rhymeswithcannibal | After the fall

After the fall

“Love, which absolves no one beloved from loving,
seized me so strongly with his charm that,
as you see, it has not left me yet.

Love brought us to one death.”
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

The path to the cliff's edge has been neither straight nor strait; there have been setbacks, diversions, even moments when one or both of them could have been lost. Jack could have killed Will in Garret Jacob Hobbs' kitchen; Tobias Budge or Randall Tier or Frances Dolarhyde could have killed him. Jack could have killed Hannibal in his own kitchen, or in Florence, or even executed him on his knees in front of Will's house. Tobias Budge, Matthew Brown, or Mason Verger could have ended the story of Hannibal Lecter save for the afterword written as Hannibal's secrets slowly unraveled posthumously.

All of those almost deaths are nothing compared to the endings Hannibal and Will have wrought or nearly wrought upon one another time and again.

In this life, this world, this universe, every missed ending has been another step down the path that has led them to this precipice with the Dragon pouring out the last of his life on one side and the unforgiving Atlantic on the other.

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.

He can feel Will's muscles tighten with intent, and in the microseconds between intent and action, he has to make a decision as to which final ending he will accept.

He cannot accept the ending that sends Will back out into the world without him.

The water doesn't wrap them in the warm comfort of the womb, but rather strikes them like a jealous lover's fist, determined to drive them apart and keep them individually for itself. After everything they have been through to reach their "final" tipping point, Hannibal isn't willing to just give Will over to the water.

Even his memory can't parse the chaos of the next minutes? Hours? The chaos and desperate fight cover all considerations of time in favor of survival not just for himself but for Will.

What he knows, without a doubt, is that Will fought just as hard for survival after hitting the water as Hannibal did. He knows as well that they wouldn't have survived without one another, and that is as it should be. They have died together and they are reborn together.

That is the thought in his mind as consciousness flees him and their rocky piece of shoreline. Not even the strobing red and blue lights' approach can keep him present once his hand finds Will's cold hand.

They will either wake or they will not, but in either case, in the end, neither of them simply gave up.

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When it came to manipulation, they were masters. They would be free together; the only question was how much of a body count it would take to achieve that freedom.

Hannibal's reaction to Will's use of the word "love" was more profound internally than externally. It hadn't been a declaration, but it had been an oblique acknowledgment, and it rocked him in a way that he hadn't prepared himself for, and which he covered with an indulgent smile in the face of Will's certainty.

"Will you choose my victims? Or merely vet them?" Either way, it was participation. "And will you be content merely to watch?"

Any who recognized that attempting to apprehend them was a fatal mistake would be spared. Will knew he could not say the same of those who attempted to intervene in their escape.

"Vet them," Will said decisively, raising an eyebrow as though challenging Hannibal to object.

His brow furrowed as he met Hannibal's gaze, 'My ... active ... participation in anything will balance precariously on the knife's edge of your behavior." Mostly whether or not Will was pleased by it.

Hannibal felt no need to enact a complete massacre. Those who had treated him with courtesy would be spared as long as they had the sense to get out of the way. There would be no mercy for the rude or the brave.

"And if I disagree with your verdicts?" Will had to know that Hannibal could easily pay lip service to Will's preferences and still do exactly what he felt was best. At that particular moment he was more amused than displeased.

He was curious about the stick, but the carrot Will offered was the only thing he had that no one else in the world did. "Will you content yourself with only my prey?"

Will would be a harsh critic on what Hannibal deemed as rude enough to deserve death, though the rest he would be at peace with. Anyone who was stupidly brave enough to try and stop them rather than stand aside or just leave themselves would find little sympathy from Will, though he might try to circumvent some murder by asking if the doomed hero's minimum wage job was worth their life.

"You can disagree, but you will abide my decision," Will said, stepping in close to Hannibal. "You are going to be tempted to push that boundary, to be clever, to press and see how I react. I can tell you this, you will genuinely dislike the reaction." Not that he would go into detail. For now.

He considered Hannibal's question, "Knowing whether I content myself with your prey, or not, will depend entirely on you."

Denise, for instance, would not face Hannibal's wrath, provided the orderly remained circumspect. She had been brusque, but highly professional, and Hannibal couldn't fault her professionalism. Some of the guards responsible for his restraints, however, had best hope they were off that day.

Hannibal stood before Will could get close enough to loom over him. He held his hands loosely at his sides, keeping his expression light and his gaze level. "Is that the inducement you think to use to win my compliance? You should know better than that, Will. I have changed for you and with you, but my years out of society haven't made me more biddable."

He knew where to find Will now. He would always know where to find him.

The guards were also more likely to consider themselves the one to bring down an escaped Hannibal Lecter, it took a certain type of defunct personality to become a guard in an facility for the criminally insane.

"No," Will said as Hannibal stood. "This is not an inducement. This is a reading of the consequences. When impulse takes you, I want you to understand, very clearly, what you are asking for." And Will was steadfast that he would not live against the undercurrent of Hannibal indulging his whims to the both of their detriment.

One corner of his mouth ticked up in a very faint smile, "I could tell you about the carrot at the end of the stick, or I could let you have a visual taste."

Abel Gideon would certainly agree.

"Your words lack internal consistency. You want me to understand very clearly, but also want me to infer your meaning. Will you kill us both because you don't agree with a choice I make?"

He was ready to draw Will's attention to the logical inconsistency of saying he wanted Hannibal to be very clear while also expecting him to infer just what he was being clear about, maybe even chide him for such a blatant attempt to keep the upper hand.

Instead he deferred for at least long enough to beam at Will. "I would very much like to see your design."

"You can understand that you would not like the consequences without being detailed what they would be," Will replied dryly.

Then met Hannibal's gaze with unwavering eye contact, "Yes. I would kill us both if I don't agree with a choice you made." Hannibal's pettiness and impulsivity fractured, irreparably, one teacup. Will would grind the next one to dust if Hannibal pushed him.

Will only inclined his head and began heading back the way they came through Hannibal's mind palace, towards the stream which had a convenient crossing now, a natural bridge of of twisted black oak branches spanning the water.

He liked this teacup; one day he'd almost certainly have to break it.

He nodded approvingly, not losing his smile while he offered honesty: "When the time comes I shall make it a choice worth dying for." When. Not if.

He followed out of his space and into Will's. His office reordered itself behind them while Hannibal paid particular attention to sounds and scents. What sensory input did Will note with enough clarity to incorporate them into his mind palace?

"And I will honor you." Will very much intended to outlive Hannibal by a few hours, enough to stage the scene and leave a final voicemail for Jack, letting him know where they could be find.

The stream was identical to the one in Wolf Trap, every gentle bend of the water bed, the grade of every slope. The smokey scent of October rode the air and the back of one's throat, a contrast to the previous late Spring day when they first discovered the joining of their minds. From the stream, across a field of tall grass, Will's house stood, emptier, somewhat more cold than it had been with light spilling out of the windows on a dark evening, filled with dogs, a fire, and handmade lures.

His memories moved under the surface of the placid water, like fish or bodies, depending on the day, but Will did not lead him into the stream. Rather, Will led Hannibal towards the tree line of the woods, through a particular break. Pine and honeylocust, aspen and cedar lined the footpath, but their familiar branches tangled into something more familiar to Hannibal as they walked further into the trees. Black alder, birch, spruce took the place of the native Virginia foliage, and the path spilled them out onto the Lecter estate.

"One way or another." He would either have Will honor his table, or Will would honor him. It was the only way things could end between them now. Or at least the only right way.

He kept pace with Will, taking in the details around him with warm regard for what they told him of Will's remarkable mind, but his smile faded when he recognized the new scene - one he and Will did and did not share. The estate was recognizable, but the state of the grounds was a slash across his mind and his own memories of the estate.

He'd told Bedelia that Will was going where he - Hannibal - could not, and here it loomed before them. He closed his right hand and rubbed his thumb over the backs of his knuckles before willing his hand to loosen and relax at his side.

There would be nightmares on the other side of this visit, but Hannibal didn't allow his steps to falter.

Will did not believe in fate, but he did believe, now, in inevitability, things set in motion whose end could not be undone. Their ending was one of those things. One would die at the other's hand and that other would shortly follow. It felt... right.

He spared Hannibal no detail of the crumbling remains of the Lecter estate, from the dry fountains to the weather worn gravestones. Will led him through the untended overgrowth, to the entrance of the wine cellar slash dungeon. The doors stood open, a yawning black gateway down into the bowels of the castle where Hannibal had imprisoned the deserter who had murdered and cannibalized his sister.

The whole scene that Will had been taken to create was preserved in perfect memory down there, waiting. Will gestured Hannibal forward, more than interested in Hannibal's reaction, but giving him space to observe, to process both the small cruelties of bringing Hannibal here, and the gift of this memory, a taste of what could be. It was a unique rose with very sharp and blood thirsty thorns.

Either end would be the truest expression of love and forgiveness that Hannibal was capable of.

Every step that Hannibal took into Will’s memory of the estate was a nail loosening from a barred door in his own domain, and he couldn’t turn away from the promise of pain without losing his opportunity to see what Will thought his carrot would be.

He paused at Mischa’s gravestone for only a moment before moving on. That was another nail slipping free, and not for Will’s consumption. This was no small cruelty, not at all.

Their destination at least took some mystery out of Will’s intent. Hannibal paused at the open doors and drew in a deep breath, sorting through the scents that Will had captured - blood and wine and rot all sketching in outlines before Hannibal descended into the candlelit darkness to behold Will’s design.

Applause could never convey Hannibal’s appreciation as well as the tears that tracked down his cheeks did. The body hoisted on wings of twigs and glass was a beautiful testament to Will’s becoming, made no less beautiful by the knowledge that Hannibal was never really meant to see it; Will had first done this for no audience but himself.

“You elevated him, both literally and figuratively.”

A large cruelty then, one just as sharp as the blade that cut across Abigail's throat, the one that pierced Will's own flesh, the one that pruned that branch of possibility clean away from the tree. Hannibal had done that to them, had done that to himself. Will was empathic, but he hardly felt empathy at what he was showing Hannibal now and how it would affect him.

Will moved behind Hannibal, a shadow spectator to Hannibal's reaction of what he had created, something that was never meant to be seen by any human eyes. It had been both impulse and want, an offering left to the place as the last human occupant had abandoned it.

His gaze followed that track of tears down the prominent curve of Hannibal's cheek and it settled the... hint... of ill ease he had felt at showing Hannibal this private creation. "He played a part in freeing Chiyoh from this place-" that you had left her was left unsaid.

Chiyoh had been in a cage of her own creation with her as the only jailer. Will couldn't claim to have freed her out of mercy when he'd already admitted to doing it out of curiosity. Hannibal could hardly rebuke Will for doing something that Hannibal might well have done himself.

"And you played a part in his death." Hannibal tore his eyes off of the hanging man to fix Will with his stare. "Would you have memorialized Chiyoh if she hadn't found the will to save herself?"

And carried around the memory through his quiet little life with his wife? How long could Will have played at normalcy before something broke?

There was mercy in it given that she freed herself, even if it was an act of curiosity. "We'll never know," Will replied simply, no real reason to think on it, Chiyoh had chosen herself and her freedom.

"Did I play a part in his death?" Will asked, tipping his head. "Or did I just arrange a few pieces on a board and see how they played themselves?" He knew full well that he had a hand in the man's death.

Will buried that memory, and many of Hannibal, so deep that his quiet life would have lasted a long while had Jack not disturbed it.

Mercy had been incidental, and who was Hannibal - a man who had literally decided a woman's life on a coin flip - to judge?

"Will..." Hannibal made no effort to hide the fondness that underlay the chiding. "This is no place for dishonesty."

He turned his gaze back up to contemplate the man who had, at least for a time, blotted out Hannibal's sun. "This, then, is my inducement to behave: the hope that I will see such an exhibit without the mediation of memory."

Will only raised an eyebrow at Hannibal, but didn't responds to the chiding.

Rather, he continued to look at Hannibal as Hannibal looked back to Will's creation, "That you will see such an exhibit. That you might watch as I work on it."

He moved to stand beside Hannibal, though did not look at him yet, "That we might create something together."

Hannibal turned his head enough to see Will's profile. He felt raw - cut open and exposed in this place, in front of this art made from a creature that had been both trash and nightmare, with this man beside him who had reached inside him to wrap a hand around his heart.

"On your terms and only your terms? I regret that I must decline that particular offer."

He might have been disappointed if he hadn't expected Hannibal to reject it outright. But the taste of what could be was there, laid out to linger in the mind.

"You are free to make a counter offer," And Will would be free to reject it. This was part of the game, after all, wasn't it? The push and pull of who could get just a little more over the other. The faintest hint of more control, of better advantage.

All Hannibal needed to yearn for the taste of more was his memory of how they had moved together against Francis. That had been an incomparable experience, but he was game to try to top it.

"I will kill when we're free." He stated it simply because it was truly that simple. "I am, however, willing to consider victims you will find more... palatable."

Slaying the dragon, the perfect moment of understanding between them, had been driven by necessity; a moment of empathy and understanding driven by circumstance and blood to connect this space and see them triumphant. What could happen if they moved together willingly and out of choice?

Will glanced flatly over his shoulder at Hannibal, one eyebrow raised, "Do I even have to explain why that second part is a hard no?" He inhaled through his nose and looked straight ahead again, "You may kill, but the victims will meet my criteria."

The way that Hannibal's lips pulled up at the corners couldn't truly be called a smirk, but it served well enough to express his amusement.

"You may choose what you eat at my table - and we're negotiating the who now - but you may not dictate that I let good meat go to waste."

"I would never dictate that you let good meat go to waste," Will said, fully intending to dispose of said meat himself if Hannibal killed out of bounds.

Will turned fully to face Hannibal's profile, "And, I will eat whatever, whomever, you serve at the table, if they are-" HIs brow furrowed, "-culled, within my specific criteria." While Will did not take pleasure in the consumption of human flesh, as Hannibal did, he was not appalled by the idea at this point. And if it provided an additional incentive, then he intended to use the act to his advantage.

That hint of a smirk broadened into a smile. Will had started out with an unreasonable demand, gave way in the face of the expected pushback, and was once again dangling the incentives that he knew that Hannibal would find most compelling.

If he'd been trying to hide what he was doing, Hannibal would have been offended, but they both knew what game they were playing.

And he did so like the word "culled."

"Tell me more about your specific criteria."

After the fall

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