Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 22: From the Grim Grave's Gate

Before Will had even opened his eyes, he knew Hannibal was gone. He felt the instant absence and resulting irritation for a moment before scolding himself for it. He'd had the count all night; if he had to leave in the morning to attend to things, Will had to accept that. He wasn't clear on what needed so desperately to be done between the hours of dawn and mid-afternoon, but it must be important.

Must be. Next, of course, came the creeping doubts that he wasn't really wanted, or was being hidden, a dirty secret. That Hannibal was rushing back to climb into someone else's bed. Again, he pushed it away. If Will wasn't convinced that Hannibal wanted him, after what they'd done last night, his insecurities were bordering on ridiculous.

Still.

Every time Alana had kissed him, he'd been sure, at least for a few minutes or hours, that she loved him, that they'd find a way to make a life together despite the differences in station and expectations.

Waiting for the bottom to drop out was a hard habit to unlearn.

The sheets smelled like them, Hannibal and Will and Will and Hannibal, their scents mingling together. Will burrowed deeper and drifted for a while as the sun became more insistent at the window. At last, he got up and opened the casement. It was going to be a beautiful day, full of lambs-wool clouds and sapphire skies. He gave himself a few moments to relive the previous night, resting his elbows on the window sill. God, he was smiling like a little kid, couldn't stop.

Come what may, last night had been... one of the best nights of his life.

He'd gotten up late again. He could see Avigeya across the courtyard hanging up laundry on the cleverly-made lines Peter had constructed. Pickles watched carefully from her crate, pausing every once in a while to clean her feathers. As he watched, Will noticed Peter come out of his home with his hands held protectively against his chest, as if cupping something small. Avigeya put the laundry basket down and went to him. Together, they watched as Peter opened his hands and a sparrow, after a moment's hesitation, lifted off, flying up and over the castle wall, back to its natural habitat. Avigeya clapped for the bird, as if she were giving it a standing ovation, then laughed at her own enthusiasm. Peter reached out tentatively and touched her arm. He nodded, a kind of wordless acknowledgement, and then went back inside, leaving her to hang up the clothes again.

Will had a soaring feeling of pure elation, and then realized and acknowledged the moment. It was so strange, these undiluted experiences of happiness, woven in with the horrors brought by the return of the Ripper to his consciousness, the unending nightmares and bloody memories. It was hard to know how to feel from moment to moment.

So take it moment by moment, he told himself. If you're happy now, be happy until you aren't.

Will got dressed, being sure to button his shirt up enough to cover the amorous bite-mark and suck-bruise that mottled his shoulder. He realized that if he had his druthers, he'd prefer to let it show. He felt chosen, marked, claimed, and that felt as good as any promise.

He stopped by the kitchen. He'd missed breakfast, but there was some bread and cheese and cured sliced sausage sitting out as if waiting for him. He ate quickly, then went out to the courtyard to see Avigeya, who was now beating a rug with a stick to knock the dust out.

"Want a turn?" she asked, offering him the stick. "It feels good."

"I'll pass," he said as they shared a laugh. "I'm going just outside the south gate. If, ah... anyone's looking for me."

"You're not supposed to be alone," she said after whacking the rug a few more times.

"I'm not going far. Just to the willow tree," he said.