Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Time was lost between old cranks and freshly oiled gears. The hours passed that way in general for Will, more often than it did not.

His boat’s machinery was easier than the exercises his physical therapist had printed out for him anyway, and mechanic work didn’t come with the heavy price that FBI work had exacted on his body and mind.

It didn’t matter if he didn’t know where the boat would take him yet, did it? Not now.

Every now and then, Abigail came and sat with him outside in the dirt, battered jeans and leather boots neatly scuffing the ground.

He explained the parts he worked on, the role and importance that it would play during a long sea voyage. Abigail listened for short periods, wandering off with the dogs as she pleased or when Will had finally bored her.

Neither of them spoke of lunch or the fact that Abigail was dead.

Gradually, the late day became crisp and pale, cold enough that a shiver danced down his back when the phone rang.

Will answered it. He shouldn't have.

“I got something you'll want to see,” Jack said, on the other line.

“No,” Will said, but he set down his wrench, staring bleary eyed at the boat motor parts that surrounded him. Abigail was gone again. “I told you I'm not interested in your evil minds anymore.”

“How about Hannibal Lecter’s evil mind? Any interest left there?”

Will froze, nails digging into palms.

“You found him?”

“Not exactly,” Jack hedged. “We found someone who looks like he could be his twin.”

The breath that Will held was released in an angry puff. “So? He's not. Did you ever bother to read Hannibal’s profile, Jack? He only had one sibling, a sister.”

Will wasn’t entirely lucid about a lot these days, but that Hannibal had told the truth about his family, he was certain. The end of their time together had come with a sort of painful honesty, a mutual mea culpa-- too little, too late.

Mischa had never been questioned.

“Well, my guy could be a cousin then, or something,” Jack said, impatience and desperation giving a rougher quality to his confident bluster. “You need to see this to believe it.”

“Wow, Jack, it’s almost like you care.” A smile twisted Will’s lips. “Only I can think of better ways to spend my time than judging a lookalike contest for the man who gutted me.”

He nearly hung up then but Jack had started to speak. Will hesitated, just long enough.

“I promise you Will, I've never seen anything like this,” Jack said. “This man -- Lucas, he's Hannibal’s spitting image, and personality wise, his polar opposite. I am extending you a professional courtesy here. Don't let it slip away. I trust your insight to tell me if this is significant. I need your help.”

Again. It was unspoken but inferred all the same.

Will snorted. He stared at the parts of his boat motor without really seeing them. His mind was miles away, over sea and mountains. In the hallowed halls of the Cappella Palatina, where he dared not hope that Hannibal waited.

“Send me everything you have so far,” Will said. He would indulge Jack, but on his terms. “And stop pretending there's anything professional about this. It’s -- unbecoming.”

The files had come, emailed over by some nameless assistant of Jack’s. He even received a grainy photocopy of a (purportedly) Danish passport. The drive over had been faster than the law permitted but still it wasn’t enough.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Will stood still as marble in the dark viewing room at the BAU.

Beyond the two-way mirror was the face of Will’s dreams and nightmares – a choked scream given life, damp fingers scrabbling in the dark. The same wolfish face and scarred eyes that had only seemed real to him with a tender hand on the side of his face and a knife slow-waltzing in his gut.

He still remembered the muted sound of blood slipping out of his body, a whisper like rain across Hannibal’s Italian leather shoes. Hannibal.

The man he saw now had the same face, but that was it. It wasn’t just the white blood-spattered shirt he was missing, but the sneer, the haughty precision – it was all gone. Hidden in irresolution and patched tweed.

Will swallowed the knot building in his throat.

The man that Jack had summoned him to see, the one who was supposedly the spitting image of Hannibal Lecter, was every bit the harried professor with his patched jacket and wire frame glasses. He looked like almost every professor Will had in grad school. Will knew, though he couldn’t explain why, that this was not an act. The man was innocent. And he was most assuredly not Hannibal.

He was normal, unremarkable. Plain where Hannibal had been dandy, drab where Hannibal had been eye catching. Nervous where Hannibal would’ve been calculating, assured in his own elegance.

Now that Will could concentrate, he could see this man’s hair was darker, more youthful, unstyled and falling in his eyes in a way Hannibal would not abide. He was at least five years younger. And while his suit had probably been nice once upon a time, now it was shabby, uncared for. There was a slight tremor to his shoulders -- he was trembling.

The mere coldness of the BAU had damaged him.

Poor little wounded bird.

Will startled only when Jack came out of the interrogation room, his mouth pursed to a hard frown.

“He doesn’t know our man. Probably not even related. Damn it! I should have known.”

Will took a breath, licked his dry lips.

“What did he say?”

“That he’s not Hannibal,” said Jack. “He’s a school-teacher from Denmark, Will. Everything he said came back clean. He agreed to whatever we wanted, DNA testing and lie detectors. And -- I believe him.”

Will let that sink in. He felt the old flare of resentment towards Jack, knew it would never go away, not completely. “Then I hope you didn’t break him too bad.”

Jack gave him a sharp look. “He’ll do fine. This isn’t the first time he’s been accused of something he was innocent of. All things considered, it is an interesting story.”

“I read the files,” Will said.

“The resemblance though, it’s uncanny,” Jack said. “How do you explain that? They could’ve been twins.”

They looked into the two way mirror, this time together.

Lucas was still now, the long, lean lines of his body slumped. His hands were clasped together as if in prayer. Unnameable emotion churned inside the void of Will’s stomach, that this stranger would wear Hannibal’s face but not wear his blood…

“They do say everyone has a twin out there right?” Jack muttered beside him. “That man there must be Hannibal’s.”

Will frowned, staring into the dim mirror.

“Let me go in,” he said.

Jack tensed. “Will.”

Will bowed his head slightly. “I came all this way on your word, Jack. I should get a crack at him. To at least confirm your assessment. You said you wanted my insight.”

Jack exhaled. His expression was torn. “That I did.”

Jack laced his fingers behind his back, thinking to himself. He came to his decision as impulsively as he always did.

“Fine. You get five minutes. Just remember, he’s on your watch now. You break it, you buy it.”

Oh, I intend to.

Lucas twitched when Will came in, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. His shudders were almost imperceptible now but Will could still see.

“Are you cold?” Will asked. “They have blankets.”

Lucas looked up at him, blinking his surprise. “No. I am -- I am fine.”

So their voices were similar -- quiet and intelligent -- though the accents were nothing alike.

Will paused, allowing himself a few seconds to settle into the room, to acclimate himself to Lucas’s looks, his presence. Up close, he was more attractive than the two-way mirror had let on. Handsome but different, his face was angular and lean--haggard in the way of someone who doesn’t sleep as much as they should. There was something rugged about him as well, his face was tan as though he spent a fair amount of time outdoors. His hands were certainly weathered enough. His hands were more like his than Hannibal's, Will mused.

Lucas steeled himself at Will’s examination, his back straightening. He regarded Will with almost the same amount of curiosity, tempered only by his fear.

Will sat down across from him.

“I’m Will Graham,” he said. “I’m an occasional consultant for the FBI. You should know that everything you’ve said so far has checked out.”

“Then why am I still here?”

“Have you been interrogated before?”

“Yes. Many times.”

Will nodded. “Yes, it’s all part of a-- procedure. They don’t just ask you the questions once, they have to do it again and again until everything in your mind is a blur. And you start to think, well maybe I don’t know what happened then, where I was exactly or what I said or did.”

“My mind is not blurred about being a serial killer. Nor who I am.”

“Good,” Will said. “Remember that. I have a few questions for you. Can you tell me, when you’re ready, what you were interrogated about previously, back in Denmark?”

Lucas hesitated, lowering his eyes. “A year ago, I was accused of doing something, something horrible with a child at the school where I worked. I did not do it.”

Will was unable to stop his chuckle. Lucas startled, his expression one of horror and shock.

“Sorry,” Will said, giving him a small, sheepish smile. “It’s just that the same thing has happened to me.”

Will could practically feel Jack’s cringe on the other side of the mirror but he pushed on with Lucas’ rapt attention. “Not the same crime as you, but I was accused of killing several people, mutilating them, and keeping parts of them as trophies. Turns out it was my psychiatrist who was doing it. He was -- my friend, at the time.”

Lucas absorbed this with wide eyes.

“What happened to you?”

“Hannibal Lecter happened to me. The same reason you’re here now.”

Lucas didn’t react, save for the small crease between his eyebrows.

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” Will repeated, slowly. “Ever heard that name before today?”

Lucas shook his head, straightening slightly in his seat. “No.”

“Ever been to Lithuania?”

Lucas shook his head again. “Only Denmark and now the U.S. Once to London for a teaching convention.”

“You still teach?”

“No.”

“Why not? You were deemed innocent of those charges.”

Lucas looked doubtfully at him from under the dark sweep of his eyelashes. “How would you know? You don’t know me.”

“I know this,” Will said. “It’s why I do what I do. Plus, I have the files from your hearing, I know all about the little girl with the schoolgirl crush. The basement--or lack of one. You tried to help her, didn’t you? You were innocent. You should have gone back to class and showed them all.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Lucas said. He frowned, struggling with his words. “I-- it was… I couldn’t just-- It wasn’t about showing someone.”

“What was it then? What drove you, if not revenge?”

“It was -- when I was much younger I thought I could make a positive difference in a child’s life. I don’t believe that anymore.”

“Your life was changed,” Will said. “Not theirs.”

Lucas looked at him with surprise before nodding. “Yes.”

“Why did you turn up in Dulles airport, Lucas? Long way from home.”

“I- I wanted to go on a vacation. My brother--”

“Bruun,” Will supplied. He already knew this, having briefed himself during the traffic stops on the drive over, papers over steering wheel, foot heavy on the gas pedal.

“Yes,” Lucas said, still guarded. “Bruun suggested Washington D.C. for a vacation, a respite, I believe you would call it. He has a friend that does diplomatic work who offered to let me stay at his apartment. We were all friends once, when we were children.”

To Will, the association came freely, yet heavy as the brick and mortar that sealed Fortunato.

“Even an hour spent with someone from your past would feel like suffocation, wouldn’t it?” he asked. “Food growing cold, jokes staler than the sweat on your back. You’d be alone the entire time, even in the welcoming home of a childhood friend. He would never understand what you’ve been through. Few people can understand or even accept that life can be so painful. They don’t want to believe it.”

“I just wanted to be alone,” Lucas said. His voice quivered. “With people who don’t know me. Who can’t even speak my language. It’s not a crime.”

“It's not,” Will said, firm but as gentle as he could. He changed the subject abruptly. “Could you please tell me where you’re staying now?”

Lucas made a sound that was more of a choke than a laugh. “I already told—”

“Again,” Will said. “Please.”

Their eyes met for a long moment. Lucas looked away first, rubbing the stubbled line of his jaw.

“Ah, yes, procedure,” he said. “I forgot, the day has been long.” He took two steady breaths. “I am staying at the Capitol Hill Hotel.”

Will gave a low whistle. “Nice part of town.”

Lucas fidgeted his hands. “I was told it was quiet. Respectful.”

“Depends on your tastes.”

His eyebrows rose, confusion crossing his face. “Pardon? I am not sure I understand.”

“A little advice?” Will offered.

“Yes,” Lucas said, quietly. “Please.”

“You look a lot like Hannibal Lecter-- you’re practically a mirror image,” Will said. “He’s a wanted man with a lot of enemies. So don’t talk to strangers who think they know you, no matter what. Wear a hat and your glasses when you can… stick with the tweed as much as possible. Just be careful during the rest of your stay here.”

“Do you mean my stay with the FBI?”

“The FBI is ready to let you go, Lucas.”

“Let me go,” Lucas repeated dully. His voice registered only disbelief.

“No evidence to keep you here,” Will said. “You’re free to leave at your leisure. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry the beginning of your vacation was such a—clusterfuck.”

Lucas stared at him as though he was a puzzle with a missing center. It didn't bother Will, he was used to being seen as missing a few pieces, especially when Lucas lifted his chin with a sort of wounded pride that Will found that he liked, very much. Like a ripened fruit, there was just a little more skin to peel back before he found its flesh.

Will hesitated, he had to be careful here, Jack was still listening after all. He maintained eye contact with Lucas, longer than he could normally stand. Again, he saw Lucas’ curiosity, a hint of interest in Will now -- intrigued to meet someone like him.

When Lucas’ gaze flicked almost absently to Will’s mouth, Will wet his lips with precise slowness.

“You look like you need a drink,” he said. “Since you’re new in town, may I suggest Tim’s Rivershore Restaurant? Right off the highway. Decent seafood. The beer is always cold.”

He and Alana had met there a few times for lunch and it was unlikely to be crowded at this time of night.

Lucas nodded slowly, furrowing his brow. Will had no idea if his insinuation was understood at all.

Their eyes met though, even longer this time.

“Thank you Agent Graham,” Lucas said. “For your help.”

Will got up from his chair, offering his hand.

Lucas took it. Their hands came together with just the slightest pressure, warm and calloused, lingering a second too long.

Will wondered what Lucas saw in him besides a person who could share his misery. Was it pity? A stray dog by the side of the road, staring back at him with hungry eyes?

“I believe Agent Crawford will show you out,” Will said. “Take care.”

Lucas nodded and Will left, the feel of Lucas’ hand still buzzing along his skin.

He went to the staff lounge so Jack could finish out his interview. He had a half full cup of Keurig coffee sludge when Jack came into the room, signaling that Lucas was gone.

Stress and anxiety lined Jack's face, untried restraint as fresh as the pink knife scar on his neck.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Will rolled his eyes. He drank from his Styrofoam cup, making a face at the bitter taste.

“I still know how to fish,” he said. “Without your help.”

“Yeah well, I'm giving up on Hannibal. Officially.”

Will decided to not even dignify the lie with a response.

“How is Bella?” he asked instead.

“In hospice care for good now but we’re lucky that we got her transferred home. She is slowly suffocating on lung fluid and the lack of variety of stains on the ceiling from the comfort of our bedroom.”

Will swallowed, his throat clicking absurdly loud in the empty employee kitchen. He poured his coffee in the sink, crumpled his cup for the trash bin.

I know the feeling, he didn't say.

A part of him wanted to trade places with Bella. Was envious. To unzip his skin to his insides, six feet underground. A skull always looked like it was smiling, didn’t it.

A teacup didn't have to come back together. Not if it didn’t want to.

Not if there were other places to let go of his virulence.

“I’m glad Bella’s home,” was all Will could offer Jack.

Will didn’t go into the diner right away. He parked in the gravel parking lot outside, comfortable in the quiet dark.

There were five other cars parked around him and two were clearly rentals. One was too showy, some sort of overpriced convertible, probably some Fed trying to make a point, the other was a dark grey Subaru Forester. Will focused on that.

He smiled.

Subtle but efficient. Completely practical in a way Hannibal could not be—Will told himself he didn’t care.

He was taking a big bet even showing up at the diner. Jack hadn’t called him out on it but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his suspicions. Let him have them, he thought. The scales might be Even-Steven, or perhaps tipped on Jack’s side for who was owed more but Will wasn’t going to let that stop him. He had buried the hatchet in a shallow grave for a reason.

He had enough time to reminisce. He locked his car and headed to the restaurant. An unfamiliar waitress with ebony skin and doe eyes told him to take a seat wherever he liked.

He scanned the small homey room, the rounded tables that were mostly empty, the rows of benches at the back, almost to the fire exit. There was a lone couple in one and then on the other side of that sat Lucas.

The man had spotted him as soon as he came in. He was still wearing his glasses and the same tweed blazer. He already had a frosted mug of beer in front of him.

Will made his way over.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” Will said, by way of greeting.

“I’m Danish, not stupid.”

Will laughed a little at that. It felt good but strange, curling at his mouth the way it did. “Sorry, you’re right. I haven’t traveled much out of the U.S. myself,” he said, taking a seat across from Lucas. “You’re my first Dane.”

Lucas choked on his sip of beer, clearing his throat hastily. “Ah, but you have traveled?”

“To Mexico and Canada,” Will said. “For work. In the U.S., I’ve been pretty much everywhere, growing up.”

Their waitress came then and took Will’s order for a beer. He asked for the same thing Lucas was drinking.

Once she left them to check on another table, Lucas stared at Will uncertainly.

“If there’s something you want to know, just ask,” Will said. “You’ve been grilled all day, you should be able to return the favor.”

“I would like to know, why did you want to see me again?” Lucas asked. “Was it business or… something else? Did you want to share more horror stories of false accusations?”

“I was curious,” Will said simply. “And not just because of our shared history in false accusations from our nearest and dearest.” Lucas stared at him so intently that Will could feel his own face grow warm and flushed, but even then he didn’t look away. Let him see, he thought.

“Why?” Lucas asked finally. “I’m not that interesting. Because I remind you of -- your friend?”

“Because I wanted to have a beer with you.”

Just then, the waitress came back with Will’s drink. They focused on her, both relieved at the interruption. Will read the cursive lettering on her name tag, Tara.

“How about some hush puppies to go with the brews, gentlemen?” she asked them. “We do them homemade.”

“Hush puppies?” Lucas asked. He gave Will a worried look.

Will laughed, smiling at Tara. “Yes, please. We’ll take an order.”

The waitress nodded and wandered off, leaving Will to explain the appetizer.

“It’s deep fried cornmeal,” Will said. “A lot of people like them.”

“Do you?” Lucas’ arched his brow doubtfully.

“Yes, most people do, especially if they’re from the south.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“My roots, if they could be called that, are strongest in Louisiana. But I followed my father from the boatyards of Biloxi and Greenville to lake boats on Erie.”

“And in these boats, you would eat, these, these huge puppies?”

“Heh, hush puppies!” Will said. “Not huge.”

Lucas laughed at Will's reaction, his tension easing slightly. Will took a long sip of his beer, licking the foam from his lips. “I love dogs but I don’t eat ‘em.”

He couldn’t help but think of all the meals Hannibal had prepared for him, beautiful, rich feasts, the succulent smell of roasted meats that whet his palate each time. Every bite as pleasing to the eye as it was to the tongue. “It’s good to draw the line somewhere.”

Lucas smiled distantly. “Of course for dogs. They are our best friends. Do you have a dog?”

“I used to find strays and try to give them a home,” Will said. “I had seven dogs at one point. Most were mutts I found wandering on roads, highways. Two I got from a kill-shelter. Missed them a lot when I was incarcerated.”

“I had one dog, her name was Fanny. She was like a child to me for many years.”

“Tell me about her.”

Lucas leaned back in his seat, thinking.

“When I got Fanny, she was a Christmas present for my boy. He wanted a pony really, I’m not sure why my wife and I thought a dog would appease him.”

“I can see how he might be disappointed. Was he eventually okay with the switch?”

Lucas took another sip of his beer. “I suppose? He doesn’t talk about horses these days, more video games and girls. The only time I ever yelled at him was on that Christmas day, when he tried to sit on Fanny’s back like she was his pony. Fanny yelped and I- I didn't think, I spanked him. The only time I ever put my hand on him, I swear it.”

“I believe you,” Will said. Lucas just shook his head.

“For the rest of the morning he cried under the tree, even when the carolers came.”

“It wasn’t always like that, I bet. You seem like you’d be a good dad. You were certainly patient with us back at the BAU.”

Lucas lifted his eyes. “I tried.”

“And your son? Did he?”

“Ah, yes, he loved Fanny, as much as I did, and she loved him. He took very good care of her, even when he was barely bigger than she was. And if he had a bad day at school, Fanny always knew before I did. She would find him and curl up in his lap. Even after I was accused she was the only one we had.”

“Dogs are special that way,” Will said. “Mine followed me all the way to the police car when I was arrested.”

“Fanny knew when I needed her too,” Lucas said. He looked away abruptly, tears welling in his eyes. “Then one night, I let her outside and someone killed her. Just bashed in her head with a rock. To punish me. She didn’t deserve that.”

Will could see it, though he didn’t want to.

The dappled dog, lifeless under the porch light. Lucas standing above it, unable to process what he saw.

Will thought of those who had been caught in the crossfire of his own life, innocent and otherwise. Beverly’s flesh and muscles neatly sliced between panes of glass, Alana Bloom lying broken beneath the manicured hedges of Hannibal’s home. He still remembered begging for Abigail’s life in Hannibal’s kitchen, blood pulsing hot under his hands, spilling down the front of his pants. He had known he would fail.

“I know what that’s like,” he said quietly. “You lose -- hope.”

“You lose your own life,” Lucas said.

“Sometimes, I think, maybe I even deserved it,” Will said. “That there’s just something that is that wrong about me.” He looked at his hands, limp around the half-empty mug. He made a face at his reflection in the glass.

“Sorry, projecting a little much aren’t I,” Will said, looking at Lucas. “I’ve been told I lack effective barriers for my thoughts. Associations can be a bit much.”

Lucas gazed back, his concern obvious.

“It’s just that I’m just not sure that my life was ever anything great. I didn’t meant to imply the same for yours,” Will added.

“No, you’re right,” Lucas allowed. “I have thought that, about my wife or Fanny, or at least shades of it.”

“Why?”

Lucas shrugged. “My wife took my son had left me before everything happened anyway, my life was far from perfect even before the school investigated me. I went through the motions of my life like a machine would.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Will said.

“Myself, I just feel numb, most of the time,” Lucas said. “That you can still feel sorry, after all that has happened, all that was taken from you. That’s something.”

“I sometimes wonder if there’s any other choice,” Will said.

They both paused in the dim light. Lucas’ eyes were dark but shining. No one in the dinner paid them any mind.

The hush puppies were sampled in comfortable, if not slightly solemn, quiet after Tara brought them their dish. Lucas liked them and it was enough to make Will smile at him, their eyes holding again.

Before the night was over, they exchanged phone numbers.

The next day Will managed to take a shower first thing after he woke. It was Sunday and it was only his second time this week bathing himself. The first was yesterday, after Jack called him. Well, it was progress from the week before.

Will had already decided not to call Lucas today. There was something he needed to do first.

He drove to Baltimore after he took the dogs on a long walk around the surrounding fields. The dogs leaped in and out of the mist, like ghosts. The morning was gray, cloudy and cold -- even once he arrived in Hannibal’s neighborhood, parking in front of Hannibal’s house.

The crime scene tape was long gone but the windows were dark and unwelcoming in a way it had never been when Hannibal had lived there. He supposed it was fitting now. He wondered what kind of stories the realtors would have to tell to sell it, what lies the neighbors told themselves about the gentleman doctor who once lived next door. An outside investor might buy it for a house of horrors.

Crumpled beer cans and a sad looking discarded napkin that resembled a deformed bird more than anything else littered the walkway to the doorway -- tell-tale signs of crime scene gawkers and other deplorables. They wanted to look at death, but they didn’t want to understand it. Hard to see what you feared.

He let himself into the house. It opened for him, as if it had been waiting.

The entryway was cold, and there was no smell other than bleach and the distant pungency of other disinfectants. Still, it was the kitchen that called to him the most. It had been scrubbed and cleaned of their sins, but not entirely. He and Abigail had still left their mark.

He chose that spot to sit, leaning against the same kitchen cabinet where he had fallen after Hannibal gutted him.

He had barely taken a breath when the front door slammed. The slam was followed by the lightest squeak of wheels, a sound that reminded Will of a well-oiled bicycle.

Moments later, Alana Bloom wheeled herself into the kitchen. She glanced at him, pursing full red lips. It had been a while since Will had seen her. The last occasion had been at the hospital. She had asked him to leave.

Her expression now was cautious, but not as angry as it had been then. She regarded Will coolly and Will saw that she had changed, the proof was in the severe lines of her makeup and polished clothing. He envied her ability to transform, to paint a new face.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I guess I'm looking for you,” she said, quirking her brow as if even she was unsure of her answer.

“That's a good guess.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting old friends,” he said, then paused, considering his words as the last memory of the two played out, Hannibal beckoning Abigail close, Will struggling to breathe as blood drained from his body.

“I’m constructing an exhibit in my mind, well-spaced and lighted, keyed to the memories of what happened here,” he said.

“You're not tempted to forget?” Alana asked.

Forgetting had never been an option. He thought of Lucas. All that Hannibal’s likeness could be molded into.

“I don't want to forget. I'm building rooms in my memory palace for all my friends.”

Alana sighed. There was a cautiousness to her pity now, another change that Will took note of. “Friendship is blackmail elevated to the level of love.”

“A mutually-unspoken pact to ignore the worst in one another in order to continue enjoying the best.”

“After everything he's done, can you still ignore the worst in him?”

Will couldn’t imagine what he would do. It was in the dark room of his mind, the end of the map he was constructing. He couldn’t go there now. Not yet.

“I came here to be alone, Alana. If you wouldn't mind.”

He held Alana's gaze until she wheeled away, leaving Will alone. But not really.

When he looked to his side, Abigail was there, leaning against the wall next to him. Her throat gaped, blood still pouring sluggishly from the wound Hannibal had inflicted. She smiled shyly at him.

“You’re back,” Will said.

“And you’re slacking,” she said, poking his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be working on the boat?”

“Slight change to the schedule,” Will said. He thought of Lucas again, hunched over in the BAU interrogation room, wire frame glasses sagging down the bridge of his nose. “There’s a diversion I need to explore. A road not taken.”

“You really think you’ll find something different for us at the end?”

“I have to try,” Will said. “To know.”

“That’s not for us though, it’s for you.”

Will absorbed that. He couldn’t lie, not about this. Abigail pushed forward, unconcerned with Will’s quiet.

“Lucas can only give you an approximation of what you really want,” Abigail said. “Not reality.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known reality,” he replied.

Abigail smiled again. The wound in her neck oozed blood.

“Touche,” she said.

Will nodded. He rested his head back against the cabinets and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Abigail was gone. He touched the space where she had sat with gentle fingers. There was no sign left of her, other than the dark stain of blood on Hannibal’s kitchen floor. Not even the BAU’s cleaning crew could absolve that.

He listened to the long silence. He could no longer hear Alana’s wheelchair rolling down the hall.

Will got up, dusting off the knees of his pants. The house stayed still, eerily so, even as Will ascended the stairs.

Hannibal’s room had clearly been disturbed, drawers were open, clothes spilling out of them. Paintings had been removed from the walls, even the mirror above the foot of his bed was laying flat on the floor. Broken.

Will looked into its dark reflection. He saw Hannibal’s bed -- not himself. It was more presentable now, the sheets merely rumpled instead of carelessly half-way strewn across the floor. A fire crackled in the distance, sparks shooting around the hearth. Soft moans stroked against his ear. The nightmare stag, on top of Alana again, bodies entwined, thrusting against each other like waves crashing to shore. Will's breath caught. The surge of arousal that struck him was as brutal as it was unexpected. It cut into him like a knife to the belly.

In the mirror’s reflection, dark hair and light skin blurred -- and Alana became Will. Will saw his own legs wrapped tight around the dark beast, hands gripped blindly against the tines of its antlers. He could almost feel the rough velvet rubbing raw against his palms, its thick cock stretching him open.

The mirror-image Will laughed as the creature fucked him. The peel of his lips revealed blood stained teeth, consummate pleasure.

No.

He gasped, staggering back from the mirror, dizzy and sickened. His empty stomach rebelled with two dry heaves. His lungs felt like they were going to squeeze out of his throat. When the nausea quelled, he rubbed hard at his face, feeling the dry smoothness of his cheeks, the stubble over his jaw. Only then did he look back into the mirror.

Empty again. Re-fractured, with only Hannibal’s disturbed and empty room reflected back now. The nightmare stag was gone.

His heartbeat returned to him, fast as though it had wings. His shirt was damp, clinging to his back. The sensation of warm antlers in his hands, blood on his tongue, didn't fade even as he wandered to Hannibal's walk-in closet. He couldn't breathe -- sweating like a druggie for a fix.

He grabbed unseeing at the clothes, stopping only once he pressed his face to one of Hannibal's abandoned suits. He nuzzled the shoulder of the suit, inhaling deeply. The suit coat smelled like Hannibal, of musk and smoke, of cloven spice and ash. Up close he could see the suit was check patterned, so darkly grey it was almost black.

Without thinking, Will yanked the material from its wooden hanger. The cloth was substantial yet silky smooth, boasting a high thread count. It balled into his fists easily on the way back to the car.

Will sat in his kitchen the next morning, coffee and bland toast untouched in front of him.

He looked blankly at his phone. He hadn't called Lucas yet. He had, however, come to a decision about the next steps he would take. What needed to happen. Lucas was shy. The hesitant eye contact, halting speech, all indicators of someone who had already been burned. Will should know. He also knew he would have to be the pursuer to get what he wanted. The hunter -- an unfamiliar role for him. The few relationships he had were mostly modeled on convenience.

With Lucas, would it be different?

Stranger than a change of role, was how much Will wanted to do it. Take Lucas apart and put him back together again. Give into an opportunity rarely afforded.

His aspirin bottle was on the counter. He rose from the table to swallow two pills dry.

When he turned around, Abigail was there in his kitchen, tracing his phone with slim fingers.

“We were supposed to go to Italy,” Abigail said sullenly. “I wanted to see the Coliseum and eat gelato by the Ponte Vecchio.”

“Did it ever occur to you I don't want to do those things? That I don't care if I ever see Hannibal again?”

Abigail tucked her hair behind the smooth stump of her missing ear. “Liar.”

Will looked away in anger, teeth clenched. When he glanced back at the table, Abigail was gone again. He forced himself to swallow down a few gulps of lukewarm coffee.

As he did, he texted Lucas.

It was a simple message: Would you like to go sailing?

Lucas replied within minutes: yes.

Will arrived at the Belle Haven boathouse first. He got out of the car and stretched, looking out to the docks. There was a good breeze going. Dead brown leaves blew down towards the Potomac on a gentle air, rippling the water. Will could see the Belle Haven boat manager, Nate, hauling in some kayaks from a couple of college renters.

He knew Nate quite well, from the summer. He was ex-army, but had actually grown up around boats like Will. His stocky, muscular shape was still comfortingly familiar. During the summer, Nate had bronzed a shade of olive, but now he was almost as pale as Will. If he saw Will watching him silently from the picnic tables, he made no sign of it.

Will stalled, hesitating. He sat down on a bench and tried to not to look as anxious as he felt. He rested his arm against his stomach, a wall of bone against the ache of his scar across his belly.

The parking lot was half full but Lucas’s car was still not there, even five minutes after their designated meeting time.

What if Lucas didn't show up? It would be the prudent thing to do. Will could hardly blame him. Yet.

He could still find Lucas. The thought came swift -- and violent.

If Lucas didn't show, Will could track his steps wherever he would be. Alone on a quiet street in DC, leaving a bar or walking in an alley. It'd be almost too easy. One night very soon, he could do it. He'd be quick, press a chloroform damp cloth against his mouth and hold tight until Lucas’ strong body went limp in his arms. Will would have to get him in the car fast, find a place worthy of them. And, and then --

He put his head in his hands, his pulse rocketing. Hannibal would probably keep him drugged, keep Will drugged, pliant and loose limbed. Psychic driving, extreme isolation and other psychological torture would be just the beginning of the new therapy regimen. Will didn’t have the academic learning, but he couldn’t say he was opposed to playing doctor.

He imagined Lucas like Hannibal had had him once, strapped down with pupils blown wide, mouth open and wet. A curl of heat flickered low in his belly. A flame given life.

The low hum of an engine interrupted the dark twist of Will’s thoughts. He looked up, recognizing the Subaru as it pulled into the parking lot.

Lucas emerged from the car shortly after. Will almost laughed. Lucas clothes’ were incredibly similar to his own, rumpled jeans, both of them donning heavy flannel button-ups.

If Lucas noticed what Will did, he didn’t show it. His regard was serious, thoughtful. He walked over almost cautiously, studying his surroundings with a betraying nervousness.

“How are you?” Will asked.

“I am fine. You?”

Will eyed him quietly, taking in the subtle shadows underneath his eyes.

“You don't have to bullshit me,” Will said.

Lucas laughed dryly. “I forget that you might be one of the few who can understand.”

“Sometimes it's not about who understands,” Will said. “It's about what you need to get away from it.”

Wade into the quiet of the stream

“Please, I'd prefer to go to the boat,” Lucas said. “As you suggested. I think fresh air might help.”

“Okay, let’s get down there then.”

They started down the hill. Lucas looked around, taking in the boats, the various couples and families picnicking. Willowy trees sloped over the mostly calm water, swaying branches rippling in blue.

“Do you have any experience sailing?” Will asked, as they made their way to the dock.

“Some but not much. My friends prefered the countryside, mostly for hunting as our pastime.”

Will glanced at Lucas’ profile, so much like Hannibal's. It still made him feel breathless.

“Big game?”

“Pardon?”

“Like deer, elk? What did you hunt?”

“Ah, yes, big game,” Lucas agreed as they came to the neat row of small sailboats that were available for rent. “It's not something I do much of anymore.”

They fell silent the rest of the way. Nate had seen them coming from the picnic area and he watched their approach with a dark expression. Will couldn’t say he blamed him, though he had tried to tell him he didn’t want anything serious the few occasions they had been together -- hands moving slow, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey between them each time.

Will hadn’t even known if he would like being with a man, but there it was, and now he knew. And so did Nate.

“Hi Will,” Nate said guardedly, eyes lingering. Lucas, he plainly ignored.

“Nate,” Will returned.

“What can I do you for?”

“One of the little dinghies for rent?”

“Sure,” Nate said. Will watched as he looked over the boats, picking the one that was easiest to get in the water.

“How long you going out?”

“About two hours,” Will said, looking at the sun. The wind still had a tinge of warmth to it.

“The Nola still dead in the water?” Nate asked, almost conversationally as he started prepping the little boat. He untied the rope that anchored it with deft, sure hands. It was light and small enough that Nate didn’t need his help getting it in. Will and Lucas would have to sit close, legs touching.

“Yeah, I haven’t been focusing on that as much lately,” Will said.

Nate winced. “Busy, huh. I get it. Well, your chariot awaits,” he said, gesturing at the boat.

Will looked away, towards Lucas.

“You should get in first,” he said. He would sit at the back with the rudder behind him.

Lucas lowered himself in the boat quickly and then Will followed. Nate hung back on the edge of the dock, arms crossed against his chest.

“Have fun,” he said, his voice tight.

Will ignored him. He moved the sail and then he and Lucas were off.

Neither of them spoke until they were some distance away. The sail took them across the bay easily, and Will let old instincts take over. He told Lucas when to duck so he could change the direction of the sail when he needed.

“That man at the docks didn’t care for me, did he?” Lucas said, after a few minutes. “Friend of yours?”

“Something like that,” Will snorted, wind ruffling his hair. He looked out into the distance, the placid Potomac. His reflection made a hazy patina on its surface. “He may have been a little jealous. Sorry you had to see it.”

Nate’s jealousy had invited Bedelia into Will’s mind. He could almost hear the sound of her stilettos clicking on cement again, hear her slurred speech between his prison bars. Hannibal was somewhere in Europe with her now. And he was probably very happy with her, someone who could perform and entertain for an audience, silver tongued and gracefully charming. Someone Will could never be.

Nate had been… a tool. One Will yielded the same way he used a screwdriver on a motor.

“I think your friend was more than a little jealous,” Lucas said, but his tone was curious, not as sarcastic as Will’s would’ve been.

“We had an arrangement, nothing serious,” Will said. But it was said in such a way he didn't know if he was explaining to himself or Lucas.

“I assume he knew that,” Lucas said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“He knew well enough.”

Lucas frowned at that, shifting his long legs uneasily.

“What about me? Are there things I should know?”

“I like you,” Will said honestly. He bit his lip, looking at Lucas again. “I want to get to know you. See more of you.”

“I’m only here for another week.”

“I have a passport.”

Lucas laughed, abruptly and incredulously at Will's daring. But there was somehow warmth to it. Will felt it like a whisper below his sweater, a soft touch to his skin. Their knees brushed on the little boat, and neither moved away from it.

“You would visit me,” Lucas said. “In Denmark? Because you like me?”

“Yes.”

“What if I disappointed you?” Lucas said. “That’s what tends to happen.”

“I don’t disappoint easily. Tends to go the other way around. But I’ll bite. Are you referring to something in particular?”

“Before my life changed, I had a girlfriend. She wanted me, I thought, and then suddenly she didn’t.”

Will let the words unlock images in his mind, different from a crime scene but no less florid. A woman took shape, pretty and curvy, she’d want to take care of Lucas, initially. Lucas was as attractive as Hannibal even if he didn't know it. And she would've had to have been persistent. They would have met at the school Lucas worked at, he was too shy to go out, Will knew. Maybe they first bumped into each other in the staff lounge before school started. She would’ve been attracted to Lucas’ gentle quiet, his perceived difference from other men.

Then Lucas’ life had shattered like glass under a young girl’s thoughtless accusation. Will supposed Lucas’ new girlfriend would be confused at first, wondering what was a lie about Lucas, then what wasn’t. Apathy would follow, then unexpected coldness as Lucas was determined to be a flight risk. Unstable.

Perhaps it was because of the accusation but maybe it was something else, she would think. The otherness that had first appealed to her was now more repelling than anything. Lucas didn't have a lack of feeling exactly, but a lack of skill in expression. Tended to make others uncomfortable, had problems connecting.

“I’d say we’re more alike than we think.”

Lucas drew a shaky breath, accepting the truth in Will’s answer.

Will asked him to duck to he could change direction of the sail. His fingers slipped over starchy canvas cloth, then, almost unconsciously the silky smooth strands of Lucas’ hair sweeping across his brow. It was only a second but impossible for either of them to ignore.

Lucas looked up, straightening his back. The sail had cleared. The little boat glided forward, whisper light on the wind.

“I’m paranoid,” Lucas said. “Even here.”

“Warning me away from damaged goods now?” Will asked, only-partly teasing. “I'm guessing you haven't Googled me.”

Lucas made a face. “I couldn't. It would be a violation. Your experiences should be given, not taken.”

When Will looked away, staring at a blurry point beyond Lucas’ shoulder, he frowned.

“Have I said something wrong?”

“No, no,” Will muttered. “It’s not you. I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings. It doesn’t bother me if you look me up. Just -- avoid TattleCrime if you can? The editor is loose on facts, less so on the outright slander.”

Lucas hesitated. “I think I’ve met her, actually.”

“Freddie? Freddie Lounds? You met her?”

“Not too tall? Curly red hair and boots up to here?” Lucas made a vague gesture towards his mid-thigh.

“Fuck.”

“I remembered what you said, about people confusing me for Hannibal. I was wearing a cap and my glasses when I saw her. She was following me with a camera.”

“Did she take photos of you?”

“She tried, but I don’t think she got anything good. She also tried to speak to me but I pretended I didn’t understand her and went into my hotel.”

Will swore. “I bet she followed you. Did the security stop her from coming in?”

“Yes, they seemed to recognize her,” Lucas said. His lips quirked slightly at the memory. “She was escorted out.”

“Good,” Will said, with undisguised relish. Then, “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. She has been stalking me for a long time. She is completely inappropriate and unethical.”

She should be dead.

“Why does she follow you?”

“Her speciality is writing about the worst in people. She thought I got too close to my work,” Will said. “Solving murders was never fun, but I was… useful at it.”

“Did you get too close?”

Will startled. “Yes.”

“It doesn’t bother me, that you’re passionate about your work.”

“It’s not my job anymore.”

“You came to see me though, in Quantico.”

“That was personal.”

Lucas considered this. “I’m glad. Strange as that is. That you cared enough to see me or someone you thought was me, at least.”

“Don't say that.”

“It's how I feel. Before I came here I felt everyone was looking at me but only because they despised me. Now I'm not sure if they're looking for me or Hannibal Lecter. You’re different, Will.”

“I know.”

Lucas’ expression was pained. “I didn’t mean it like that. I truly feel that I’m lucky to have met you.”

Will snorted. “You might be the first. I’m sure you wished your trip had gone differently.”

“No, not really.”

“What did you want when you came? I doubt you were imagining this,” he said, gesturing out to the Potomac.

Lucas smiled. “It’s not so bad really. Before I came, I was almost shot.”

“What? Someone --?”

“They warned me,” Lucas corrected. “I was alone in the woods on a deer hunt. It was supposed to be a trip with my friends, my loved ones. I walked in the woods with my rifle. It was so still and quiet. I almost felt peace. There was a stag in the clearing. We saw each other and then a light blinded me -- and a shot was fired. Directly over my head. It hit the tree, and not me. The difference was mere inches.”

“Did you see who shot at you?”

“No. But the message was received regardless. I knew I would never be accepted, not fully. I could see the rest of the days and then the years of my life stretching out like that, always looking over my shoulder. Waiting for another pulled trigger.”

Will looked at Lucas, the gold, not red, flecks of color in his irises, the unshaven stubble on his cheeks that matched Will’s own. The promising shape of his mouth.

“We’re left to manufacture our own peace then,” Will said.

They docked the boat at the marina as the sun dipped low behind the horizon. Nate was nowhere to be seen, but Will knew how to secure the boat. The temperature was dropping rapidly, so they left quickly, for Will’s house in Wolf Trap. Lucas followed in his Subaru.

The last gold sliver of sun was gone by the time they parked in Will’s driveway. The sky made a strange canvas, broad strokes of violet and ruby lining the view for miles. Will could already sense the excitement of the dogs in the house, clustering around the front door and windows.

When he opened the door, they rushed out in a happy flurry, tails flying, wet noses trailing on both his and Lucas’ pants. Lucas laughed.

“You weren’t lying about collecting dogs!” he said. Will glanced over at him, unable to stop his smile. The dogs clustered around Lucas and Lucas was happy about it, trying to pet each wiggling head. His pleasure made him look years younger.

It warmed something in Will.

“Let’s take them out for a bit,” he said, knowing Lucas wouldn’t mind.

They walked out to the field with his dogs as they ran. They made light conversation. Lucas asked careful questions about Will’s property and the land surrounding it, specifically how it was used. Will confessed he had never had much of a green thumb. The questions veered then towards his neighbors. Wasn’t much to say there. There was only one Will really knew, an elderly woman who worked for the State Department, she had a brown lab named Ellie. Will would occasionally walk Ellie when his neighbor’s work ran late, and she would do the same for him.

“In the past, it was mostly me who asked for favors. But I bet Elizabeth will be asking for more dog walks these days than me.”

“And the other neighbors? They leave you alone?”

Will shrugged. “I’m rarely disturbed,” he said. “Sometimes even cell reception is bad out here. Should have realized that would just lead to more people visiting me at odd hours.”

“Well, your home, it’s beautiful,” Lucas said, glancing back over his shoulder at Will’s house.

His old rambler still looked like a boat drifting at sea, especially under the halo of night. Even after Randall Tier, Mason Verger, and everything else that had emerged from the darkness. All the storms Hannibal had brought to his doorstep had passed, but they were never quite gone. Merely … dissipated.

When he and Lucas made it back inside, Will poured them both generous glasses of whiskey.

“Would you like a fire?” Will asked. “It gets chilly here.”

“No,” Lucas said. “I’m fine. It’s not as cold as I’m used to. Besides, I like it,” He cleared his throat, sending his adam’s apple quivering. “Your house is very nice. Even inside.”

“Feel free to explore then,” Will said. “Haven’t had guests in a while.”

Lucas nodded, looking around the house with interest. He moved around slowly, carefully avoiding Stella and Buster who followed him with excitement.

Will watched Lucas idle at his book shelves, his work desk. He had already put away his fishing lures but he hadn’t had the heart to put away his lone photo of Abigail. It was his sole, and only, physical reminder of the girl he had tried to help.

The memento had been given to him by Freddie during a rare civil visitation at the hospital.

Abigail's smile stood out like a rose among the flotsam of Will's life. It hadn’t felt right to tuck her away into a drawer.

Lucas glanced down at the desk, studying the photo with a furrowed brow.

Will wondered if the angles of Abigail’s sad smile were as apparent to Lucas as they were to him.

“Your sister?” Lucas asked.

“No, she was- I was her guardian. I was supposed to help her.”

“You met her through your work.”

“Yes. After I got - involved in a case that involved her family. She was orphaned.”

Lucas touched the photo of Abigail gently. “So did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Help her.”

He flinched, not quite able to stop the memory of Abigail choking on a scream, blood arcing hot across his face in Hannibal’s kitchen.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I didn’t help. Turns out I'm not very good at that. Helping people isn’t what comes naturally. I can just read them.”

Lucas’ face softened. “Tell me about her then, even if you didn’t help her the way you imagined.”

“Abigail,” Will said, the word a dry croak. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. “Her name.”

He almost expected Abigail to appear, leaning against the door, arms crossing over her chest.

“She was -- a nice girl,” Will said. He made a face at his own words. “Everything I say sounds like a funeral. Like I'm making her die all over again. A psychiatrist would say I’m in denial, I suppose.”

“I'm not your psychiatrist. I couldn’t tell you what’s right or wrong to feel.”

“I know.”

Lucas looked at Will for a long moment. Then he held out his hand. “Come here.”

Will went to Lucas’ side by his desk. He followed Lucas’ gaze out the window, at the leafless trees swaying in the blustery winter winds, the empty field filling with shadows.

“In Denmark, we believe in opening a window for ‘the soul’ of the loved one to pass through once they have died,” Lucas said.

Will’s window latch was cobwebbed. It had been months since he opened it. But he leaned forward, unlatching the window without thinking. Almost instantly a cool breeze pushed in but Will knew Abigail’s ghost was here to stay.

Abigail and closure were foreign concepts, separate as water and oil. But he felt Lucas’ warmth radiating through his clothes, the solid bulk of his body like a wall behind him. When he lowered the window back again, Will turned back to look at him. They regarded each other with something unnameable.

He felt hot, skin pressed too tight. He felt as vulnerable as the moment Hannibal touched his face before sliding a knife into his gut. He fidgeted with his glass, taking a sip of whiskey. It went down good. The oaky flavor filled his throat, velvety and phenolic.

Lucas did the same, lips kissing light against the edge of his glass.

“This is good,” he said.

Will took another long sip of the fiery liquid. The first had been for flavor, the second to do what he had planned since he had first seen Lucas, the broken man that wore Hannibal’s face.

Lucas watched him with dark eyes.

“Is it?” Will asked. He licked his lips. “Good?”

He set his glass down then moved close, pressing Lucas backwards from the window. He wondered if Lucas would move away but he only stilled. His hands skimmed Will's sides, light as air.

Will hovered there, their lips only a breath away. Lucas was looking at him, waiting it seemed. Will realized that Lucas wanted to be pressured, wanted to be forced.

Will could relate.

He angled his head and kissed Lucas, soft at first then harder. A small sound escaped Lucas’ throat. Will nipped at his lip, pushing him again towards his bed till they were lined hip to hip. He wasn’t going to be gentle, he wasn’t going to wait any longer. He wanted to taste, he had waited long enough. He pressed his lips tightly against his mouth, kissing deeply. Tongues stroked, mapping the inside of each other’s mouths. Lucas was sea salt, the faintest trace of mint below the sharp bite of alcohol.

His hands skated down Lucas’ abdomen to undo his pants. He fumbled with the buttons until Lucas stopped him, holding onto his hands. Will realized they were trembling.

“We don't have to -- rush this. I believe that’s the expression, isn’t it?”

“You leave in a week,” Will protested.

Lucas smiled.

“A whole week,” he said.

Will groaned, but kissed Lucas again. He did with his tongue what he wanted to do to Lucas’ body, sucking on his lower lip hard and biting. They parted, both gasping.

“I'm going to make it hard for you.”

“I hoped you would say that,” Lucas said. He leaned forward from the bed, pulling Will to him with fingers curled into his belt loops. The stiff line of his cock pressed into Will’s, large even through pants.

Will swore. Lucas laughed, warm and pleased against Will’s jaw, until they kissed again. This time it was even longer. They stopped only to breathe, little shudders for air and Will struggling to speak.

“We’re gonna need more whiskey,” he said but Lucas was kissing his throat, then straining after his mouth, as out of breath as Will.

“Will,” he murmured, wide eyed as Will arched his back, grabbing roughly at Lucas’ ass.

Lucas’ hunger was real, feverish and needy on Will’s mouth and skin.

He had never looked more like Hannibal.

Baited.

And hooked.