cook_the_rude | (no subject)

(no subject)

"Going my way?"

Hannibal had turned the car around, opened the door and dropped the body of their police escort as he'd never drop that much litter. He still wore his grey uniform from the State Hospital, but his smile was utterly free.

The car smelled of gunshots and blood, but it would do.

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"Will you? Hurt them?" his tone is neutral but Will keeps his back to Hannibal now, eyes only for the waves.

"If we survive the Dragon," Hannibal says, "do you think I'd waste resources on making her unhappy, just because?"

Pause.

"If she had been thinking straight, she'd have realised I don't usually threaten people. As long as she's running in the opposite direction, she can't get in the way again."

"You don't usually break promises either."

He turns his head then. "I need a shower. Do you think we have time?"

Hannibal steps up behind him, and smiles at him.

"She is on borrowed time," he says. "We all are, and cannot run from it. Even the earth crumbles underneath our feet."

Standing beside Will, he peers down at the roiling sea in its narrow bowl between the cliffs, white waves foaming up at the bluff, eating at it, while the middle stays dark.

"The bluff is eroding," Hannibal says, conversationally. "There was more land when I was here with Abigail; more land still when I was here with Miriam Lass."

"Now you're here with me." He reflects, turning to look at Hannibal.

Hannibal is still looking into the abyss.

"And the bluff is still eroding," he says. "You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlantic. Soon, all this will be lost to the sea."

He catches Will's eyes then, and smiles minutely before turning towards the house.

"And yes, showers are definitely on offer. I don't want to risk dying in this unperson suit."

Will followed him inside, touched the frame as he entered.

Chairs covered by cloths, thick carpet.

And Abigail's ghost, hanging in the air. The life they could have had here. He talked from room to room, looking for hers. And he knew it, as soon as he opened the door. Her scent lingering.

"Is this where we would have come, if I'd gone with you?"

"As a first stop, yes," Hannibal says. "For a breather. Then, on to the airport before Jack or Alana recovered enough to speak."

"Everything that can happen happens. Has to end well, and it has to end badly. Has to end every way it can. This is the way it ended for us." He takes a slow breath. "I told her that once. After you killed her."

He doesn't wait for Hannibal to reply. "Which way to the bathroom. I assume you have spare clothes in my size."

"Of course I do," Hannibal says. "And some toiletries that might suit you, even without the ship on the bottle."

Pause.

"Even if salty is your usual state of being, it doesn't have to be from sweating, or from the sea."

Another pause.

"The room beside hers.

Will huffs darkly and turns away, heading into that room and closing the door.

The sun has set by the time he comes out, clean and dressed as he leans against the window, looking out at the sea.

"He won't be long now," Hannibal says.

He emerges from another door, smelling of steam and oud, wearing neutral colours now, his hair still badly cut, but damp and free.

Will looks over, looks him up and down. Then looks back at the window. "At least you'll die looking like you."

"If I have to die," Hannibal says. "We may yet come out of this alive. Once the Dragon is here, the outcome is fully open."

He runs a hand through his hair.

"But yes, this may be a last moment for me to be myself."

"What does that make me? My becoming? If you cease to be you." He looks around to Hannibal, eyes dark. "Do either of us survive separation."

"If we do," Hannibal says, "you will take me into the future within yourself, or I you: - the only remaining person who could really see the other."

"What will there be to see, if we're both changed by the Dragon."

"Then we just leave pieces for Jack and Alana to puzzle over," Hannibal says. "Which would be a waste, so let's by all means avoid it."

Will toyed with something light and silken, brushing it between the fingers of one hand. One of Abigal's scarves, the ones she use to hide her father's scar.

"We wasted too much as it is," Hannibal says, as if picking up on that. "Time. Potential. Perfect moments."

Will turned sharply, harsh words on the tip of his tongue. His eyes blazed at Hannibal.

And then the moment passed and he dropped the scarf, shoulders sagging. "I need a drink."

"I'll get us some wine," Hannibal offers, smoothly. "And music. There is no point in waiting in silence, with bated breath."

Will turned his back, staring out at the darkened sea, watching the moonlit crests of waves.

Soft piano music starts to play from unseen speakers as Hannibal's steps retreat downstairs, towards the inside of the cliff house.

Will closes his eyes and tries not to feel Abigail at his side, or hear her voice.

"If everything that can happen happens, you can't really do the wrong thing. You're just doing what you're supposed to do."