The night air was cool and still as Will Graham pressed his back against the wall to the left of Hannibal Lecter's front door. His heart pounded in his ears, a steady rhythm that pulsed in time with the spikes of his mounting fear and anticipation. He was dressed in the blue overalls that were required to be worn by all inmates of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The deep shade of navy blue that screamed his insanity to anyone who cared to take a second glance.

The overalls hid his emaciated body. He hadn't eaten for days, not since his jail break, and not much before then at that. He'd been off his food, driven sick with hatred and fear, both towards one individual. The individual who's house he now skulked in the deep shadows of, with one thought in mind. Revenge.

He despised Lecter with every scrap of his being. The very thought of him made his skin crawl, made his stomach twist like the blade of one of Lecter's vicious knives were slowly probing through his innards. Fear washed over Will in icy waves, and he knew that if it wasn't for the semi-automatic pistol clasped between his trembling fingers he would be running, running far away from here and not stopping until he'd put ten states between him and the cannibalistic psychopath that lay behind those grand oak doors.

But he couldn't run. Will knew that. He had to kill Lecter, if not for the unspeakable wrongs that the twisted individual had done to him, then for the extensive list of others that were victims of Hannibal Lecter. For every life he had taken, for every life he was going to take. Will didn't want to make him suffer. He wasn't cruel. And besides, Lecter wasn't worthy of the effort.

It was Will's responsibility to destroy Lecter. Destroy him before he could claim any more innocent flesh like cattle. No one would ever believe him, no one would ever see Lecter for the monster he really was. Will was doomed anyway. He would never get out of Baltimore, his life had already been discarded in amongst the dumping ground of tortured minds, there was no hope of freedom on the horizon for him, but before he gave him self up, allowed his mind to rot into irreparable dysfunction, Will was going to make one last stand. One last victory. One last save; saving innumerable lives with a single bullet.

Taking a deep breath, Will stepped out of the shadows hugging the wall, crossed silently to the door, and began picking the lock with hands that were suddenly as still as the oppressive night air.

Hannibal smirked. Standing in the dimly lit hallway, he stood stock still and silent, savouring the overpowering odour of fear that was pungent to Hannibal, even with bricks and mortar standing between the two men. He tipped his head back slightly, allowing his eyes to roll back under his heavy, hooded eyelids. The essence of Will was so strong, it surrounded him, drove him ravenous with desire. He was breathing him in, sucking his very essence in out of his lungs, but it wasn't enough.

A small shudder snaked it's way down Hannibal's spine at the thought of just touching Will. He imagined sinking his teeth into him, pushing roughly inside the wreck of man, breaking him down until there was nothing left, then reshaping him into and whole new being. A being who answered solely to Hannibal. Someone who knew his place. Hannibal's breath hitched in excitement, but before he could allow himself to become thoroughly absorbed in his fantasy, he felt, rather than heard, the soft vibrations of footsteps moving across his veranda.

A smile broke slowly out across his chiselled features, that darked with anticipation as he heard the familiar click and scrape of a lock pick at the keyhole. Smirking, he turned and stalked down the corridor with the stealth of a jungle cat, his shoeless feet making the barest whisper against the plush carpet. He stepped into the kitchen that lay at the end of the short hallway corridor, sinking into invisibility among the pitch black shadows, he turned, and he waited: ready to strike.

The door made a soft click as the lock sprang open, a slit of bright light from the hallway spilling out onto the veranda. Gently, Will nudged the door open letting it swing forward gently, stopping a few inches short of the inner wall. He steeled himself, before stepping forward on numb legs, his pistol grasped between white knuckles, held once more on level with eyes and now aimed and levelled straight ahead of him.

His legs felt as though they belonged to someone else as they carried him forward, painfully slowly down the brightly lit corridor. At the end there was a pitch-black doorway that Will knew to open out into the kitchen, and slightly ahead another doorway off to the left. The door was closed, but there was a chink of light shining out across the carpet, and the sound of a delicate symphony reached him, probably being played from Lecter's exquisite -.

Will's instincts took over, his FBI training rising to the surface of his autopilot. He slid sideways along the wall, his back never leaving the elegant wallpaper. Reaching the doorway, he hesitated for one brief second, before reaching down to the door knob and flinging the door open.

He surged in, his gun moving rapidly from side to side, the lethal barrel scouring every inch of the room.

But the room was empty.

Will swore silently at himself, berating himself with the most vile words his mind could conjure.

Oh, he'd done it now. He was fucked. Bursting into that room, crashing through the door and making enough noise to rouse the entire house. Fuck. FUCK.

His breath was low and staggered as he slowly turned and stepped out of the room, his instincts screaming at him to turn and run; the element of surprise was gone. He should go. Get out whilst he still could. Lecter was a better fighter than him, stronger and faster, and if Lecter got the jump on him... He wouldn't stand a chance.

Will shuddered at the thought of what the psychopath might do to him, then quickly pushed the thought from his mind. He knew he still had to go on, he had to finish this. Thoughts like that wouldn't get him anywhere.

He began edging himself down the corridor, towards the kitchen entrance. The door hung wide open, but all that lay beyond was deep shadows.

Taking shallow breaths, Will edged towards the darkness. He stopped at the edge, were the light met the dark, the relative safety faded into indisputable fear and chaos.

Biting his lip, Will took one last furtive glance around, before stepping into the black.

Hannibal tried and failed to wipe the smirk from his face as Will blundered into the living room, a whirlwind of commotion and self induced panic. There had been no need to leave the record player on, other than to bask in Will's fear. He was going to have the quivering wreck of a man with or without any tricks.

He knew the second Will realised his mistake, the fresh wave of fear reaching all the way to the kitchen.

Hannibal could hear him now. Hear his quick, barely-under-control breaths slicing through the serenity of the house. His shaky footsteps began to edge towards the kitchen. A warm rush of pleasure surged through him. This was it... he was so close.

Silently, he moved back until his back was firmly pressed against the counter, knowing Will would walk straight by him in the pitch-dark. He held his breath, fingers itching to close around the younger man's slender throat.

Will stepped into the kitchen.

He edged forward into the darkness, painfully aware of the sound of his warn, old shoes against the beautiful stone tiles. Will knew he should have taken them off, but it was too late now. He couldn't afford to let his guard down for a second.

He took another tentative step, recalling his mental map of Hannibal's kitchen. He'd only visited this house a select few times, and for the longest stay he'd been having a minor seizure, so his knowledge of the layout was somewhat limited.

However, his mind was still functional enough to recall that he was currently standing in a fairly large gap between a beautiful oak dining table off to the left, and a large floating island work surface to his right. The room was huge, he estimated the gap between the table and the worktop to be about six metres, but he couldn't know for sure in his current state of complete blindness.

He blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust. After a minute or so, he could just about make out the blurry silhouette of the table. It was next the tall, floor to ceiling patio doors, and though they were obscured by heavy drapes, the barest suggestion of moonlight filtered through to give the objects at that end of the room a slight shape.

The kitchen end, however, was still heavily shadowed, all the contours of that side lay blind to him.

Will knew there to be a door on the other side of the room that led off onto another corridor, and decided to make for that.
He took a cautious step forward. Then stopped.

For some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on, the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Sweat broke out across his temple and his fear spiked. His breath caught in his throat.

Will's fingers clenched around the gun. He counted to three in his head.


He steeled himself.


He braced, ready to turn and fire.


Will whirled, levelling the gun right on eye level, and a lean figure barrelled into him from out of the darkness like a wrecking ball.

He crashed to the floor, the full weight of the figure, Lecter, falling on him and pinning him to the floor. Will panicked, he raised the gun and directed it in the general direction of his assailant, too panic-stricken to aim. The bullet whizzed by Lecter's ear, and the deafening roar from the pistol sent Will reeling.

Lecter grunted furiously, catching Will with a vicious right hook across the jaw whilst simultaneously pinning his right arm to the floor with his left. Lecter leant onto Will's wrist with a crushing weight, causing his hand to spring open.

He heard the gun go skittering across the floor.

Will kicked and thrashed, shear terror drenching his body in ice cold sweat. Lecter punched again, and again, this time in the cheek, mouth, temple.

This failing to put and end to Will's blind struggles, Hannibal moved down to Will's slender neck, his large hand wrapping easily around his throat, cutting off his blood and oxygen, causing him to choke.

Using his free left hand, Will reached up to Lecter's head and scrambled desperately to find some purchase. He punched feebly, the combination of using his weaker arm and his awkward angle giving him no real hope of causing damage. He scratched and clawed at Lecter's scalp, twisted his fingers into his hair, trying desperately to pull him off.

His consciousness quickly fading, Will let go of Lecter's hair and instead brought his hand to the psychopath's face.

He drew his hand back and slammed the heel of his hand into the bridge of Lecter's nose.



Three times.

Lecter's blood spilled out, flowing freely over his hand and Will's neck and face.

The vague shapes that Will could make out were fading fast, total blackness creeping in around the edges of his limited vision. He tried for a fourth strike. He drew his arm back, it wobbled precariously, then fell back to the floor with a soft thump.

His eye's rolled back into his head, his mouth falling open slightly as unconsciousness consumed him. The last thing he saw was Lecter leaning down over him so that their faces were a mere inch away from each other, his cruel smirk filling Will's vision. Then blackness consumed him.

Hannibal sat back triumphantly, settling on Will's prominent hips. Will's head was tilted back, barring his already bruised neck beautifully.

His lips were parted slightly, and Hannibal couldn't help himself. He leant forward, laying his lanky body out over Will's delicate chest. He had to arch his back slightly in order to press his lips gently to Will's. He brought a hand up and tenderly traced the puffy bruises forming under the beautiful man's eyes, drinking in the tastes that were layered over his angel's ever-so-slightly swollen lips.

He withdrew, and gently ran his tongue along a still bleeding cut on Will's lower lip, washing the taste around his mouth as though it were a fine wine.

Oh how he would have loved to have taken Will right then and there. He looked so beautiful... so innocent, and so pitiful, sprawled unconscious beneath him.

Hannibal purged the thoughts, chastising himself. Good things come to those who wait.

So many good things, he smiled to himself.

Sighing, he swung his legs off of Will, rose, then stooped to pick up his lifeless form. He swung the unconscious man effortlessly over his shoulder, pausing briefly to reflect on how skinny he had become.

He imagined all the things he's was going to do to Will as he carried him down to the basement, and he couldn't keep the smile off of his face.