On the Mend (Hannibal Fanfiction)

Piece VII

Will was awash in a wave of emotion so great that he could hardly stay standing. Abigail Hobbs was alive. Hannibal had kept Abigail alive. She was alive, and breathing, and right in front of him. Will's whole body shook, nerve endings buzzing as if he'd been struck by lightning. She looked just as he remembered her: wide blue eyes like a doe in the headlights of an oncoming car, deathly pale skin smattered with freckles, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, except there was no scarf around her neck to hide her scar, and her left ear— oh god, her ear—

"Abigail?" he croaked. "You're— I thought—"

Will stood frozen as Abigail gave him a shaky smile, his impulses pulling him in so many directions at once that he couldn't follow any of them. He wanted to hug Abigail, he wanted to sob, he wanted to punch Hannibal in the face, he wanted to kill Hannibal, he wanted to kiss Hannibal, he—

He turned slowly, struggling to process the dual surge of confusion and understanding that swept away any words that he could form, and looked to Hannibal.

"You were right," Hannibal said softly. For the first time ever, it was Will who was seeking eye contact and Hannibal who was avoiding it, lingering on Will's nose, his lips, his cheeks, anything but his eyes. "Time didn't have to reverse for the teacup to come back together." Hannibal reached up tentatively and cupped Will's face, so tenderly that Will couldn't stop himself from leaning into it (he didn't want to stop himself, god, he didn't want to stop).

"You made me think I killed her." Will's voice cracked, even as he let Hannibal cradle his face with one hand. "You made me think you killed her."

"I did."

"Why?"

Hannibal paused, then said, his thumb softly caressing the side of Will's head, "I wanted Abigail to have a place in your world, but I couldn't put her life in jeopardy. You weren't ready. The teacup had to shatter."

Will shook his head. "Not just her life. Yours. You wanted me to see you. But when I did, I rejected it."

Hannibal's thumb stilled, and for one heart-stopping moment, Will feared that he had made a fatal mistake. But Hannibal's voice was no different when he said, "You did."

"Yet here I am."

Hannibal stroked his thumb along Will's curls. "And the teacup came back together."

"Hannibal—" Will swallowed. It was now or never. Abigail was alive, but after this, he didn't know if he would be. Disconcertingly, he found he didn't really care. "Jack knows."

"I know."

"He thinks I'm playing you. That I'm gathering evidence to turn you in."

"Are you?"

Will looked into Hannibal's eyes, eyes that he had seen more of than anyone else's, and told the truth: "No. I was. But not anymore."

Hannibal's hold on his face tightened almost imperceptibly, but Will didn't try to pull away.

"How am I to trust you?" Hannibal asked softly.

"How am I to convince you?"

There was a long pause, in which the only things Will could hear were his blood racing in his ears and the crackling of the fireplace. Then:

"Leave with us."

Will felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His lips parted, but no words formed.

"If Jack is onto us, then we're no longer safe here." Longing was painted naked and open across every inch of Hannibal's face, a look that Will was beginning to realize he had seen several times before. "It will only be a matter of time before the FBI comes knocking, and I can only divert them for so long."

Will swallowed. His chest ached in a reflection of Hannibal's longing, a current of emotion running far deeper than he had anticipated, but to uproot his entire life, go on the run and become a fugitive, leave behind his—

"What about my dogs?"

"Taking seven dogs with us is implausible at best, but one or two...it could be done."

Will blinked, unable to look away from Hannibal. He felt as if he should protest, make excuses, turn him down — but why? What would he be giving up? His dogs would all find loving homes, whether with Alana or otherwise. The FBI academy would find another professor to take his place. Jack could find another profiler, and it wasn't as if Will would ever be trusted to work for the FBI again after his public breakdown and institutionalization. The few people that he'd been friendly with were either dead or had distanced themselves from him — except for Hannibal.

And now Abigail, miraculously alive and breathing, in the same room as them. She was alive.

Will thought about what he would have if he stayed: a life in isolation with only his dogs for company, no friends, his reputation in tatters, stuck lecturing at unremarkable faces until he eventually faded into retirement and obscurity. He thought about what he would have if he left: a chance to start over, a new life, a family. Hannibal, Abigail, a few dogs. No Jack or the FBI breathing down his neck. No Alana looking at him as if at any moment he might snap and murder everyone in his vicinity. No whispers and stares dogging his every step. A chance to finally be free.

Hannibal was still speaking, his eyes searching Will's face as if the secrets of the universe were hidden there. "We could leave as early as tomorrow evening. I have yet to burn my notes, but in a pinch, they could be left. Most everything is already in place. We'll have enough of a head start that we won't be caught. We can feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana and Jack, an—"

"Yes."

Hannibal stopped with his lips parted. He had always seemed so unflappable, but if it were possible, in this moment, his hand was not totally steady where it cupped Will's face.

"Yes," Will said again, in a rush, before Hannibal could speak. "Yes, I'll come with you."

Hannibal looked as if he was seeing Will for the first time, as if he were the most beautiful creature in existence. He cradled Will's head, and then, moving as if he expected him to pull away at any moment, drew him to his chest and held him there. Will didn't realize that he was crying until he felt Hannibal's damp suit vest pressed against his face.

"You let me think you killed her," Will whispered into the fabric, and Hannibal held him tighter. "I thought— if I'd just known... Hannibal..."

They stood there like that for an eternity before Will pulled away and turned to Abigail, wiping his tears on his sleeve. "I'm so glad you're alive," he whispered.

She gave him a watery smile. "So am I," she quipped, and he gave a shaky laugh in response.

After a moment of hesitation, he held out his arms. Abigail met him halfway, and he squeezed her tight, hoping that he could express without words how much it meant to have her there. When she pulled away, his eyes flitted to the left side of her face, and he was hit by a conflicting wave of emotion. He thought again about the horror of vomiting up an ear. Of the blood pooled across the floor of the Hobbs' kitchen. Of his curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, and of glaring at Hannibal through the bars of a prison cell.

"Your ear..." he began slowly, but Abigail cut him off.

"It's okay, I don't miss it." Her mouth quirked up on one side, Hannibal-esque in nature, before she added in a fake British accent, "'Tis just a flesh wound."

Will snorted despite himself, but when he turned back to Hannibal, the amusement slipped away. They would have to discuss the ear. They would have to discuss a lot of things. They had hurt each other (Hannibal had hurt him) in too many different ways to repair it all with only a teacup and a heartfelt, tearful discussion. But they were here, and Abigail was not dead, and Hannibal was looking at him as if he had solved all the world's problems just by existing. Will found that that was enough for him for now.

Hannibal reached out and cupped Will's face again, his caress loving as he smoothed back Will's curls and tucked them behind his ear. Will met his eyes and couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, Will," Hannibal murmured. "I can't wait to show you Florence."