I think about this scene a normal amount. I think about what Hannibal must have felt, having Will warm, bloody and pliant finally in his arms, after three years of waiting for him in a sterile cell, where his mind palace proved a paltry substitute for life.
He breathes in Will's scent and feels his body pressing against him. When Will rests his head on Hannibal’s chest his hands clench around Will’s shirt like he’s holding on for dear life, while his expression suggests he’s having something close to a religious experience.
They’ve hunted together, they’ve killed together, and now Will looks at him and says, “it’s beautiful,” and puts his arms around Hannibal.
Against all logic and common sense, Hannibal must have thought, this is it! It’s happening. This is Will’s becoming. He is finally accepted himself and Hannibal. At that moment, Hannibal knows true happiness.
Only to have it snatched from his hands a few seconds later.
This precious thing he thought he had, the thing he’d always desired without knowing—even before meeting Will—he gets to taste it and scent it, right before being plunged into the cold ocean. Because Will would rather they both be dead than be free as monsters together.
I thought about all this a very healthy amount, and it ended up inspiring a very long fic. The story is now finished, and I will be releasing several chapters every week. The first 10 chapters are up.
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