Chapter Text
Now
“Yes.”
Hannibal Lecter tilts his head, considering his visitor. "Will you be elaborating?” he asks, his tone flat, indifferent.
“Yes! Dr Lecter,” the man’s eyes glow, catching the light from the fire. "Yes! The answer to your question.”
"I fail to recollect asking a question."
"Oh, come now, Dr Lecter. The question. The question that sticks in the back of your throat. The question that lurks just in the periphery of your vision, murmuring in your ear as you drift into sleep, only to startle you awake, to cower in the darkness."
Hannibal shifts his gaze to his wine, only the subtle clench of his jaw betraying the mask of apathy he has fashioned.
“Yes. The question, Dr Lecter,” he repeats, savouring the growing tension, “Am I to be the instrument of your undoing, your downfall, your death?"
Hannibal meets his eyes but remains silent.
“Yes, I am Dr Lecter." With madness dancing in his eyes, he leans forward, his lips stretched into a demented grin. "I suggest you make peace with your gods and your demons.”
*************************************************************************************************************************************
One month earlier
Will Graham looks at the mangled form on the floor. "Are you sure he was alone?"
"Chiyoh has been tracking him for days; she assures me he was a lone assassin."
"Alana?"
"Conceivably."
Will crouches to get a closer look; the neck is set at an impossible angle, the throat a bloody crater. "You broke his neck and ripped out his oesophagus, Hannibal; a bit of overkill, don’t ya think?"
"I confess, I did rather get caught up in the moment."
“That’s all well and good, but I’ve just re-varnished this floor.”
“I apologise for my lapse of judgement, mano meilė.” Hannibal places his hand on the back of Will’s neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. “In my fervour, your exquisite restoration of our floors escaped me.”
Will leans into his touch. “It would appear so,” he smirks, looking up at Hannibal, who adopts a suitably contrite face. “Okay, let's get rid of this, and then we can discuss our next move.”
“A discussion is certainly warranted. Tell me, Will, what are your thoughts?”
"We must return to where our story began.” Will rises to his full height and places a hand on Hannibal’s chest. “Time to fulfil your promise, Dr Lecter."
***********
He watches the girl hold the door to the luxury apartment building open for the elegant blonde woman with the cane. By habit or instinct, the woman glances behind her, the sun glinting off her designer sunglasses, before entering.
“Hello, Dr Du Maurier,” he mutters, his hands tapping the steering wheel.
A sudden movement behind him catches his attention, and he turns to look at the large, bulging sack on the floor of the van. An amused grin spreads across his face as it starts to jerk and twitch. The bound feet of its occupant flail helplessly, pounding against the vehicle's metal wall, dull thuds that echo within the confined space.
“Hey, hey, this is a rental,” the driver shouts, irritated. “C’mon, be cool, man!”
There is a muffled sound in response, quickly followed by a flurry of movement and more thrashing.
“Excuse me?” the man makes an exaggerated motion of cupping his ear. “I know you can’t see me, but I’m being fucking hilarious.”
The indistinct sounds grow louder as the sack rolls over, gaining momentum until it crashes against the doors at the back of the vehicle.
“Excuse me” is such a weird expression, don’t ya think? Why “Excuse me”? I’m the one speaking clearly. You’re the one who's mumbling; it should be “Excuse you”, am I right?”
Placing his arm along the backrest, he cocks an eyebrow at his companion. “Nutin'? Not much of a conversationalist, are ya? Okay, so you're bound, gagged and stuffed into a sack, but ya could at least make an effort. Not gonna lie, dude, kinda rude.”
As he turns back in his seat and prepares to close his eyes, he catches sight of the girl from earlier leaving the apartment building.
He takes out his cell phone, quickly types a message, and receives a reply almost immediately.
Chuckling, he tosses his cell onto the passenger seat and turns to address his captive: ”Oooohhhh, Dr Du Maurier gotta surprise comin' to her.”
The bag twitches and rolls over once more before coming to a standstill against the van's wall. “Yeah, you rest now. You’re goin' to need your strength, mate.”
Putting the van into gear, he pulls into traffic and follows the girl.