Chapter Text
Even if his mind was fully his, his thoughts weren’t necessarily his own. They kept trailing back to the newest not-patient he was having simple conversations with. The smell of a sweet burning fever was plaguing him. Part of him wanting to see how far the agent would fall, actually see the psychological effects he knew on a scientific level but had never witnessed. Part of him was curious of the deterioration. But the more troubling part he couldn’t reconcile with himself was the affection he felt for Will. Hannibal was of expensive means but ultimately had simple tastes. He liked fresh food and assuaging any minute curiosities that came up in his day. Or even the curiosities of his own creation.
Yet he was at an impasse. Hannibal knew his own mind well. He kept it well organized in his mind palace, mostly to revisit the loveliest of his macabre creations. But there was an ever growing area purely dedicated to Will Graham. Mostly cataloging his reactions to said crime scenes and the insights he provided that were such a perfect composite of Hannibal himself. If he was a lesser man, he would say he was in love. But Hannibal was a man that knew himself, and he knew he didn’t have the capacity to love. Not anymore.
What he kept coming back to was the potential unpredictability of the encephalitis. He was partly titillated at witnessing that sharp mind being warped to breaking. But the unpredictability was what he kept coming back to. Will made large leaps of logic between available facts and whatever physical evidence was available. His ability for connections and resulting arrests is what troubled the doctor. Will’s mind was brilliant even under the duress the fever was giving him. One could even argue his hallucinations were helping facilitate his leaps of logic.
Doctor Lecter came to a conclusion. The experiment had gone on longer than he had anticipated. He valued his continued freedom far more than any spark of emotion he felt. He was going to need to get rid of Will Graham.
After all, if he waited any longer, the meat could spoil.
***
It was easy enough to invite Will over for an impromptu dinner after a long day at the academy. Will felt comfortable in his presence. That shouldn’t have caused the small pang in his chest that it did. They sipped their shiraz in Hannibal’s study as the roast finished braising. It was easy enough to discuss the latest developments in the Copy Cat case. It reaffirmed Hannibal’s final decision. A timer sounded off in the distance.
He took one last sip before putting his wine glass on the side table, “I must bring the roast out and let it rest.” When Will made to stand, potentially to help, Hannibal smiled lightly. How well mannered. “Sit, I insist. You are my guest. We still have time yet before we eat. We can finish our discussion when I return.” Will nodded his ascent as he resettled in his chair, cradling the wine glass between fingertips.
Hannibal took his time to move his choice cut of a rather rude sommelier to a serving plate. He used the cooking liquid and a far better vintage of Red Bordeaux Supérieur than was suggested by that sommelier for his sauce. It was a young wine but had a surprisingly low acidity and light fruity taste. Something young and lovely to end the night.
He plated his root vegetables around the roast and placed it on his dining table. Taking a moment to settle the tableau of his last meal with Will in his mind, he turned back to return to his study.
As Hannibal entered the room, he first saw Will’s empty wine glass sitting on the side table beside his own half-filled one. He next saw Will standing at the bookcase at the far end of his study, where he kept his cooking reference books. Smiling and remembering that Will often turned to the books at his office when he was unsure or anxious, he made to speak before he noticed the stillness of Will.
Will turned his head and met Hannibal’s eyes. The stillness continued to unsettle Hannibal as it was something he had never seen exhibited by him before.
“It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you,” Will murmured as smoothed down the page he had been reading. Hannibal noticed it was one of his first French cookbooks that he had written extensive notes in. He shouldn’t be surprised that Will could read French. Louisiana was the home he often cited, even with all the moving around in his youth.
On the page that fingers brushed over faint pencil notes from years ago, laid recipes for sweetbreads. The Ripper was known for his taking of organ meats and Hannibal never was one to spare it from his dinner parties. That brilliant mind had made the final leap that he was hoping to intercept. Hannibal’s own mind was firmly set.
“Will, I’m unsure to what you are referring to. But I’ve come to call you to the dining room to finish our discussion.”
“Stop. Just stop. I can’t---of course,” he placed the open book on his vacated chair. Turning to fully face Hannibal, his hands kept clenching, “Of course. You were always one step ahead weren’t you? You even inserted yourself into the investigation. Did you decide to consult with me when you found out I was the one most likely to catch you? Are you happy with how you’ve fucked with my head?” Will yelled as he strode toward Hannibal.
Hannibal entered the study fully and walked by the side table, picking up his wine glass. Taking a sip he made it to the desk, all the while, Will’s eyes tracking him. Placing his glass on the desk near the half full wine bottle, he laid his hand against the wood grain of the desk, fingers at the edge of a pile of papers.
“Dear Will. You must calm yourself. Simply because I have a cook book doesn’t make me a serial killer. Sit down and let me refresh your wine.”
“Doctor Lecter. I see you fully formed now. You are the intelligent psychopath in our midst. I know your shadow and I can finally see who it’s attached to.” Will looked down and gave a harsh laugh, “You were supposed to help me look. Well I finally fucking see.”
When his eyes returned to the Doctor, it was only to note that he had crept up silently in the brief moment he had looked away. A scalpel eviscerated Will neatly. Will’s hands rose up to catch what he knew was his intestines, but didn’t look. He kept eye contact with Hannibal and kept it as he fell. Arms braced him at his shoulders and hip, gentling his fall.
“Will. Dear Will,” Hannibal’s hand cupped Will’s cheek as tears started to run down his face. He removed his glasses, placing them off to the side. “I knew you were exceptional. Never in my life have I wanted to be more wrong.” The doctor’s thumb dragged through a tear and brought it up to his mouth. Will mouthed silent words, but Hannibal was not one for trying to decipher something he could never know the true answer to. Instead, he focused on those blue eyes that stared at him with cold fury and betrayal.
As Will Graham resigned himself to his fate for one stupid mistake, Hannibal brought the scalpel up and quickly slit his throat. A malevolent god could be benevolent when he wished.
***
Hannibal carried Will Graham’s body down to the basement. He would have to dispose of the rug in his study and steam clean his floors before Will’s disappearance became apparent as a precaution. He placed him on a stainless steel surgical table then sliced that awful flannel shirt off. The rest of his motions became mechanical; it was after all, simply another body. That he had to repeat this to himself several times was of no true consequence.
He performed a text book y-incision and split open the rib cage. He pulled out the remaining intestines and placed them in a large bowl on a nearby surgical cart. Hannibal cut out the liver, lungs, and lastly the heart. If he cupped the heart and looked down at it for longer than necessary, the only one who would know would be himself.
And lately, he was starting to think he didn’t know himself as well as he thought.
He put the organs on a tray and walked back toward the stairs. When he looked back from the top to the body on the table: pale from blood loss and skin unfurled like a cadaverous sunflower, maw open and empty, Hannibal’s hands trembled.
He turned off the light and firmly closed the door. Taking a deep breath of air that wasn’t scented with blood, he made his way to the kitchen to vacuum seal his newly acquired meat.
He was going to freeze it. Hannibal did not think he could bear to eat it just yet.
***
Hannibal cleaned methodically. He rolled up the rug in his study and wiped up the blood stains as best he could before he could pull his steam cleaner from storage. He cleaned the door knobs and kitchen counters quickly. Anything to keep his mind off of the body in his basement. When he had vaguely thought of killing Will Graham, he had thought to use the body in a large masterpiece to finally push Jack Crawford over the edge. But at the moment, Hannibal didn’t dare spare any thought to what he was going to do with it. He simply cleaned.
When he finally made it to the shower, he cringed at the cold water. His clothes had ended up in a fireplace in the same study they had been sullied. Hannibal knew he would have to return to that room later to clean up the ashes but that could wait till the morning. He adjusted the water temperature and proceeded to wash Will Graham’s blood off.
Hannibal walked back to the kitchen after he had dressed in a white oxford shirt and black slacks, casual wear for him. He would not be sleeping tonight. He passed the still set dining table before he paused. He gathered up the extra place setting to return to the kitchen. As he put away the charger and utensils, Hannibal heard a muffled thump. Odd. He finished putting the plates away and turned as he heard a loud bang---a door knob banging against a wall. He quickly grabbed a knife and held it by his hip as he stood behind the kitchen island. Perhaps it was an unfortunate burglar. His fingers tightened around the handle. A rage he had tempered down fully erupted. He had made a mistake earlier, and if he couldn’t change that, then he could take it out on someone else. Jack Crawford would be lucky to identify this body as human when he had finished.
“That fucking hurt you asshole.”
Will Graham walked back into Hannibal’s kitchen and apparently life itself. He was still shirtless. His torso was streaked with dried blood, especially centered on the areas of incision. But there were no visible cuts from what Hannibal could see. His jeans were heavily blood stained and looked almost black.
Hannibal used to know his mind well. At the moment, he was unsure if this was a delusion or a stress induced hallucination. The answer came easily to him as Will walked purposely around the island into Hannibal’s personal space. He could smell him. That warm Will smell that was tempered with dog hair and that awful aftershave. But for once, there was no sickly sweet fever smell. Only the smell of old blood. And if Hannibal couldn’t trust his mind, he could always trust his hyper developed sense of smell.
“Will…” Hannibal whispered. He gazed into those same eyes that hours ago held the same fury. His grip on the knife slackened. “How…?”
“Don’t fucking focus on the ‘how’, think on the ‘why’,” Will stated as his hand reached down and easily took hold of the knife. “That’s what I tell my students anyways.”
Hannibal was momentarily confused, then looked down at Will’s hand with the newly acquired knife.
“I’m going to really enjoy this Doctor,” Will said as he moved his arm back swiftly before plunging the blade hilt-deep into Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal looked down at the resulting wound, blood blossoming across his white shirt. He looked at Will and found he was meeting his eyes once again. They were still vengeful, but had a sheen of tears held back.
“Never in my life have I wanted to be more wrong.” Will pulled the knife out and Hannibal fell to his knees, hands grasping at his chest. He knew his heart was hit, a lung was also nicked and rapidly filled with blood.
“Well played Will,” he murmured as he laid himself out on the kitchen floor. He kept his gaze centered on Will. If he was to be killed, he was happy it was at the hands of the one he cared for the most. His regret dissipated. If this was the price, so be it.
Hannibal felt content. He felt like he knew his mind once again.
And Hannibal Lecter knew no more.