’s hair, teasing out the knots with such care that Will barely felt it. “But since we’re traveling tomorrow, I felt it appropriate to celebrate today instead.”
Huh, so they would finally be leaving. Will didn’t know how to feel about that.
Hannibal trimmed Will’s hair like he had been doing it all his life, as if the motions were habitual. When he was done, he ran his fingers through it with a tasteful amount of gel, styling it so Will’s bangs were swept to one side and his forehead scar was exposed. When he was satisfied, he moved back into Will’s field of vision. He set a dining chair in front of Will. Closer, Will thought, than strictly necessary. Hannibal sat and began to lather Will’s face. The part of it not covered by his bandages, at least. This put them at eye level, the intimacy of which would cause him to shudder had it been anyone else. It was different with Hannibal. It always had been, since the start. That or it could just be the drugs relaxing him into a stupor.
“Aw, but I didn’t get you anything,” said Will, the drowsiness in his voice partially obscuring the sarcasm. He didn’t flinch as Hannibal brought the razor to his throat, only watched his face lazily as the other man began to shave him.
A small smile graced Hannibal’s face that was both fond and amused. Hannibal’s expressions were subtle. “Blink and you miss it” kind of subtle. Will didn’t blink.
“Your presence alone is a gift, Will. I could not ask for more.”
“Well it was a gift you gave yourself,” muttered Will.
“Stop talking. You’ll cause me to nick you,” Hannibal scolded, but did not seem offended by the comment. For a moment, neither of them spoke as Hannibal didn’t shave him as much as he caressed his face with a blade. “Not only given by me, I think. It hasn’t escaped my notice how little you’ve been fighting all this. Compliance is not in your nature, Will. One would almost think you wanted to be here.” It was said casually, but Will noticed a slight tightness in Hannibal’s jaw that belied a sort of desperation. Or the closest thing to desperation a man like Hannibal could feel. Will didn’t know what to make of it.
He waited for Hannibal to finish and set down the razor before responding. “Who’s to say I’m not lulling you into a false sense of security, biding my time until I have a chance to–” A chance to what? Run away? Kill Hannibal? “A chance to finish what I started.”
“Is that what you are doing, Will?” Hannibal walked over to the sink to dump out the water and refill it. When he came back he held a tiny paper gift bag in his other hand, which he set on the floor as he set to rinsing Will’s face. His eyes settled on Will’s lips. “Lulling me into a false sense of security?”
“Of course not, Dr Lector,” drawled Will.
Hannibal huffed out a laugh. “Terrible boy. Here.” He set the towel aside and picked up the gift bag, which he set on Will’s lap. “I’ll open it for you.”
Will scowled as Hannibal pulled out a tube of aftershave. At least it didn’t have a ship on it. “Ha ha,” grumbled Will.
“I’ll admit, this is more of a present for me than you,” Hannibal smirked as he applied it. Will had to admit the scent was pleasant. It was similar to the one Hannibal wore, though with more natural, woodsy notes to it. Subtle, perfectly suited to Hannibal’s sensitive nose.
“Marking your territory?” Will asked drily.
“Absolutely,” said Hannibal, pressing his nose to the corner of Will’s jaw and inhaling deeply before giving it a soft kiss.
“Is that my fucking boat?”
Will didn’t know exactly what time it was, only that the sun was barely peeking out from the horizon. Hannibal had woken him up not long before and undone Will’s restraints, but before Will could even think about making a move, he felt the all too familiar sensation of a gun’s muzzle between his shoulder blades. “For your own safety, Will. Please don’t make me use it. It would be such an inelegant way for you to die.”
Hannibal wasn’t going to actually kill him, Will knew. If that’s what he intended, he would have done so already. Still, Will let himself be led along the abandoned beach until they reached a small pier. And there it was. The ship he sailed once across the Atlantic to find the very man who now stood beside him, whose handgun might as well be a hand, gentle but insistent fingers on the small of Will’s back, guiding him forward and onto the deck.
“I confess, it’s been a while since I’ve sailed. I’m looking forward to it.”
When Hannibal let go of his arm, Will took a step forward and began busying himself, checking to make sure everything was in working order. Miraculously, it all was. In fact, the boat was more pristine than it had been before he had left in it the first time.
He turned to Hannibal, who stood there watching him shuffle around with an enigmatic expression. “I left this boat in Europe.” “Left” was the wrong word. “Left” implied he’d had any choice in the matter, instead of being kidnapped by Mason Verger and strung up like a pig. Will shivered at the memory.
“That you did,” said Hannibal, sounding pleased with himself. “There’s a coat in one of the bags in the hull,” he said gesturing to the luggage that had already been arranged there. Will thought about refusing, but he was cold. The coat Hannibal had procured for him ended up fitting him perfectly, of course. Will wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had taken his measurements while Will was sleeping.
“So where are we going?” he asked, positioning himself on the stern of the boat, near the tiller.
Hannibal studied him, still having not moved an inch since setting foot on the boat. His gun wasn’t pointed at Will, but he hadn’t put it away either. His posture asked a question he didn’t need to speak aloud.
“Well I’m not really eager for another bullet in me,” answered Will drily before shooting the other man a feral grin. “And besides, it’ll be easier to kill you in the middle of the ocean, where I can just push you overboard.”
Hannibal snorted and put away the gun.
It was painful to admit, but Will was enjoying his time in Guanacaste.
The days were long and hot, which reminded him of growing up in Louisiana. Though it being the dry season, it was much less humid. The fishing was excellent. Will spent much of his time fishing.
As far as Will could tell, Hannibal lived much the same life here as he did back home. He went to the theater. He hosted dinner parties in their absurdly large apartment. He spoke Spanish in a pitch-perfect version of the local dialect and their guests hung on every word he said. He guest lectured at the College of Physicians and Surgeons. He wore pristine suits despite the temperature and yet by all accounts didn’t seem to sweat.
He allowed Will to keep his distance. In return, Will ate what Hannibal fed him without questioning it.
Will went out whenever Hannibal had people over, fishing or drinking, or both. At the moment he was at an outdoor bar on the beach, nursing a beer and watching the sun set on the ocean. He liked the bartender, a woman near his age who just let him sit and didn’t try to talk to him.
There was a party a little ways down the beach, far enough away that Will wasn’t bothered by it. At least he wasn’t until one of the partygoers wandered over to the bar and sat himself right next to Will.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he said, his words slightly slurred, and then let out a bark of laughter. He had an American or Canadian accent. A tourist then.
He was a young man, mid-twenties by the looks of it, eyes glazed over from drinking and the intoxication of feeling young and free. It was an artificial freedom though, and it would soon come to an end. By the near-manic energy the man was giving off, he knew it too, but was doing everything in his power to avoid thinking about it. His legs were covered in sand. Will scooted slightly away from him.
The man didn’t take the hint, and placed a hand on Will’s shoulder. Will stiffened and shot him a dark look, jerking his arm back. The tourist looked momentarily hurt but quickly burst into laughter once again. “Come on man. I’m just having fun with you. Take a load off, it’s paradise.”
“I’m just leaving,” said Will. He paid his tab, tipping generously with Hannibal’s money.
“Aw, don’t be like that,” whined the man. But Will was already gone.
Will returned that night to find Hannibal cleaning up. Watching Hannibal move around the kitchen, even when he wasn’t cooking, was always a bit hypnotizing. Will studied the motion of his shoulders from behind as he did the dishes, his large hands as he scrubbed at them, the hair just at the nape of his neck…
Okay, so Will may have had one too many beers. He swallowed.
“You’re back earlier than usual,” said Hannibal, knowing it was Will without even looking.
“I, um,” said Will without thinking. “I thought about killing someone. Just now. Down on the beach.”
Hannibal froze what he was doing, his fingers going still on the rag. He inhaled audibly. “Oh did you now?” he asked, before placing a pan on the drying rack and going back to work. “Pray tell, what did this person do to inspire such a violent response?” Hannibal said the word violent like he meant beautiful.
“He was rude,” Will said with a bitter smile. “And… he reminded me of someone.” He came down here to escape, but he couldn’t escape himself.
Mercifully, Hannibal didn’t inquire further. “I wish you would attend the dinner parties, Will,” he said instead. “People are always asking about you.”
Why would they be asking about me? Will didn’t say. What have you told them about me that makes them ask? Instead he said “Do you want to know how I would have killed him?”
At this, Hannibal turned around and looked at him, his dark eyes pinning him where he stood.
Will gathered his courage and continued. “I would have gutted him. Like a fish. In his softest parts that he tries to keep hidden from everyone who knows him. Then I would open up his chest. Pry open his ribcage so his heart was exposed. No hiding anymore.” It was hard to tell from across the room, but Will thought Hannibal’s pupils dilated. “I’d lay him in the sand and face him toward the horizon. I’d keep his eyes open.
“Oh, and I’d take his liver and kidneys. A gift from me to you, in exchange for the one you got me for Christmas.” Will gazed at Hannibal coyly through his eyelashes. “Even Steven.”
Hannibal advanced on him slowly, his eyes burning. “Don’t tease me, Will.”
“Who’s teasing?”
Hannibal took Will’s jaw in one hand firmly, and tilted his face upwards, examining it. “Do you share my fondness for smashing teacups, Will? You have a propensity for indulging yourself only halfway, for creeping close to that threshold you crave to cross before scurrying back at the last moment. I’m afraid there is no coming back this time.” I won’t let you, his eyes said.
Will let out a breathy laugh, and brought his forehead close to press against Hannibal’s. “No,” he said. “I don’t think there is.”