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Will's first steps as a free man are blocked by Jack Crawford, cocky bastard, leaning on the banister of the stairs that lead up and out of the BSHCI.
"You need a ride?"
"Fuck you."
Crawford is more surprised than he lets on, but presses on. "We found Miriam Lass. Alive."
"Don't care." Will takes the stairs two at a time. Crawford calls his name behind him. Will doesn't stop.
~~~
The cab pulls up to the house behind a familiar blue car. It's sooner than he expected. Even as she welcomes him home, on his knees and distracted by the wave of dogs spilling from his door, he can feel the hostility pouring off of her.
"Thank you for taking care of them. They seem happy." He finds himself with a handful of new dog. "Who's this?"
"Applesauce. She's mine. She likes applesauce. I rescued her," she says as she leashes the dog and pulls it away from him, which almost hurts worse than her tone.
He tries to play it off, a little diplomacy to keep the peace for as long as they're in spitting distance of each other. "Picking up some of my bad habits?"
"Picking up your good habits." He watches her brace herself. There will be no detente today. "You challenged my whole framework of assumptions about the way you are. The way I think you are."
"Of course, you are the expert on who I am."
She winces, unprepared for him to push back. Good. "I was wrong about you."
"Because you didn't believe me? Or in me? Because you let me question my own sanity, my sense of reality?"
"Because you tried to kill Hannibal. You're wrong about him, Will."
"So I've been told."
"What was done to you doesn't excuse what you did."
"What I did? I spoke to a mental health professional, again, despite my misgivings, again, and ended up accused of murder, again. Maybe people should listen when I say therapy's not for me."
"Are you—" She reins in her shock and asks the question she came for. "Are you going to try to hurt Hannibal again? Is he safe?"
He catches what she's not saying. "Don't worry, he's all yours. As soon as the lawyers are through, I'm moving. Go ahead and tell him, if you'd like."
She nods curtly, indignant at being sniffed out, still tender about the relationship.
Will stops her before she passes him. "Leave her."
"What?"
"She's part of the pack. They're family. She should stay with them."
"She'll get over it," she says.
He shrugs and herds his pack inside, not waiting to see her off.
~~~
Crawford keeps him in the loop via voicemail, which can't be entirely legal or ethical. He tries to tempt, because he knows he can't push. He swings big with the news that Frederick Chilton has skipped town and left behind a gruesome crime scene.
Will already knew this because Frederick Chilton had shown up in Wolf Trap, in his flashy, easily identifiable car, covered in blood and begging for help. Will had stashed the car in a storage unit not far from a major airport, and the body beneath a layer of new concrete in his shed.
Crawford still shows up at his door, hat in hand, asking him to take a look. Not to reconsider his accusations against Lecter, of course, but because he thinks the scene will whet Will's appetite, draw him back into the hunt.
Will declines to speak without a lawyer present and shuts the door in Crawford's face.
~~~
Hannibal keeps the office dark at this hour. He'll enjoy a glass of wine and good music, maybe a book, while he waits for the knock at the door. It won't be tonight, or even next week; Will needs time to lick his wounds and rationalize his decision to return. But it won't be forever, so for now, Hannibal keeps the 7:30 appointment with himself.
Except there is a knock at the door tonight.
Before he can rise to answer it, Alana has opened the door and stepped in.
"Hi. I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
She is.
He had requested space after the shocking news about Chilton, who was proving to be unexpectedly (but entertainingly) elusive. Renewed suspicions that lingered despite the bloody scene in the man's kitchen, fresh grief at the horror of what he must have done to Will's fragile psyche, guilt at feeling they'd allowed it to happen – he'd even cited ethical concerns at her, due to her involvement in the investigation. He'd cleared his social calendar so that Will could find him unguarded, laid it on thick, and yet here she is.
"No. Please, come in."
"You mentioned using Will's appointment time as a kind of meditative space." She approaches, trying to read him. "I thought you might want some company, all things considered."
"You're feeling protective again."
"It's been...a lot." He waits for her to continue; she's not one to beat around the bush, but she does like to feel out the edges of a situation before jumping in. "I asked him if you were safe. When I dropped the dogs off."
"From him? Or for you?"
She smiles sadly and sinks gracefully onto the chaise. "Both? He said you're all mine. He's planning to move. Wanted my dog." For a moment, she's miles away, and oblivious to the dismay she's caused. "She does miss the pack."
"He's leaving?"
"Might be the best thing for him. Get away from everything that's happened, get all of it out of his head. Not just the cases and Chilton, but you, too – all his ideas about you." She's picked up on his discontent, but misread it entirely. "You won't have to deal with him again."
She accepts a drink; he accepts an invitation home.
~~~
Will leaves the lights off as he shuffles towards the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of milk and taking a swig.
"The same unfortunate aftershave, too long in the bottle."
Will doesn't flinch. He's proud of that. "Kill me and get it over with, or get out of my house."
Hannibal flicks on the light, then reaches down to unhook Applesauce's lead.
"From framing me for murder to framing me for dognapping?" Will taps his leg and she comes for skritches. "A crime I actually have committed."
"She's family. Families belong together." Hannibal sits at Will's small kitchen table and gestures to the chair opposite. "Shall we talk?"