Chapter Text
Primavera
"I forgive you."
Will almost murmurs it, standing there, waiting for a response he knows won't come because the meters of distance he has with Hannibal are more than just physical.
But he stays there, so desolate. Will traveled miles and miles just to see him one more time, to feel his presence. The need for closure is so strong, it's the reason he embarked on this journey and crossed the entire ocean for Hannibal.
Alana couldn't understand why Will wouldn't want to forget him or erase his memory of him. Inquiring how it's possible that after all he's been through, he can overlook the worst.
(Because he wants to enjoy Hannibal's company, even his damn sense of humor.)
However, the answer is simple: because he wants to. It's the reason for sincerely forgiving him. Purging the memory of Abigail is so painful; her ghost haunting him and revealing his flaws. Will knows he's also a victim, that nothing Hannibal did is justified, but that doesn't prevent him from still dreaming (despite everything that has happened, all the pain he has endured) of having run away with him.
How can Will forgive him?
He's weak, plain and simple, and his survival instinct has always been terrible. Here, still standing like an idiot, with no answer received. Alone.
Hannibal always disappoints him, Will thinks, turning his shoulders ready to go back to the entrance, where Inspector Pazzi went, but the echo of a voice in the catacombs stops him.
"Will."
He can't turn around, afraid that once again his imagination is playing tricks on him. Afraid to turn and have Hannibal gone. But in the silence, Will can hear his steps approaching, and he feels his own body tense with uncertainty, with his impending closeness, hearing Hannibal's footsteps until he has him there.
"Will," Hannibal repeats, standing in front of him, looking so different from the last time he saw him. He looks restored, distinguished, but something in his expression looks as broken as Will feels.
"You sought me out," Hannibam adds impassively, looking at him as if Will were a mere creature.
Will doesn't answer, trapped in the moment. Seconds have to pass before he finds his voice. "You know I came because I wanted to, as you well know that I forgave you."
Hannibal's features break with that, a look of disgust forming on his face. "Of course," he muses with irony. "You sold me out and betrayed me for my actions, for sending you to jail. Do you think I'll believe that forgiving me after everything is so easy?"
"Hannibal, do you really want to start this conversation here? In a damn catacomb with the police just a few steps away?" Will sighs, bringing a hand to his face. "I know it doesn't make sense in any way to forgive you, and people with more morals than you have questioned it before. Do you think I don't know that?"
Hannibal just looks at him without saying anything.
Will sighs again. "You know me, Hannibal. It was a mistake from the start to ask you to have the emotional maturity to take responsibility for what you did, to understand me and my actions. Killing Abigail and almost bleeding me dry is a terrible act, but it's your nature."
"You infantilize me," Hannibal replies, his face again showing annoyance.
"It's you who decided to destroy everything in your path, even when I called you to warn you, and you could have escaped," Will sees him about to speak, so he stops him, raising his hand in protest. "And no, none of that argument about waiting for me. Come on, Hannibal, if I tell you I forgive you, despite everything, it's genuine."
But Hannibal shakes his head, an odd expression on his face, no longer disgust. "Could you really?" he asks rhetorically, his gaze so intense, "I've been looking for you, Will, in empty streets and in the shadows of those who walk."
"You left me a gift that you know I've just studied," he replies.
"Could you forgive me?" Hannibal asks again, ignoring his response, as he moves even closer, standing just inches away. For a moment, Will freezes, unable to forget the last time he had him this close; his skin prickles with the trauma of the memory.
But his desire for his company is stronger, his empathic ability to see the best in him while understanding his worst. "Yes, I already have," Will says.
And there, that expression, he finally recognizes it. Hannibal looks at him with so many emotions, his hand rises, and Will feels it on his face, on his cheek. "I destroyed you, Will, sought to cause you the deepest harm. And look at me, desolate, in what should be my glory, I am disturbed by your absence and memory."
"I forgive you," Will whispers, looking into his eyes, not moving.
And there, that expression, Hannibal observes him with fear. "Why?"
Alana would say he's crazy, that in some way, Stockholm syndrome holds him. Jack would question his ethics and principles. And Will, well, he tried to rid himself of Hannibal and what he makes him feel. But in the end, he's so tired, and he has him here with him. "Because I need you, Hannibal, because I miss you. Because I want you with me."
The hug he expects, but not the tremors running through Hannibal's body. He feels him squeezing him so tight, his deep breath on his neck, his arms on his back. And there, his whisper, "Forgive me, Will. I want to mend the cup, to promise you I won't break it again."
"If you don't break it again, I think we could see a future," Will remarks, finally returning the hug as he rests his head on Hannibal's clavicle, feeling how comfortable he is in this position.
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And a moment that did happen.
The Wrath of the Lamb
Even though Will feigns calm, standing there, wine glass in hand, Hannibal knows he doesn't really feel it, too concerned about Francis and his objective.
Hannibal gazes at him, unable to predict what Will will do, whether he'll decide to help or watch him die. His dear love is always so unpredictable, an animal whose mind he doesn't even know well, whose instincts, both innocent and violent, control him.
And that's when he sees the movement toward his weapon.
But the Dragon attacks first, slashing his beautiful face, throwing him wildly out the window.
Hannibal wants to growl at the action. How dare someone harm his beloved. He crawls as best he can, watching the beast continue to attack Will, puncturing his shoulder, spreading his blood as if it had the right.
He can't help but intervene, thankful for the adrenaline that allows him to rise and join the hunt.
And what a hunt it is; not even when he killed Grutas did he feel such delight. He can't define what's going through his mind, his sensations and feelings as he watches Will bathed in blood, savoring his deadly skill, seeing how the night illuminates him in such a deadly and exquisite dance, his glorious lamb made of fury.
Ending the Dragon together is an intimate and irreplaceable moment. Hannibal could never have wanted anything more. It's a perfect consummation.
It wasn't until he met Will Graham that he realized how empty his life was.
It wasn't until he met Will Graham that he understood he could still feel, that he still had a chance to love. That even monsters like him can learn such an emotion.
Will reaches out a hand, seeking support to stand, agreeing with his reflection on the color of blood under the moon.
And there, standing in the night, suspended before the vastness of the ocean beside them, Hannibal can only feel completeness, his mind at peace, the wound in his side painless.
"This is what I wanted for you, Will, for both of us," he confesses with an emotional tone, gazing at Will's bloodied face, bright and lively eyes, more magnificent than ever.
Will stops to look at him, his breathing noticeable with every movement, and when he speaks, his words are a blessing. "It's beautiful."
And Will affirms it, enveloping him in his arms and resting his cheek against his chest. Oh, it's exquisite, this moment. Oh, his affection is so gentle. Because until now, Will has never initiated contact, always so fearful, so irritable, so tortured by his actions.
(And Hannibal knows that his mistakes have consequences, and knowing that he lost Will's trust is his greatest defeat.)
But now Hannibal closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, burying his face in those curls he adores. He smells Will and wants to drink him, consume him, never part from him again.
It's perfect, it's everything he's needed. Nothing can surpass this blood-soaked embrace.
And when he feels Will's movement, turning them and making them fall into the void between the waves, he closes his eyes again, ready to receive whatever lies ahead. Ready to continue their adventure. Together.