Chapter Text
Will groans as he wakes, shifting slightly and licking dry lips. He keeps his eyes stubbornly closed, unwilling to face another endless day with the stag living in his cell. Maybe he could just coax himself back into sleep, drift in an uncomfortable daze until Chilton comes to torment him. Maybe even then, just shutting out the world. Chilton would be furious, then. Almost worth it. He squeezes his eyes tighter when the sun comes out from behind a cloud, pulling the blanket over his eyes in protest.
He freezes.
Sunlight? No. That can't be right. He opens his eyes, throws back the blanket. It's soft, like the mattress beneath him. Plush and expensive and way nicer than even what Will has back at home. Something like fear makes itself at home in his chest, sharpening his senses.
Will takes in his surroundings. Wooden floors. Muted blue paint on the walls. En suite bathroom. Massive bed. Definitely a far cry from his cell. And entirely unfamiliar. Will's never been here before.
He stands from the bed as quickly and silently as possible, eyes darting around the room, looking for his captor. Or his savior, perhaps. Will realizes then that he isn't in his usual prison jumpsuit. He's half-naked, in fact- wearing only a soft pair of dark blue pajama pants. Strange.
The side of the bed that Will wasn't lying in is rumpled, as if someone had been sleeping there before rising. A sickness creeps up his spine. He touches the fine sheets. Still warm.
It's too bizarre to be anyone else. The luxury, the efficiency, the nauseating intimacy of it all. It has to be him. Will isn't sure how the hell he pulled it off, but he knows it was him. A new game, perhaps the last one stopped being fun.
He almost laughs. Will doesn't feel like he was drugged. He wasn't even bound. Either a fool, or planning something.
Will hears footsteps approaching. Braces himself. A fool, either way.
Doctor Lecter barely looks at Will as he pads back into the room, moving for the closet.
"Good morning, darling-"
He stumbles with the force of Will's blow, knocked off-balance. Was he really so stupid, to have his guard down with Will finally free from his cage? Will strikes again, punching him in the stomach and causing him to double over. He's surprised by the force of it- he feels stronger, somehow.
"Will-" Doctor Lecter croaks, looking up at him in wounded confusion. A trickle of blood is dripping down his chin. Will moves to punch him a third time, but Doctor Lecter catches his wrist, holding it fast.
"What on Earth has gotten into you?" He asks, ducking out of the way when Will tries to swing at him with his other fist.
Will twists in his grip, snarling.
"Fuck you," he spits. The blind fury that always lives behind his sternum is howling, now that he finally has agency again. He'll kill him, he'll tear him to pieces, he'll end this, at long last.
Doctor Lecter seems to recognize that Will is more than prepared to break his own wrist to get out of the hold, and releases him. He backs away, eyes darting around Will's face like he's searching for something. "Calm down, darling. It's me," He says softly, low and even like he's trying to soothe a child having a tantrum.
Will feels fresh rage cloud his vision, righteous and powerful. He laughs bitterly. "Don't change your tune, now. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Blood on my hands?"
Now that Doctor Lecter is more prepared, Will's onslaught fails to faze him. Will lands another hit on his jaw, but before he knows it he's being held in a headlock. He struggles in the hold, throat tightly pressed to the crook of the other man's arm. He thrashes wildly, digging his nails into the fabric of the Doctor's sweater sleeve.
"I don't want to hurt you, Will," he says, still attempting to appeal to Will's ability to reason.
"Little late for that, don't you think?" Will wheezes.
"Darling-"
"Stop calling me that," he growls, turning his head and biting Doctor Lecter's arm.
"Will, relax! Please."
"Let me go."
"Are going to continue attacking me if I do?"
Will doesn't answer, stares ahead of them. There's an elaborately decorated full-body mirror in front of the closet. Will looks at himself in it, heart dropping.
The one on his stomach catches his eye first. It's massive, spanning almost the entire width of his torso. Another, on his cheek. It travels from his ear nearly to his mouth, an awkward sparse line in his beard where the hair won't grow due to scar tissue. One on his forehead, too, smaller than the others. Finer. A puckered mark on his shoulder that indicates he's been shot.
He pulls his hands away from Doctor Lecter's arm, looking down at them. Littered with fine scars. He clenches his fists as if to make sure they're his own.
"What did you do to me," he breathes, horrified.
"What do you mean?"
His hand, now trembling, reaches down and traces the length of the scar on his abdomen. "Did you...did you take something out, while I was sleeping? Is that why you broke me out? So you could eat me?"
Doctor Lecter's reflection frowns even deeper than before. Will's face hardens, this feigned innocence only strengthening his resolve.
"You won't get away with this, Doctor Lecter," Will says, anger and fear cementing in his core. "Not this time. I don't know who you paid off, or manipulated, or killed to get me out, but Jack will catch you."
The room is silent for a moment. Will opens his mouth to threaten him again.
"...What did you just call me?"
Will frowns, struggling again against his hold. "Doctor Lecter? What else would I call you?"
The other man releases him, and when Will turns to face him he looks devastated. He reaches out, as if to touch Will's face, and Will flinches away.
"Do you..." Doctor Lecter swallows, voice thick with concern. "Do you know where you are, Will?"
The sadness in the Doctor's eyes throws Will. He glances once more around the room. Nothing triggers, and he has an excellent memory. He shakes his head.
Doctor Lecter takes a slow breath, as if centering himself. When he speaks it's slow, barely maintaining the calm on the surface, like ice over a lake that one wouldn't dare to walk across.
"This is our home, darling. We've lived here for two years. Don't you remember?"
Will feels a rush of sickness. The distinct dawning horror of the world crashing down around him. It's the way he felt when he found Abigail Hobbs' ear in his sink.
"No," he whispers, shaking his head more forcefully. "No, no, that- that can't be right, I-" He cuts himself off, blind panic taking him by the throat.
"Look closer," Doctor Lecter urges, face so uncharacteristically soft. "Your wounds are healed. Long healed."
Will looks back at the mirror, forces himself to take a slow step towards it. Dread is overtaking him.
Yes. Long since healed, every single one. Wounds he has no memory of ever sustaining. He traces the one across his abdomen again. It must've been a brutal wound. Agonizing. There isn't a doubt in his mind regarding who gave it to him.
Will feels frantic tears rising to his eyes. His body is different, too. Stronger. Hardened. There's a darkness in his eyes that won't blink itself away.
"No," he says again. Every single inch of him feels alien. He's a tourist in his own skin.
"Six years have passed, since you received that scar on your abdomen."
Will bites his lip, holding back a sob.
"The blood shed between us has dried, mylimasis. The dust is settled. You are at peace."
Will tears his gaze away from his own reflection. He sees the open door of the closet- bright patterned suit jackets intermingled with muted button-downs. Sees the bed, clearly shared. His eyes settle on the dresser near the window. A small, antique-looking clock, a statue of a wolf, a blank memo pad. A glass jewelry box of high-end watches. A framed black and white photo of Will and Doctor Lecter. The Doctor is smiling pleasantly into the camera, eyes narrowing with genuine joy. The Will in the photo is staring up at him, eyes fixed on that grin like the camera isn't even there. The beginning of an answering smile is just rising, lifting the corner of his mouth and tugging at the scar on his cheek. Will knows his own face well enough to know that it's sincere.
"Will?"
"This is a nightmare," Will says, and he clings to the idea as soon as it leaves his lips. Please, please don't be real. "It's a nightmare, it has to be. I'm going to wake up in my cell, any minute now. This isn't- I-" He can't do this. He turns, running his fingers through his curls restlessly. Doctor Lecter is simply watching him. A bruise is starting to rise on his cheek.
"I want to kill you," he says, though it's less of a threat and more of a plea. Bargaining. "You ruined my life, you killed Abigail Hobbs, you let me believe that I was responsible."
He blinks through tears, precious anger slipping to be replaced with confusion and despair.
"I hate you," he says, weakly, as if seeking confirmation. I do hate you, don't I?
Doctor Lecter's eyes fall shut. He winces, taking a shuddering breath as if the statement physically wounded him.
"...Perhaps we should refrain from speaking about our relationship, for the time being. You will regret saying that when this passes."
His tone is tight, willfully detached. Will can see the sadness etched into his features. It gives him pause, again. He looks closer at Doctor Lecter. His hair is longer, now, hanging loose in his face. Beyond the mark Will's fist had left, he can see a small scar near his cheekbone. He finds himself wondering if there are more, beneath that sweater.
The quiet between them feels like a living thing, howling and writhing at their feet. When watching it struggle and suffer becomes too nauseating to stand, Will puts it out of its misery.
"...Six years, huh?"
Doctor Lecter nods. "Give or take a few months, yes."
Will breathes out a hollow laugh, still too deep in the shock of it to fully digest the information. "Shit. That's...that's a long time. Especially the way you live. It's like the days turn into weeks when you're around." He scrubs at his eyes, fighting a wave of fatigue. "I used to feel like I needed a nap, every time we had a session together."
There's a warm fondness sparkling in his eyes when Will speaks. He's seen it before, though it's made him sick to think about lately. It's closer to the surface in this version of Doctor Lecter, though. Truer, less afraid of being exposed. All of him seems closer to the surface.
"I can make you some coffee, if you'd like."
Will nods immediately. Toxic manipulator or not, his most recent memories are filled with lukewarm tap water and over-salted sludge. If Hannibal Lecter wants to make him coffee, he'll take it.
He beckons Will toward the doorway, leading him down the hall. As they walk, Will peaks in various rooms, bewildered by this house that apparently should be familiar but is entirely new to him. A large library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a big beautiful window. There's a loveseat situated beneath the window, an end table beside it with a few well-loved looking volumes waiting to be read. Another room with the door barely opened, just enough that Will can see a large easel and a painting of an unfinished seascape. It's then that Will realizes he can hear the ocean, not far off.
"Where are we?"
"Cuba," Doctor Lecter replies simply.
Will snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. "I ran away with you."
He pauses for just a beat.
"Eventually, yes."
"Can't say I'm surprised," He admits with a slight sigh. "I always would have, if you asked me to."
Doctor Lecter freezes and turns, giving Will a curious look. "You think so?"
Will nods hesitantly, refusing to look him in the eye. Well, this version of Doctor Lecter clearly has a more intimate relationship with him. What's the harm in saying it, just this once?
"When I first got arrested, it was all I thought about. I just kept thinking- why did you have to frame me? Wouldn't it have been easier to just skip town, disappear without a trace? And I-"
He sighs, shakes his head. Looks down at his hands. Still so foreign. He's got a subtle tan line on one of his fingers, like he usually wears a ring when he goes out.
"I felt so betrayed, you know? Because I thought we were closer than that. Close enough that you might've...might've wanted to make me disappear with you. And I couldn't imagine a version of the story where I didn't say yes."
Doctor Lecter is silent, eerily so.
Will sniffs, forces a laugh. "But you've probably heard that a million times, so-"
"No," He says, and Will looks up to find him fighting back tears. "No, you've never told me that before."
Will falters, still not accustomed to this sincerity, and before he can speak Doctor Lecter turns back and resumes leading him to the kitchen.
"You wouldn't have said yes, then," he mutters after a moment. "Our story was never so simple."
Will wonders who he's convincing.
The kitchen is smaller than the one Doctor Lecter has in Baltimore. Cozier. This whole house seems more comfortable. The old one was more like set dressing, in hindsight. This place, with its back door leading out to a big sprawling yard, and its table that only seats four at the very most, and its fridge littered with handwritten notes and grocery lists- it feels like it could truly be a home, to someone.
Will leans against the counter, scrubbing a hand down his face. It's all so disorienting, like it is neither his own hand nor his own face. Just different enough to fall into the uncanny valley, like swapping bodies with a clone of himself. Doctor Lecter busies himself in the kitchen, pulling down a mug and filling it with fresh, fragrant coffee. He doesn't leave room for milk, and without a word he opens a small container of sugar and stirs two spoonfuls in before handing it to Will. Exactly how he likes it.
"Thank you," he says, taking the mug and bringing it to his face. He shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply. It smells amazing.
He hears the distinctive click of claws on hardwood, then. A sad little whine follows. Will turns so quickly he almost spills his coffee.
"It's alright, Chrysanthemum," Doctor Lecter says, fixing his own cup. "Your father is having a difficult morning, that's all."
The dog comes in from the hallway, slowly. She looks scared, and Will's heart breaks. She's adorable- dark fur and big brown eyes and paws that she hasn't quite grown into yet. Pitbull, mainly, with a dash of something else Will can't place. He sets the mug on the counter, untouched, and slowly moves to sit on the floor.
"Hey, pretty girl," he coos, holding out a hand to her. She all but gallops to meet him, then, like she hadn't recognized him until this moment. Hell, she probably hadn't. She squirms into his lap, wagging her tail excitedly as Will scratches her behind the ears.
"Oh, aren't you a sweetie? Hi! Chrysanthemum, was it?"
Will glances up and Doctor Lecter is smiling down at him with a look of absolute endearment. "Yes, that's right."
"Bit long for a dog name," he mutters, laughing when she licks his cheek. Fuck, he missed dogs.
"You call her 'Chryssie' for short. 'Mum', as well, when you are spoiling her. She is only 'Chrysanthemum' to you when she is misbehaving."
He laughs again. "Misbehaving? No. You're an angel, right Chryssie? Never done a thing."
"...You don't remember her at all, though, do you?"
Will shakes his head, still looking down at the dog. He can almost feel how important to him she must be, in this life. His pride and joy. He can't make himself recognize her.
"It's like I woke up in another timeline," he confesses. "I remember Point A, clear as crystal. I'm in Point C, now. Point B is just empty space. I can see evidence that Point B happened, but it's just... missing."
Doctor Lecter hums, deep in thought.
"What's happening to me?" he asks, voice finally wavering with the fear in his gut. "I-in your professional opinion. Am I going to be okay?"
"I can't say."
Will looks up at him, reads him easily. After over a year of having to read through his mask, it feels almost painfully transparent. Indecent, like seeing him naked.
"You're afraid," he says.
"I have every right to be."
He watches Doctor Lecter, frowning down at his coffee.
"I never thought you capable of that. Fear."
"I awoke this morning to find that my husband looks at our home as if it is a museum exhibit, Will. What am I meant to feel?"
There it is. It sits like a stone in his gut. He feels sick where it lies. Husband, naturally. Till death do us part, as though that wasn't always the case.
A tense silence blooms between them. Chrysanthemum shies away, moving to sit at Doctor Lecter's feet.
"...It could be Transient Global Amnesia," The other man says after a few quiet minutes. "Though I'm not sure would've brought it about. You haven't been exposed to any recent trauma, as far as I'm aware. I suppose it may be Early Onset Dementia. I really can't say, this has manifested quite suddenly."
Will chuckles bitterly. "Who knows- after what you did to my brain, it could be anything."
Doctor Lecter tenses. Will can almost taste the dread in the air. Acrid, like stale tobacco.
"You don't...you don't think the Encephalitis is relapsing, do you?"
"You would have told me before this point," he says almost immediately. His tone is resolute, stern. "There would have been signs, long before this. Headaches, nightmares, cognitive issues- you would have recognized the symptoms very early on. You would have known. You would have told me. I'm sure of it."
Will watches him curiously. It isn't like him to talk in circles like that. He glances at Doctor Lecter's hands. He's shaking.
"Trouble in Paradise, Doctor?" he teases. The venomous humor dies when Doctor Lecter sinks to the floor beside him, sitting close with his back to the cabinets. He sighs.
"...You'll figure it out, whatever it is. You always do."
Doctor Lecter nods stiffly, staring forward. He's thinking. Will suspects he's retracing his steps, trying to remember if anything strange had happened recently. Any red flags he missed.
Chrysanthemum lies down, resting her head on Will's thigh. He smiles to himself, petting her indulgently.
"Hey. Fill me in."
Doctor Lecter frowns at him.
"Go ahead. The last thing I remember is living under Chilton's thumb. What happens next?"
A hollow laugh leaves him. "As I said, our story is a very complicated one. Even more so than you realize."
"Start when it becomes simple, then."
Will reaches out a tentative hand, slowly laces his fingers with Doctor Lecter's. The look in his eye indicates that the act soothes him.
"It does become simple eventually, doesn't it? Simple by our standards, at least."
He sighs heavily. "Will..."
"I'm happy, aren't I?" He asks, tears rising to his eyes even as he smiles. "I can't pretend I don't see it, everywhere I look. We're both happy. Show me the full picture, Hannibal. Show me why it's simple now."
Doctor Lecter casts him a sad smile, gently reaches up to brush a stray curl from Will's face. "I'm dreadful at saying no to you now, for starters."
He laughs, a few tears slipping down his face. "Wrapped around my finger?"
"You generally refer to it as me being 'whipped'," he replies, wiping away the tears as soon as they come.
He pulls away, takes a long breath and looks up at the ceiling. "Very well. For reasons that would take far too long to explain, our story begins with our heroes falling to their certain demise."
" 'Heros', are we?" He prods.
Doctor Lecter chuckles. "It's subjective, and the story is told by a very biased narrator. Regardless, they narrowly avoid a death at the hands of the sea, and flee from law enforcement towards an exotic new locale."
Will sighs softly, eyes falling closed. He rests his head on Doctor Lecter's shoulder, exhaustion suddenly overtaking him. The other man squeezes Will's hand.
"Unfortunately, one of our heroes almost perishes regardless."
"What a tragedy," Will mumbles. "A glorious death, I hope."
Will feels Doctor Lecter shake his head. "Not at all. An infection. Complications from a bullet wound. Quite mundane, really."
Will reaches up to the mark on his shoulder, but Doctor Lecter takes his hand and slowly guides it to his stomach instead. The other man lifts his sweater, showing Will a nasty-looking scar. Will begins to gingerly trace it without a word.
"Luckily, his partner was there to assist, and both heroes arrive in Cuba, hand in hand. When our infected protagonist at last heals, the very first words he utters upon finding lucidity are 'I love you'."
"Honest words, for once?" he asks.
"And honest words every time thereafter. The heroes hunt, and dine, and love, and the story is simple."
"Happily Ever After?"
"I'd like to believe so."
Will nods slowly. "Worth the complicated parts?"
Doctor Lecter wraps his arms protectively around Will, holding him close.
"Always."
The two of them sit together in silence for a while. Doctor Lecter begins to stroke Will's curls. Will stares at the fridge, peppered with notes in handwriting that is so achingly close to being his own. 'Went to the store, call me if you need anything'. 'In the workshop, please don't disturb'. 'Took Mum for a walk. Love you.'
It doesn't feel like a rush of knowledge, when the spell finally passes. The memories feel like they never left, like Will just forgot how to access them for an hour or so.
"Hannibal?" He says, curling closer into his husband's embrace.
"Yes?"
"I think...I think I'm okay now."
Hannibal pulls away slightly, cups his cheeks and looks into his eyes. He smiles, relief washing over his face.
"Yes, there you are. When is our anniversary, mylimasis?"
Will leans into his palm. "August twenty-ninth."
Hannibal breathes out a sigh, pressing a warm kiss to Will's lips and letting their foreheads rest against one another.
"You frightened me, my love," he whispers. Will cards his fingers into his hair, gently soothing him. "I looked into your eyes and saw a ghost staring back at me."
"I'm sorry," he says, delicately kissing his bruised cheek. "I'm sorry. Here, let me take care of your face. I got you good-"
"How long have you known?"
Will freezes.
"...A while," he admits quietly after a moment. "I thought it was just something in the air, at first. Something making my headaches worse. Or that I was just gettin' old. But it got harder and harder to ignore how familiar it all felt."
"Why didn't you tell me, darling?" He asks, wounded.
"I was going to," Will says. "I just didn't know how to say it. I didn't want you to feel helpless. Thought it might be better to just keep you in the dark for a while, you know?"
Will sniffs, looking up to the ceiling in a fruitless attempt to keep tears from falling. "I mean, shit- we both know I can't go to a hospital. It's just going to get worse and worse, until..." He bites his lip, refuses to let his lip tremble.
"Will."
He shuts his eyes. "I wanted to tell you," he whispers, voice thick with swallowed sobs. "I wanted to, I-"
"Will, look at me."
He shakes his head desperately, a frantic sob leaving his lips.
"Listen, then."
Hannibal catches his face with both hands, gently holding him still.
"You know me too well to truly believe that I would surrender in the face of this, don't you?" He brushes Will's tears away with the pads of his thumbs and Will sighs. "I will do everything in my power to assist you, darling. Everything."
He laughs weakly, though there's no joy in it. "You and I have been through too much to be stopped by something so trivial. We shall overcome, together. As always."
Will sobs again, but he opens his eyes to see Hannibal's loving dark gaze twinkling with unyielding adoration.
"I love you, mylimasis," Hannibal says softly, kissing him as if to solidify the promise.
Will smiles despite himself. "I love you too, brangusis. No matter what happens, I'll always love you."
Hannibal stands at last, helping Will up and taking in his fatigued appearance.
"Go back to bed. You're exhausted."
Will shakes his head. "Can we just curl up on the couch together instead? This morning...it kind of fucked me up. I don't want to wake up without you."
Hannibal takes his hand, kisses his knuckles. "Of course. Anything you need."