The missing half «ʜᴀɴɴɪɢʀᴀᴍ»

Chapter 3. Back home

By the end of the week, as promised, he left. He bid farewell to his old life and all of the people that resided in it. It pained him quite a bit to do so, but he knew it would pain him a lot more to simply keep living like this. He couldn't keep leading a normal life, not after Hannibal had shown him the beauty of blood in the moonlight.

Did he regret the words that he spoke to him that day? True, he didn't want to think about him anymore. He didn't want his whole being to circle around this man, yet it seems like he didn't accomplish that. He does miss him, he is trying to find him. All things he said he wouldn't be doing, he's doing them. And whose fault was it, other than his own? If he hadn't said those things, maybe Hannibal wouldn't have surrendered himself. Maybe he wouldn't be possibly dead right now. Although, he didn't believe that. He felt as if Hannibal was waiting for him. Waiting to be found, and with that be proven right. Be proven that Will does, in fact, care about him.

Where will he begin his search? He's going to start from the place where it all began. The place where Hannibal could never go back to. A place that would allow him to be at his most vulnerable. To relive his past. Where no one would search for him. Other than Will.

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Aukštaitija, Lithuania

The sound of chopping and stirring filled the air. The food was carefully and surgically cut into precise pieces. The man's skilled hands moved effortlessly, tossing and stirring the ingredients with familiar ease.

After the dish was done, he served the food on two silver plates.

"A modified Boudin Noir from Ali-Bab's Gastronomie Pratique." The clinking of the plate could be heard as he served.

"Thank you," the woman gestured.

As they were eating, she asked, "How long do you suppose he'll need to find you? Nine months have already passed," her accent peeking through.

He stopped eating for a moment. "Soon." He took another bite of his food. "Can you promise me that you won't shoot him this time, Chiyoh?" He asked in a joking manner.

A beam appeared in her eyes. "Even if he tries to kill you again?"

"He won't," he replied simply.

To tell the truth, he wasn't completely sure of this. Will was certainly full of surprises.

"He pushed you off of a cliff," she added, almost like a reminder.

"He pushed us both off a cliff." He sipped on his wine.

"And you could've died if I hadn't helped you." She crossed her arms, clearly annoyed.

"Certainly." He stood up from his chair, gathering the plates after they were both done eating. "However," he continued, "Will is my friend; if he were the one to die, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

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11 months ago

"Just let me go," the man advised, his hand slipping out of the other's grasp.

"I fear I cannot do that, Will." His fingernails bloodied from trying to hold on. His arms on the verge of giving in.
"You are going to live. We both are. Can't let my dear friend take his own and my life now, can I?" He formed a smile he couldn't keep for long.

"Then come and save me, Dr Lecter," he smirked. His hand slipped out.

Shit.

He jumped after him. The collision with the surface felt like a thousand fangs piercing through his body, the water sinking its teeth into his flesh with an almost vicious grip, trapping him deep under its cold grasp.

Then he remembered what he was here for.

Moments later, he found himself on the land. He didn't know how he managed to find enough strength within himself to get there, nor did it matter. All that mattered was that Will was in his grasp.

He risked his all for this man, the man who threw his life away, barely to find out how desperate he was to save him. And as it turns out, he was pretty smart for doing that too, because Hannibal was indeed very desperate.

Shortly afterwards, a voice echoed from above him: "Hannibal," it called out.

The rope fell, making its way down the rocky surface of the cliff.

"Climb," the woman instructed him.

And so he did.

"What about him?" She looked down the cliff, her eyes lingering on the unconscious man that laid there.

He too, not knowing when he'd be able to see him again, looked at him for a moment, taking in the sight.

"The police will arrive soon, they'll find him. He had gotten himself hit on the rocks while falling; his injuries are a lot worse than mine are. However-" A pool of blood made its way down his throat, making him cough. "However, he's stable for now," he continued.

"You've lost a lot of blood because of that bullet wound. If you don't treat it soon, you might be the one who dies." She helped him toward the car.

He observed the woman cautiously. "Since when did you own a car, Chiyoh?"

"Since I stole it," she replied bluntly.

An amused expression peeked through his face.

"So," she asked as she drove, "where are we going?"

"Home."