17.

                                    

                                          

Chapter Text
When they part, they lay side by side, eyes on the stuccoed ceiling, breathless.
Talking is hard at first. They crossed a threshold - or better, Will crossed it - and being together on the same side of the veil for the first time is overwhelming. So, Will takes Hannibal's hand in his and makes their fingers mingle, hoping this will convey at least a fraction of what he's feeling.
                          
Hannibal thinks once more of the morning, soon after they had met, Will opened his door in his underwear, drenched shirt and worn out eyes, looking irremediably damaged and incredibly powerful all the same. Hannibal can't forget how vulnerable that sight made him feel, how crucial freeing the man from the cage he had put himself into seemed.
                          
Hannibal turns his head toward Will. Truly he evolved into something new, though what he is now was there even before, in fieri. The thought that this incredible human being could've spent all his life as a disturbed FBI teacher is so tragic it's hard to fathom. Hannibal doesn't believe going back to what they were before to be possible; in any case, he hopes Will will never return to that bleak pit of nothingness he used to call life.
                          
Before he can think better, Hannibal wriggles closer to rest his head on Will's stomach, feeling he needs more of his skin already. Will instinctively encloses him with his arm, and all feels suddenly very incongruous; the protector being protected, the guardian guarded, Hannibal's broad frame unexpectedly helpless into Will's embrace. Allowing someone to take care of you is difficult for those used to suffice to themself; it requires an abandon that is startling, awkward, though in an oddly pleasant way.
                          
Finally alone, Will thinks, caressing Hannibal's shoulders, not even ghosts around; Abigail is apparently smart enough to know this is not the moment, and Bedelia hopefully needs some more time to show. He imagines all their past preys gathered at the end of the bed - his own handful and Hannibal's small crowd - staring at them with resentment or maybe envy. Will reckons they're very lucky ghosts aren't real.
                          
He counts on his hand the lives he took before today. As much as he regretted killing, he never considered those men his victims; there was always the virtuous reason of self or other's defence absolving him. After tonight, though, Will can't pretend anymore that his desire to murder wasn't as strong then as it is now. The only difference is that now he doesn't feel the need for all those very convenient excuses he used to make for himself.
                          
'Kintsugi,' Hannibal mutters against the skin of Will's belly, 'fixing broken pottery with gold to give it a new life - an ideal combination of practical, aesthetical and philosophical purposes.'
                          
Just your thing, thinks Will.
                          
'It is the object's trauma that makes it unique, its flaws that make it beautiful.' Hannibal traces over the scar traversing Will's abdomen with his fingertip, admiring the stiffer new tissue and all the tiny bumps his stitches left. 'Tell me, Will; are your cracks what make you so precious? Did I give you a new life mending you with gold?'
                          
Will closes his eyes and sees all the reddish marks of his scars glimmer.
                          
'You could put the teacup back together in the end,' he points out.
                          
Will's mind, too, runs to the morning he first met Hannibal's darkness, in an open field in Minnesota, under a cruel sun.
                          
'I'm not a fan of useless pain, said the man who carved the lungs out of a living girl.'
                          
Hannibal snorts. He leans forward to kiss Will's navel. 'That pain was far from useless. Anguish is the ideal bait to fish an empath's attention.'
                          
'So that poor girl is on me too.'
                          
'I propose from now on we share our guilts the way spouses share properties. What is mine is yours and so on.'
                          
'How very generous of you.'
                          
'I count your wrongdoings to exceed mine soon. Therefore, my offer will indeed become a generous one. See it as an investment.'
                          
Will snickers and tousles Hannibal's hair with his fingers, marvelling at the lack of protests. All that happens tonight feels impossible and necessary.
                          
'I want this to last more,' he whispers because he's apparently stopped caring about how he sounds.
                          
'It will last for some time, Will. We will make the most of it.'
                          
'I regret waiting this long.'
                          
'And I regret your waiting. Nevertheless, this couldn't have been before - nor after, for what it's worth. We are where we are meant to be; this is the reason why it feels so righteous.'
                          
'Will our dinner guests end up bringing attention to us?'
                          
'Not unless I display them appropriately.'
                          
'Will you?'
                          
'Yes.'
                          
'May I ask you why?'
                          
Hannibal shrugs. 'This is what I do. I enjoy doing it, and I guess I like the attention too. Do you wish me not to?'
                          
'I would have chosen some other man to spend my days with if I wished to vanish from the radar.'
                          
Hannibal inhales Will's skin deeply. 'And you're curious of what will happen.'
                          
'And I'm curious of what will happen. I guess our next-door friends will make an ideal bait for our far away ones.'
                          
'Is this what you want them to be?' Hannibal sits up to survey Will's face. 'That will bring some turmoil to Florence.'
                          
'We have some scores to settle still.' Will makes sure to cherish Hannibal's admiring gaze before continuing. 'Now, we can't snuggle like teenagers all night, you know; our dining room is in dire need of some tidying. What's Dante's punishment for the lazy?'
                          
'Just dull Purgatory, Will, nothing we can't afford.' Hannibal leans toward him for a quick kiss. 'Forget about that. I'll take care of it.'
                          
'I need to learn.'
                          
'Some other time. But I like the attitude.'
                          
Will stretches languidly. 'What did I do to deserve all this pampering?'
                          
I want to say Bedelia, but that thing you did with your mouth also. 'Be assured; a payback will be solicited, sooner or later.'
                          
'One that can be delivered in bed, hopefully.'
                          
This half-joke alone is enough to make Hannibal's groin react. He looks for a comeback but finds he's surprisingly all out of them.
                          
'It doesn't count as retribution if you are enjoying it.' Is all he eventually manages to reply.
                          
'In this case, good luck finding a task that will please you without pleasing me in return, when even hurting each other does it for us. I guess you'll just have to think of something you want me to do, and I will pretend not to like it.'
                          
Hannibal leaps off the bed, laughing. 'Beware what you wish for, Will.'
                          
Will looks at him trail toward the door, enjoying his naked form silhouetting against the light from the adjacent room.
                          
Take note, Will, he tells himself, no clothes for easier cleaning.