"You killed them," said Will, pacing around his prison cell like a caged animal. A violent shudder ran through his body and he tried to keep his composure. "And you made everyone believe it was me. You—you even tried to make me believe it was me! But I know who I am."

The grin slowly fell from Hannibal Lecter's face but he remained silent. He didn't need to argue with Will Graham; Will was already arguing with himself. Hannibal could tell by the tension in Will's posture and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead that he was conflicted. He was having an internal struggle that was threatening to tear him apart. It was much like the internal struggle that Hannibal himself had experienced when he had been forced to murder Abigail and frame Will. He'd said himself he and Will were her fathers. Abigail had been his daughter and Will had been, Hannibal realized with a twisted inner smirk, his husband. Will and Abigail had been his family and he'd destroyed them. He knew it had been his only choice to keep himself from being discovered. He'd had to do it. But that didn't mean he'd wanted to.

And Will, with his internal struggle, he knew he had to accept that Hannibal was a murderer and had destroyed their makeshift family, but that didn't mean he wanted to accept it. And part of him was still viciously in denial. How could this man who had told him they were Abigail's fathers, had placed a blanket over his shoulders and let him fall asleep in his car, had been the only person in years to show him what felt like actual friendship and affection, be capable of being such a monster? "I don't know who you are anymore, Dr. Lecter," he said coldly, shaking his head. "I don't know what to think of you."

"What do your instincts tell you, Will?" asked the doctor, intrigue drawing him closer to the edge of Will's prison cell.

Will let out a scoff and turned on his heel to face Hannibal. "My brain… my brain says you're a killer! It knows you've killed people! You murdered Abigail Hobbs!" he cried, pulling at his disheveled hair. "But my heart… my heart says," he swallowed and closed his eyes in pain, "that you couldn't have. That you wouldn't have. That you cared about her too much to do that. That you cared about me too much to do that!"

"I do care about you, Will," said Hannibal.

Will slammed his fist against the side of his cell. "Stop saying things like that!" When he looked up and saw Hannibal's proximity to the bars of his cell, his heart began to pound. He took a step closer so he and the doctor were just inches apart, only a few pieces cold metal separating them. "I can't do this anymore. I can't deal with you."

"Do you wish for me to leave, Will?"

"No." The word spilled from Will's mouth before he could have a chance to stop it. "Just stop! Whatever you're doing to me, stop! I don't know what to think about you anymore. I don't know if I want to shoot you or—or—" Without thinking, Will thrust his wrists through the cold metal bars, forcefully grabbed Hannibal by his lapels, pulled him in as close to him as he could, and kissed him.

At first, neither Will nor Hannibal knew if this was a kiss or an attack. Longing, anger, grief, and confusion all coursed through Will's veins as he felt his lips crash into Hannibal's soft, vulnerable, flesh. The kiss was messy and desperate and fumbling as Will tried to pull Hannibal into him closer, ravaging Hannibal's mouth with his tongue as if he could taste whether the man was a monster or not.

Hannibal just stood there, shocked, allowing himself to be consumed by Will.

As suddenly as he had lunged in, Will tore himself from Hannibal's mouth and pulled back, wide-eyed, panting, and refusing to loosen his death grip on the doctor's lapels. His face instantly turned red, burning with shame and embarrassment. He hadn't planned on kissing Hannibal and he was mortified at his loss of control. "I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean to—"

"Will," said Hannibal sharply, giving him the most knowing and comforting look eyes can portray, "it's alright."

"No," said Will, finally letting go of the doctor. "It's not. What are we doing? What is this thing between us? Am I the only one who feels it?"

"No," Hannibal confirmed gently. "You were never just another patient to me, Will. I always felt there was a connection. You are one of the few people I consider worthy of being my friend, and possibly more."

Will let out a shaky breath and turned away from the doctor's steady gaze. His mind spinning, he sunk down onto his cold, hard cot and buried his face in his hands. If Dr. Lecter was a murderer, then why would he have these feelings for him? How could he feel so drawn to the man who had killed Abigail? And if it wasn't Dr. Lecter who had killed Abigail, but himself, then why would Hannibal admit to having feelings for him?

Hannibal could no longer stand not being able to sit next to Will and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Will, come here," he ordered gently. "I want to help you."

Begrudging his own obedience, Will shakily rose from the bed and stood in front of the doctor once more. Hannibal could listen to people scream and beg for mercy while he slit their throats and removed their internal organs and not feel a thing, but the sight of Will's pain-filled, watery eyes was a dagger straight through his so carefully shielded heart. "I'm so sorry this had to happen, Will," the doctor whispered.

At that, Will found he could no longer hold back the torrent of confused, angry tears welling up inside of him and sunk down to the floor, racked with stifled sobs.

Hannibal knelt down next to him and reached through the bars to place his hand on his shoulder. Feeling the unexpected touch, Will looked up and locked eyes with Dr. Lecter. Once again he found himself leaning in, as if drawn by magnetic force, and this time Hannibal was leaning in as well. When their lips met for a second time, it was much less vicious, but twice as desperate.

Clinging to each other as much as they could from opposite sides of the iron bars, they delved into each other's mouths, tasting each other's desperation and fear. Hannibal could feel Will's tears, hot and wet against his cheeks, and kissed him harder. Will gave himself over to Hannibal completely, surrendering to the biting teeth, possessive hands and tugging lips, then completely immersed in the black sea that was Dr. Lecter, allowed himself to drown.