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Chapter Text

As per usual, Will ignored his phone blathering on the bedside table, its frantic vibration growling through the wood. When it eventually went to voicemail, Jack finally sounded resigned. 

“Will, you need to grow the hell up. Answer your phone. It’s not about a case. Next time I leave a message, I’ll say what I have to say whether you want to hear it or not. You really don’t want to hear it in a voicemail, Will.”

Will grumbled, “Then tell me to my face, you ass.”

It cut off with a loud beep, and he burrowed back into bed as light exploited gaps in the curtains. The outside world would never leave him to wallow in peace, but he’d lost count of the months since Hannibal met his eyes in the snow. Will hadn’t washed his sheets or blankets since that day, even though sweat and desperation had smothered the scents he tried to keep. He only got up to tend the dogs and use the bathroom, occasionally palming water into his mouth from the tap and throwing random ingredients into a frying pan. He had anything he needed delivered and watched inexcusable days of reality TV. Suffice to say that he wasn’t doing well. 

Hannibal Lecter had taken all of Will with him and locked it away, right back in the sad excuse for a building that Will once emerged from like a chrysalis. He couldn’t go on like this. He’d spent the past several days half-heartedly researching real estate in Maine. A fresh start was his only chance at survival now, because this was barely survival. 

A knock at the door sent his dogs into a frenzy, jumping up in a horde and barking. Will stumbled out of bed to have them sit so he could answer. Irrational hope tried to spring up as he turned the knob, but he pitched black soil onto it and let it die. Squinting into the sun, his eyes eventually adjusted to reveal Alana Bloom on his doorstep. She was dressed less impeccably than usual, and the dark bags under her eyes likely involved the baby carrier by her leg.

“Hi, Will,” she croaked. He hadn’t seen her so conflicted since his own incarceration.

“I think I made it clear that you should all leave me alone, Alana.”

“You aren’t answering your phone.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Can I come in?” 

He didn’t care what she thought of him or the disgusting state of his house, and knowing her, she wasn’t going to leave. “Fine.”

She entered the living room and looked around in abject misery, not even perking up when the dogs swarmed her for pets and sniffing. When they turned their attention to the carrier, Alana pulled it closer and sighed before making herself relax. It was covered in a thin blanket and silent in sleep. 

Will glanced at it, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess the Verger baby thing worked out for you. Congratulations.”

Alana’s eyes welled up. “Morgan is at home with Margot.”

She was once again looking at Will like something to pity, and he entertained notions of finally snapping her neck. 

His hand moved around to drag down his face. “Why’re you here, Alana?”

She placed the carseat on the ground and knelt down to pull the blanket aside. Undoing the buckles, she emerged with a tiny pink newborn in a white onesie. Its glazed blue eyes were half open as it studied the ceiling, and the dogs once again crowded Alana’s legs to try and sniff. Their tails wagged and their tongues lolled, each glancing back at Will as if he’d given them a fun surprise. Their curious eyes held odd familiarity. It was how they used to look at… 

Alana took a breath, bracing herself, and a shred of knowing anxiety lodged in Will’s spine. He wasn’t quite aware of it yet, but the moment held inexplicably massive importance all of a sudden. 

“This is Leila,” Alana murmured. “She’s yours, Will. Yours and Hannibal’s.” 

Will blinked. “No.”

She shifted the baby to lie against her shoulder, bouncing her gently when she started to sulk. 

“Will…” 

“N-no, no…” Will covered his mouth, shaking violently as realization of what he’d done crashed over him. “No. No, no, no. He’s lying. He’s lying.”

Alana looked exhausted, older than her years. “Will, I’ve been with him this whole time, and we’ve done genetic testing. She’s yours.”

One-handed, she pulled folded papers out of her purse and offered them up. “These usually take a few weeks, but Jack pulled some strings. They got your DNA from old evidence storage.”

Will barely glanced at the words, numbers, and charts. He didn’t need to. 

Hannibal had all but collapsed into their first kiss that day after escaping Muskrat Farm. Will had been impulsive, dragging him down the bed to climb on top and fuck him with deep, desperate ecstasy, not a cogent thought in the world. Will had trembled with exhilarating power as Hannibal mewled and cried, grappling for Will’s shoulders and throwing his head back before either man considered how insanely stupid and reckless … 

That evening, Will panicked. He said things he shouldn’t have and it cost him everything. Now, here they were. Surely Hannibal would not have turned himself in if he’d had even the slightest suspicion… Will wanted to die as shame crashed through him, tearing him limb from limb. 

It must have been a while since Will responded to Alana, because she awkwardly cleared her throat. “I obviously can’t leave her with you, but you needed to know.”

“Is he okay?”

“Will…” 

“Is he okay, Alana!” Will shrieked. Leila whined. 

“It’s been a few days. He isn’t eating or sleeping. He won’t stop crying.”

Will Graham was going to burn the world to the ground. “Has he seen her?” 

“We can’t just –” 

“You took her away from him?” 

“Will, these are the consequences of everything he –” 

“Taking an innocent newborn from their parent is not justice , Alana!”

“Well, do you want her to grow up in a prison ?” 

Leila was wailing now, startled by all the commotion, and Alana tried to soothe her with soft hushes. Almost automatic with the universe swirling in his head, Will carefully but insistently took his daughter and held her to his chest. Her tiny little form was fever-hot with anger and solid yet soft. After months of aimlessly drifting, Will felt grounded and certain. He folded to his knees and cradled her impossibly close, whispering so Alana couldn’t understand and blinking through his tears. 

“Oh. Oh, oh, oh. Hey, it’s alright. Shhh, honey. I’m gonna’ fix everything.”

After a few moments, her cries muted into sniffles and he angled her back down to see her face. 

“Hi, Leila,” he smiled, and she blinked at him both skeptical and curious. Oh, she was already so clearly Hannibal’s, so beautiful, and it ached like rolling thunder through Will’s entire body. He took a few deep breaths, reeling as he brainstormed ways to keep his promise.

He finally looked up at a frozen Alana and asked, “Did he choose her name?” 

“Yes. Months ago.” She wrung her hands, voice dry. “The second he knew it was a girl he, um, cried for a while. I had to go outside to remember that he eats people .”

Will huffed a fond laugh to himself. Mischa. Hannibal had been thinking of Mischa. 

To fill the silence she perceived as awkward, Alana rambled, “We managed to keep it out of the news. Not even Freddie Lounds knows. I threatened to sue the staff for more than any journalist could bribe, and they all signed NDAs. I was careful bringing Leila outside and she’s been staying at the hospital. Not the BSHCI, just a normal hospital. They postponed Hannibal’s trial to avoid a media storm, but people are speculating as to why.” She trailed off like she’d run out of things to say, then softened a bit. “I’ve been as gentle as I could to him, Will. Next year, I’m going to take over as director. Whatever else he is, he’s my friend, and I was going through the same thing, so…”

Will scoffed and sneered, “It’s not the same thing. You had a castle to live in and a wife who loves you. I…I just fucking… fucked off and left him… Fucking shit.”

He’d left Hannibal to go through this alone. In prison, no less.

Alana went on. “Jack wants to put her up for adoption. Give her a comfortable life where Hannibal’s past —and yours, frankly— can’t hang over her. No one needs to know the truth.”

“No!” Will snarled. “No. She’s mine.” 

She sighed, growing frustrated and condescending as she looked around again. “Will, you’re in no state to take care of a child. You probably won’t qualify for custody given your… history.”

“I’ll get my shit together, then. I’ll do whatever I have to do.” 

“You know as well as I do that–”

“You know who this kid is, Alana? You think you know me and Hannibal Lecter? There is never going to be anyone quite like Leila again, and if you take her away from the only people who can understand her then she’ll end up with nothing but trauma. Hannibal went through it, I went through it, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen to her.”

Alana sighed. “We can stay for half an hour. After that, if you get in contact with a lawyer and… clean up, they might be able to make some kind of arrangement.

“What about Hannibal?”

“He’ll probably get the needle at the end of this, Will. You knew that from the beginning. Everyone knows who he is and what he’s done; it’s just a matter of formalities.”

Will began to rock back and forth, clutching Leila like a lifeline to smother his need to hyperventilate. She snuggled against him and he loved her so dearly.

Alana whispered, “Do you love him? After everything he did to you, do you still love him?” 

Will met her dead in the eyes and cradled the back of Leila’s head. “I didn’t know how much until ten minutes ago. I guess I should thank you for coming here.”

Alana took a long, hitched breath and closed her eyes as they spilled, angling her head away as she always did when overwhelmed. “God, Will. I can’t tell you how much I wish everything was different. I wish he’d never killed anyone and I could let you all go. I wish I could be mad at you, but I loved him once too and that doesn’t just go away.” She buried her face in her hands, dainty shoulders hunched and haggard. “I tried. I tried to end it all when Mason recruited my help. At this point Hannibal’s better off dead; he’s not even himself to play the game anymore. I want this to be over .”

Will slowly rose to his feet, concealing his fury. “I want to see him.”

“I can’t allow that. You’re… unpredictable.”

He completely ignored her. “Visiting hours are from noon to five, right?” 

She glared at him, but she perched on a precipice and was all too ready to tip. She felt bad for him, she underestimated him, and those weak spots were easy to exploit. He let the full spectrum of his grief show on his face, wide eyes pleading over quivering lips. 

“Please, Alana. I just need… closure.”

Wiping tears from her face, she knelt to pet the dogs before turning towards the porch. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone.” 

Will’s throat tightened up, ignoring Alana completely in favour of moving to curl up on the couch. He held Leila to his chest and studied the delicate slopes of her face, pale lashes and thin, tufty hair. As he tried to pry his worn and battered heart from her grip, only enough to survive a few days apart, she dug her little claws in further. 

“Leila,” he whispered. Finally, he lit up with a smile and began to cry. “Leila, I’m your dad. Well, your other dad. God, I don’t know where to start. You’re impossible. I had a chance to be there for you and I’ve already failed you. It’s never going to happen again. I’ve got you.”

She sniffled and cooed, blinking herself to sleep. Will spent the remaining time watching her, grieving that Hannibal wasn’t curled up by his side and getting much-needed rest where Will could protect him too, catch him fish, kiss his throat.

As Alana bundled Leila back into her car seat and drove away, Will expected to feel empty again. Instead, he picked up his phone and dialed a number he’d found in Hannibal’s notebook of equations. Perhaps that was a bit too convenient. 

“Chiyoh, I need your help.”

. . .

Not even a day later, she arrived with her rifle pointed at Will’s head. She didn’t knock, simply striding in indifferent to the growling of the dogs, fury left to chill in her eyes. Slowly, Will rose from the couch and held his hands in the air, feeling like a foolish teenage boy. 

“You have every right to be angry with me…” he conceded, “To hate me. I hate myself. And I know you don’t need me to help you get to him, but he’ll want to kill me on his own terms, don’t you think? I just want to get Leila back to him and apologize, and then you can decide.”

Chiyoh stared him down for an eternity of moments, eyes narrow with spite and vengeance. Finally, her hunter’s posture loosened and the barrel moved to Will’s chest. He knew better than to move an inch.

“Leila,” she breathed, finally glancing away. “Her name is Leila?” 

Will nodded, melting with fondness. He could still feel the featherlight bundle by his chest. “Yes.”

She lowered the gun entirely, but neither relaxed. “I’ve had a plan to break him out since he went in, should he find a way to call on me. He could have and I can’t fathom why he didn’t.”

“He… thought I would come. And I didn’t. He didn’t want to rely on me, but they would’ve heightened security around him when he couldn’t hide this anymore. Alana and Jack would have known he’d want to get out. Change of plans. If I had known…” 

“Don’t waste time grovelling about a past you cannot change,” Chiyoh snapped. “My plan never accounted for a child, so we’ll have to improvise on short notice. You are of some use to me alive, being familiar with the prison. Tell me everything you know about the staff, procedures, and security.”

. . .

Ultimately, it was far too easy for Will to masquerade as a nurse and venture into the maternity ward of the hospital where Leila was kept. He fought to avoid itching at his collar and bicep where cheap scrubs grated on his skin, dreading any anxious detail that may single him out. There were rows of small cradles in the nursery where newborns stayed as parents recovered, and Will carried a clipboard to look official as he scanned all their names. People didn’t question clipboards. 

Thinking of Jack’s plan to simply give Leila away, blend her into society as if it needed another Smith or Wilson… Will grit his teeth and forced himself to stay calm. Finding her quickly, covertly, and first was essential, as once Hannibal escaped their chances of going undetected would drop dramatically.

He wished he could say that some indescribable instinct drew him to his daughter, but he ended up stumbling across her, snuggled away in the back row where happy families wouldn’t notice the freak in their midst. Will had memorized her delicate features in the short visit they’d had, now lighting up with fresh waves of glowing adoration. Some nurse’s loopy handwriting read “Leila I. Graham.” He supposed they thought his name was more discreet. Leila I. Lecter-Graham. What did the “I” stand for? He craved the final piece of Hannibal’s latest puzzle. 

“Hello, sweet girl,” he whispered, eyes glittering with tears as he brushed a thumb over her soft, rosy face. “I’m here.” 

He bent to swaddle her and pick her up, tense and trembling as he prayed she wouldn’t cry, but all she did was coo softly and nuzzle in her sleep. Will allowed himself a breathy laugh of awe. His life and soul belonged to this tiny person, and he’d only seen her twice.

With maximum caution in every step, he navigated back out of the ward and then the hospital, only passing the occasional zombie-like patient or visitor in endless drab hallways. It reeked of antiseptic, metal, and old bones… like a hospital, and Leila smelled so soft and sweet, radiant amongst all the suffering. Will avoided cameras wherever possible thanks to Chiyoh’s careful planning, eventually coming out to vanish down the street. She was waiting in a nondescript car with a car seat in the back, and Will hurried to buckle Leila up and settle in beside her while Chiyoh drove. They had a bag full of supplies —diapers, formula in bottles and packages, etcetera— that Will tucked at his feet before sagging against the headrest. As Leila dozed in blissful unawareness, Will’s thoughts were reeling. Their mission was only half complete, and this had by far been the easier task. Rescuing Hannibal had to come within the next hour or two, lest anyone realize Leila was missing and alert Jack. If that happened, Jack would be prepared for anything and Will the prime suspect.

Chiyoh parked the car about a block away from the BSHCI, fingers tense around the wheel but otherwise the picture of composure. Will stared straight ahead, inviting his monster to stretch its limbs with a satisfying crack.

“If you fail in any capacity,” Chiyoh enunciated every word with decisive clarity, “I will take Leila and I will leave. I will not risk her safety or see her torn away. I can get to Hannibal with or without you. This is your only chance to remain involved.”

Will sighed. “You’re hoping I get arrested so I’m out of your way. You think Hannibal wouldn’t come for me in return.”

She stared ahead and said nothing. Grimly doing the same, Will nodded before getting out of the car. 

The walk was a quick one. Like everything else today, the outfit he’d changed into behind some bushes was understated. He climbed the steps and entered the building to meet a single security officer. This place was surprisingly well funded for a criminal mental hospital, but chronically understaffed because no one wanted to work there these days. No one was willing to spend their time within shouting distance of Hannibal Lecter, in particular. Will recalled the vapid, empty chambers that defined his own stay, and mused that it was no wonder Abel Gideon got so casually discarded.

“State your business,” the guard droned.

“I have a meeting with Dr. Frederick Chilton,” Will lied, quiet enough to evade the mics. He’d had plenty of time to determine the ideal volume. “I also have the world on my shoulders and a knife in my pocket. Mind taking me to the CCTV room?” 

The guard’s eyes widened, assessing Will’s coiled, predatory air and trying to calculate how fast either of them could spring. There was a little bit of Hannibal in Will’s eye, and the unfortunate man recognized it with his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

Will raised a brow. “If you scream or try anything, I’ll cut your throat. People might come running after the fact, but you’ll still be dead. Can you tell how easy it would be? I used to frequent this place myself, and I’m not someone you want to mess with right now, Mister Martin.”

“You know my…” 

Will grinned. “And your family. And your dog.” He gestured broadly at the room. “Come on then, I’ll follow you. Pat me down first for appearances.”

Of course, Will would never actually hurt the dog, but Martin didn’t know that.

The guard, shaking like a seismometer but smart enough not to try for Will’s pocket, obeyed before leading him through the building. They entered the cramped room full of screens where another bored employee monitored all the cameras. Will promptly snapped his and Martin’s necks, freezing in place as they toppled to the floor and he caught a glimpse of what could only be Hannibal’s cell. Its isolation and ostentation gave it away, and grainy, blocky letters stamped “4 FLOOR BLOCK 2: ISOLATION” in a bottom corner of the screen. It could have been a photo for how still it was, save for the curled form quivering on the bed.

Will couldn’t look. Not like this. Thrumming with controlled, voracious panic, he took the dead men’s security cards and shut the door behind him as he bolted down the hall. As expected, he encountered no one on the way to Frederick’s office, having planned to avoid meals and other busy timeframes. 

Distantly, it pleased him that killing the guards didn’t creep under his skin. Hannibal and Leila. The love of his life and their daughter. Will would burn the world for them, so what was a bit of convenient homicide? Hannibal may disembowel him for good this time, but at least he’d have the opportunity.

He burst into Frederick’s office and approached the desk before the fool could properly startle in his chair, throwing the shining blade against his throat and a hand over his mouth. Frederick began to whimper, muffled and useless but earnest.

“No one is coming to help you, Frederick. You know what I want from you?” 

Frederick blinked frantically, hair askew and drenched in sweat already. He shook his head. 

Will ordered, “Keys, cards, passcodes, and your fingerprints if I have to cut them off .”

Frederick whined and choked, “Okay. Okay, okay, okay!”

Will let go, still hovering the knife by Chilton’s collar. “Don’t scream. Take me to Hannibal.”

With a spluttering scoff, Frederick glared at him and fumbled in his desk for the master keys. “You really are just like him. I knew it all along. I’ll admit I didn’t think you’d get in his pants. I thought he had more self-respect than that. Now you’ve managed to set another one of you creatures loose on the rest of us. I dread how that girl will turn out.”

Will lunged for him again, causing Frederick to wail and cower against the drawers. 

“She’s a baby !” Will snarled. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t ask to be here. You still underestimate me, Frederick. You know how many times I’ve lost my family?”

“I only want what’s best for Leila. You really think a life on the run with two murderers is best for her?” 

Will hesitated for a split second, then rage overtook him like swarms of bees. Frederick fucking Chilton wasn’t going to get to him. He jammed his knife through the doctor’s gurgling throat, leaning on it with all his weight and sneering into Chilton’s bulging eyes. Slowly, he twitched to the floor and Will let him fall, then cleanly severed his right thumb and index fingers. Taking them alive would have been more satisfying, but the screams would have gotten him caught. Another moment of rummaging got him every key and card he could find, and a post it note of security codes for their respective doors. Will scoffed; Chilton hadn’t even had the foresight to memorize and destroy them.

After that, it was a cakewalk to Hannibal’s cell and the door crept open. He jammed a paperclip in the lock to stop himself getting trapped before turning to face the barren room.

“Hannibal?”

A familiar head of sable hair stood out against the trembling white lump of blankets on his bed, and Will swallowed before cautiously approaching and kneeling beside him. Hannibal’s back was turned, but he’d stiffened the moment Will arrived. 

“Hannibal, she’s safe,” he implored. “Chiyoh has her outside. We got her back for you; don’t you want to see her? Hannibal, she’s so beautiful and I’m so sorry, I…”

He turned over so quickly that Will stumbled back an inch. Hannibal’s eyes were deep pink with sorrow and exhaustion, and it took him a moment to focus on Will enough to glare at him.

“I know,” Will said, “I know you’re mad, but…”

Hannibal ignored him, sitting up and standing with remarkable grace, then strode out of the cell. Will blinked and gulped, scrambling to follow at a distance that wouldn’t get him killed. For a moment, a flash of dreadful apprehension nearly tripped him; he thought about Abigail. Hannibal would never… Will wouldn’t put it past him to see this new emotional self as weak and lash out in fear.

“Hann…” 

All he got was a glance as they both began to pick up pace and flee down the halls. An unfortunate orderly stumbled upon them with a burgeoning scream, only for Hannibal to snap their neck like a thumb flicking a dandelion. He was moving again before the body hit the ground, having barely even stopped, and a breathless Will simply ran at his heels. 

They burst into the raving orange evening, and Hannibal paused to gave Will a pointed look. Lead the way, then.

Gasping and inhaling fire, Will nodded before gesturing him down the street. Thankfully, this area was relatively secluded with a long, field-flanked driveway. Chiyoh would be waiting for them a block from the exit. Before he could get far, however, Hannibal grabbed his arm from behind and Will stumbled to a stop. Turning around, he shattered into pieces once more. Hannibal’s eyes were huge and pleading, tear-laden with hope and dread.

“Please tell me it’s not a lie,” he begged. “Will, if you’re lying I couldn’t bear it. Whatever your plans for me, execute them now instead of making me endure any more of this.”

Will braved another step closer, gently touching Hannibal’s elbow and meeting those frantic eyes with his own. He was determined to be bedrock for this man, never tearing them apart again. The sutures would be ugly and raw, but they’d remain in place this time. 

“Did they let you see her?” Will coaxed.

Hannibal shook his head and sobbed. “No. N-no. Will, they took her away. They took my baby. Everyone is always taken from me. I can’t bear it again.”

Will crushed him into a hug, rubbing his back though Hannibal didn’t reciprocate. Oh , having him in his arms again… “Hannibal. Hannibal, I promise you Leila is okay. You can see her now, okay? We just have to get away from here. They’ll kill us.”

“Leila.”

“Yeah, darlin’, yeah. Come with me?” 

Hannibal wrenched himself free and took off down the road, Will following again as he always would. As they neared the main street tying them to the rest of the world, a loud, wailing alarm began to slice the sky behind them. The fortress of metal and stone screamed as if lamenting its failure, and Will wanted to blow the place to ash. He imagined it as they vanished from its sight, echoing in his ears and fueling his pounding heart. They weren’t in the clear, wouldn’t be for hours, but the car appeared on the horizon. They skidded to a halt beside it as Chiyoh started the ignition, and Will opened the backseat door. 

Hannibal stopped, dazed and swaying on his feet with hitched breaths. Will laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, holding him to Earth. 

“It’s okay,” Will assured.

Hannibal looked at him, and they both knew in that moment that the world was about to change irrevocably. He finally collapsed into the seat beside Leila’s, and Will wished he could watch the first moment Hannibal laid eyes on her, but they were in a bit of a hurry. He shoved the door shut, scrambled into the front, and Chiyoh didn’t need to be told to drive .

. . .

A few minutes passed in absolute silence, save for the humming of the car over cement. Leila was a remarkably deep sleeper, undisturbed by the ever-fading siren or Will’s temporary absence. Will watched in the mirror as Hannibal studied her in tear-stained fascination, occasionally reaching out as if to touch before retracting the hesitant hand to sit primly in his lap. His messy hair, blotchy pink face, and soft stomach beneath the prison jumpsuit didn’t quell the dignity of his instinctual defensive mask. He couldn’t quite allow himself to believe it all, blinking heavily as his lips quivered.

“She’s real, Hannibal. You’re both safe.”

“Will…” he didn’t look up. “Oh, Will…” 

Will’s throat ached. “I’m so fucking proud of you. I’m so sorry.” 

Hannibal’s hand came up to cover his own mouth, body wracked with silent sobs. He leaned against the door, eyes squeezing shut as he rested his head on the window. Will worried that Hannibal might bleed dry of tears, but evidently he hadn’t and wouldn’t for a while. 

“It’s two hours to the cliff house,” Chiyoh offered. “We’ll switch cars in forty minutes and that’s where I’ll leave you.” 

Will whipped around to stare at her. “You’re leaving?” 

“I cannot stay near Hannibal for long,” she muttered. “His influence isn’t good for me. I help my family where I’m needed, even as a glorified babysitter, and then I go. He knows this. I will keep in contact.” 

Will admitted to himself that he didn’t really want her around, so he just nodded. When it came time to switch cars by the shadowy, secluded gravel lot where Will had left one, Hannibal hugged Chiyoh tightly and thanked her. She laid gentle fingertips on his side, making him squirm slightly before she flattened her hand there and touched their foreheads together. 

“Do right by her,” she whispered. 

Blinking rapidly, he nodded and watched Chiyoh go before turning to Will. With a small smile, he opened the driver’s side door for him and Will obeyed. Hannibal remained at Leila’s side as the darkened world ambled by, occasional flashes of golden lights streaking the scene in a quiet sense of urgency. Ten surreal minutes passed.

“You don’t need to apologize, Will.”

“I…”

Hannibal grinned, exhausted and barely awake but unmistakably happy as he huddled close to the carseat. “I’m equally responsible for the path we’ve taken and all that happened before. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Will choked up again. “Neither would I.”

“Then I suppose I need to thank you.”

“Hannibal, you’re the one who…” 

“Ssshhh…” he slurred before promptly falling asleep, and Will felt his own smile would crack the rearview mirror in two. 

In the middle of the night, he opened the backseat door and knelt at Hannibal’s side with a hand on his knee. The cliff house laid in wait, its smooth windows catching moonlight and echoing the silver waves below. 

“We’re here,” Will whispered. 

Hannibal blinked awake in an instant, adorably disheveled, and he turned to check on Leila as if he’d been doing it for years.

Will grinned. “Do you want to hold her?” 

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything,” he breathed.

“C’mon, then.” 

Will detached her seat from its base and carried her into the house, and Hannibal went for the spare key under the bench then turned some lights on inside. Setting the carrier on the table, Will gently unbuckled Leila as she began to wake and fuss. Hannibal watched over Will’s shoulder, Leila crying in frustration as she was picked up. They were small, muffled noises as she had no real lung capacity, but Will held her close and Hannibal watched in wonder.

“You’re okay, honey,” Will hushed her. “Can you wake up for me? I’m sure you’re hungry. Just give me one minute.” 

She paid Will no mind, continuing to cry and wriggle until she turned red. He hurried to change her diaper, and when she was clean in a new one he looked at Hannibal expectantly. Hannibal’s hands opened and closed at his sides until he shrugged off the scratchy jumpsuit and t-shirt, then sank into a plush sofa with a blanket and reached up in invitation. Will wouldn’t make him wait anymore, and he set Leila down in his arms.

Hannibal cradled her so tenderly, a perfect fit even as he adjusted and took a few breaths to centre himself. Skin-to-skin contact soothed them both quite quickly, but he didn’t stop trembling. His mouth opened as he took in the sight of her, and she recognized him and snuggled in as her cries faded out. Slowly, Hannibal curled his knees up by his chest to shield her more fully, leaning deeper into the couch and gazing down at her with rapture Will had never seen. 

Will croaked, “I’ll get her a bottle.” 

Hannibal glanced up with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“The house is stocked for about two months, and Chiyoh can help replenish things if we need to stay longer. No one knows this place, right? We… we should be out of the country as soon as possible, but… you just relax…”

Trembling quite forcefully himself, Will wandered to the kitchen to warm a bottle as promised, then returned before stepping back and wringing his hands. He resolved that he should go to his room and let them catch up on bonding.

“Where are you going, Will?” 

“I… figured you’d…”

“Please stay.”

Will’s heart leapt into his throat. “You want me?” 

“More than anything in the world,” Hannibal repeated. 

Will finally took his turn to sob, his share of desperate tears spilling between them. He clamped a hand over his own mouth like Hannibal had before, hugging himself with his free arm and fighting to stay upright.

“H-Hannibal,” he hiccupped. 

“Darling, please don’t cry there alone.”

Will took a hesitant step forward, and a buried instinct still prodded that this couldn’t be true. He couldn’t be here basking in the most beautiful sight he could fathom. He still half feared that Hannibal might kill him if he went near the baby. 

The couch was wide and deep enough for Will to settle along beside him, so Hannibal leaned on him instead and Will’s arms could lock around his middle. Hannibal tensed slightly as he had at Chiyoh’s touch, but Will tipped his chin to lay a boundless kiss on Hannibal’s slack mouth. It quivered through both, sealing the three of them in a safe cocoon where no eyes could intrude.

“Will.” Hannibal stared up at him like he’d painted the sky as a valentine, slow tears making their way down. 

Will kissed him again, careful of Leila nestled between them. “I’ll see you every day forever,” he whispered, “And I’ll remember this.”

“Yes.”

“Marry me? I want to be yours.”

“ Yes , Will.” 

Leila squawked indignantly, and Hannibal and Will broke apart to laugh. Will got her bottle from the side table and offered it for Hannibal to hold to her lips. She latched on with ferocity and half-open, determined eyes that made her fathers grin.

“I was much the same,” Hannibal mused with a gentle kiss to her paper-soft head, then her ear and nose. Leila gurgled with apparent approval and settled once again.

“There you go, little one.” 

Will remembered something. “What’s her middle name?” 

“Leila Isabella. Night is beautiful. In honour of our shared truths and your becoming. I also paid homage to our dear friend Mrs. Crawford with ‘Bella.’” 

Will blushed and grinned. “It’s perfect. Just artsy enough for Count Doctor Hannibal Lecter-Graham the eighth. Leila Isabella Lecter-Graham.”

Hannibal laughed sleepily and didn’t fuss. They watched her for a while, silent but for their breathing and Leila’s impatient suckles.

Will swallowed more tears and whispered, “My god, we…” 

He was at a loss. Hannibal shifted to rest his head on his shoulder, letting Will support him so he didn’t slide boneless off the couch. 

“We did, my darling. We did.”

Chapter Text

They stayed in Maryland for half a year before deciding it was time to move on. Travelling was going to be a huge risk and they worked closely with Chiyoh to make moment-by-moment arrangements. Any overlooked detail threatened to rend their family apart again, which meant that anyone who interfered would die. In the meantime, Hannibal and Will had to navigate parenting, and Will had never experienced such a rich spectrum of unpredictable emotions in his life. 

For the first few weeks, Hannibal barely let Leila out of his arms, let alone his sight. The prolonged trauma of nearly losing her had him anxious and needy, often crawling into Will’s waiting embrace in tears from a nightmare. When this happened, Will felt his own bones would slip free of his skin, tearing him apart with the intensity of his guilt and protective adoration. It was impossible to tell which would destroy him first. All he could do was cradle Leila between them and gently caress Hannibal’s face until he calmed enough to feed her or sleep. Leila herself took a while to adjust, waking at any hour of the night and crying when her parents weren’t holding her. 

Hannibal had also taken to obsessively tidying and decorating the house whenever he felt the urge, and while Will wouldn’t dare call it nesting to his face, he found it sweet to watch. Hannibal in general was a paradoxical sight: their century’s most notorious killer sweetly crooning to the tiny little baby against his shoulder, and it seemed to come to him like breathing. He struggled with the nightmares, lingering pains, and inconsistent moods, but soon enough he settled in. His hair was always messy framing the sleepy look in his eyes, and he lounged in silky bathrobes just taking in the sight of Leila, smiling whenever he had to nudge her pacifier back into place. Despite their past, he trusted Will completely and let his guard down like this more often and not. With all this said and done, Will began to relax in turn. 

It frightened him, this spell that everyone raved about when he’d never seen it until now. All the babies and parents he’d observed had been frustrated and frazzled, yelling at their other chaotic children in stores with far too many things to carry. Of course, there was no glamour in spit up or diapers or sleepless nights, but Will barely even catalogued those except to be grateful for them. Soon, three months had passed.

It frightened him that as much as he cherished his lover, he missed his monster. Hannibal and Will were both fundamentally changed; they felt more like one person than two, and on the occasional mornings in bed when they could steal a sun-soaked, languid ten minutes of kissing each other senseless… oh, Will Graham would burn down the world.  

As he rolled Hannibal over and pressed him on his back, Will had the bizarrely overpowering urge to do this all again, be there for him properly and give Leila a sibling. He was obviously getting ahead of himself, and Hannibal seemed to read his mind because he smirked, blushed, and shook his head before playfully pushing Will off. Regardless, he didn’t protest when Will gravitated above him again, arms loose around his waist while Hannibal’s own rested on his pillow. He was a wicked creature lulled into warm docility, never delicate. Honey-coloured eyes fluttered hooded, sharp, and shining.

“I love you so much like this,” Will whispered, tracing absent patterns on Hannibal’s back. “Are you happy?” 

Hannibal studied the ceiling beams in careful thought. The concept had been distant to him for so long and now seemed shallow in comparison. 

“I’m finally alive,” he replied. “My life began the day I met you.”

He leaned up to kiss Will’s strong shoulder, and Will gently nudged his forehead in return. Hannibal’s bathrobe fell to reveal his bent knee, and Will snuck a hand beneath to pet his thigh. 

“I’d have you here forever, holding the little lives we made and looking so fucking beautiful.” 

“Are you afraid for this to end, Will? This house, our pocket of the world undisturbed? We will move overseas and life will change. Leila will not remain a baby forever, and it’s unlikely we could have another.”

Will swallowed and blinked fiercely. “I shouldn’t be afraid of the end while we’ve barely started. We’ll get to see her grow up. I want the future.”

“You’ve never had anything you needed so dearly, and the road ahead to keeping it is complex,” Hannibal observed. “It’s entirely reasonable to be afraid. I’ll be right beside you.”

“Are you afraid?” 

“Since you closed your door behind you that night in the snow,” he affirmed. “I think I knew in that moment what we’d done. I wanted so badly to keep a part of you with me that when the possibility occurred to me, I behaved as if it were certain. Every day I’m grateful for that. If it had only been my life at risk, I would have ignored all the guns to follow you. I can’t tell if I knew just in time or an hour too late.”

A moment passed in trembling quiet. Will nodded in understanding and a tear fell. “Did you think I’d stop you from turning yourself in?” 

“I hoped you would, but I was prepared for either outcome.” A small grin. “Until I envisioned Leila.”

“What were you doing in the meantime? Before Jack showed up?” Will asked.

Hannibal hesitantly licked his lips and looked away. “I doubt you’ll want to know.”

“Please?” 

“I just cried, Will. I sat there by your house and cried, wanting you to take me back more than I wanted to kill you. It was not my proudest moment. Please don’t linger on it. Guilt serves no purpose now. I’ve let mine go and you must too.”

“I just wish I’d met you years ago. Maybe we wouldn’t have hurt each other so much…”

Hannibal kindly but firmly caressed Will’s face. “My darling,” he sighed, “The man I was years ago would not have given you the time of day unless you hurt me. I would find you stunning, seduce you for a night you’d never replicate, then likely walk away too naive to realize I could love you. And if you had ‘knocked me up,’ as they say, at that time I would have put an end to it before skinning you alive. We met when we were fit to meet.”

Will took this in, blinked, then laughed hysterically through his tears until he collapsed and Hannibal held him against his chest. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Hannibal chuckled and kissed his temple, just as feeble cries sounded from Leila’s cradle. Will hurried to tend to her while Hannibal took a much-needed nap. 

He changed her and dressed her in a onesie with puppy paw mittens and spots, as she had a tendency to scratch herself without them. Will laid a fluffy pastel blanket on the living room floor and set her down on her tummy. Her tiny warble of protest made him laugh, and she looked so pitiful squirming around with wiggling mittened fingers that he wanted to pick her right back up. She couldn’t stay in his arms forever, though, just as Hannibal said, so Will laid flat in front of her to get to her eye level. Blinking hugely at him, she continued to sulk and nuzzle at the blanket. Finally, she tried to lift her head, and Will rubbed her back with an encouraging smile.

“There you go, sweetheart. You’ll figure it out. I’m so proud of you.”

. . .

Six months after deeming the cliff house their home, it was time to get out of the country and settle in France, and time to execute their plan with utmost care. Chiyoh waited patiently by the front door with Leila’s car seat, and Will ran his hands through Hannibal’s hair, raining soft kisses across his face. 

“It’ll be alright, darlin’. It’s only a few days. I’m scared too.”

He was curled in Will’s arms and trembling, clutching Leila fiercely to his chest as she squirmed and reached to pat his face. When her Papa got like this, Leila’s freshly painted umber eyes grew wide with concern, and he returned a soft smile and reassuring phrases in Lithuanian, French, or Italian. He swept a careful hand through her thickening brown hair and kissed her nose, which made her giggle and bury her face in his neck.

“She has your depth of compassion, Will.”

“Empathy isn’t the same as compassion, but one can hope. I hope she doesn’t get stuck with my ‘gift.’”

“If she does, she has you to help her navigate. Either way, she’s brilliant and will do just fine.”

Will grinned, but his face fell as he glanced at the clock. He spoke gently. “They need to get going, Hannibal. It’s time. We’ll see her soon.” 

Hannibal took a deep breath and pried himself apart from Will, giving Leila one last hug and whispering to her with a frantic smile. When he handed her to Will, Will did the same and Leila sulked with worry.

“I know,” he whispered and kissed her goodbye. “I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Finally, Chiyoh took Leila and buckled her in with a pacifier, blanket, and the chewed-on stuffed frog that was surgically attached to her person these days. They had all decided that Leila was safest travelling with Chiyoh, since she was unknown to the FBI and, as messed up as it was, a single woman travelling with a baby would draw less attention than either man. She would take several unrelated flights in different directions before arriving in France by rented car. Hannibal and Will would split up, also scattering by plane, landing in different European countries and eventually meeting up at the new house by cars that Chiyoh would leave for them. Of course, throughout the journey they would all be switching outfits, demeanors, accents, and aliases frequently to scuff and blur any remaining trails. If all went according to plan, they would only be apart for a week. It also cheered Will up to remember that he’d have Winston and Buster back. 

He reflected that this was his life now: infinitely more complex and dangerous than any sane person’s should be, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t fear for himself or Leila and Chiyoh, since the latter had no reason to encounter any obstacles, and Will, while having his face plastered all over the records, was not nearly as recognizable or sought after as Hannibal Lecter.

Chiyoh took Leila and her things, then left with a solemn nod. A frozen moment later, Will collapsed into a chair and covered his mouth to avoid hyperventilating. Hannibal began to pace around the house and fight back tears, reduced to profanity.

“Fuck, Will… I can’t feel like this anymore.”

Will went to him and dragged him to bed, curling Hannibal around himself and holding on for dear life. This was going to be an excruciating week. It wouldn’t even be safe to contact one another from their layover destinations, or to carry photos that nosy TSA agents might identify. 

“Distract me,” Hannibal whispered. “Will, I need you. I feel incomplete.”

Will held him more tightly, arms winding around his middle with their fronts flush as they lay on their sides. Hannibal, having recovered from Leila’s birth very well, was a strong and solid heat that anchored Will as he matched the pace and depth of their breaths.

“I’ve wondered,” Will mused, “…what it felt like when she was still a part of you.”

“Oh, remarkable . I spent every second loving her and longing for what we have now. I’ve only just started to feel like myself again, but I doubt I’ll ever be a single entity moving forward. You and Leila will always grasp threads around me, pulling tight and holding me to Earth.”

“To lose her so suddenly after that must… god, Hannibal. When I met her, I think I felt a bit of it too. Vicariously. I’m falling apart now and It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

Hannibal cradled his face and kissed him slowly, with less lust than a need for connection. He pulled Will on top of him, spread his legs, and slipped one of them around Will’s hips in a silent plea. Will obeyed, hands trembling as they wandered. 

“Will, I need you to kiss me.”

“It’s okay,” Will whimpered. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay…”

He found that he assured himself just as much. Hannibal’s trembling gasps and exploratory touches were heavenly, caramel and starlight. They had fourteen hours before they’d leave and split up, and by the end of that time both were covered in bites, bruises, and the lingering ghosts of kisses that weighed on them like the broken moans and shouts in the air. 

. . .

Will survived the separation by compulsively checking the news every hour, releasing only an ounce of his anxiety each time he found nothing. Dimly lit red eye flights blended together until he only vaguely knew where he was going each time. 

Finally, late at night a week after their departure, he arrived at their elegant new home in the countryside and found Hannibal’s car in the driveway. He recognized the car from browsing online while they planned all this, and he didn’t even take in the scenery, throwing his own into park and hurtling inside. 

Hannibal waited for him on the couch, sitting up straight with his legs crossed neatly, dressed in a deep red waistcoat and pants with a grey shirt and sock feet. Leila lay curled in her favourite spot against his chest, bottle feeding determinedly even while half-asleep, and of course clutching her frog plushie. Hannibal smiled down at her, rocking her absently as if entranced. 

When Will entered, that smile turned to him and he made to stand up, but Will got there before he could and fell to his knees, kissing Hannibal everywhere within reach before finally crawling up beside him and claiming his mouth. 

“We’re free,” Hannibal whispered by way of greeting. “Welcome home, my love.”

. . .

The next morning, Hannibal set Leila in her new high chair with a bib that had fish printed on it, and she held a tiny plastic spoon that she seemed to think tasted fine on its own. Will shuffled into the kitchen with messy hair and serious jetlag, just as Hannibal’s head popped up from behind the counter and he smiled from ear to ear. 

“I adore it,” Hannibal announced, gesturing around the room. He set a high-tech blender on the countertop before striding over to kiss Will’s cheek. “Good morning, Will. Today is cause for celebration, and I thought we’d inaugurate the kitchen by giving Leila her first proper food. She’s more than ready, and Chiyoh was kind enough to retrieve our groceries one last time.”

Will looked at Leila, who blinked back expectantly as if she knew the plan and dared him to interfere. He chuckled. “She seems open to the idea.”

Hannibal was already flitting about, back in his element chopping assorted fruits and vegetables to take turns in the blender, carefully rinsing it out each time. At the harsh growl of the running blades, Leila began to whine then scream, banging her spoon on the tray as Hannibal paused with concern. Will hurried to stand in front of her, knelt to her level, and gently put his hands over her ears before nodding for Hannibal to continue. This time, Will protecting her, she shrieked with laughter as he leaned forward and gave her butterfly kisses. Soon, Hannibal had an assortment of pureed fruit and veggie combinations mixed with formula, arranged in labelled and portioned containers. 

Will absorbed the moments with pleasantly warm nostalgia, but there was something nibbling at him and now was the time to bring it up.

“So…” he ventured. “I guess we should have that conversation.”

Hannibal grinned over his shoulder and snarked, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hannibal.”

“I feed human flesh to lesser beings against their will, my dear. Leila is an angel.”

Will exhaled his unexpectedly intense relief. “Okay.” 

“It would bother you if I did.”

“I think she should choose. A long time from now.” 

Hannibal nodded seriously. “I agree. Though I would like to start hunting again once we settle here. Adopt a new modus operandi that no one would trace back to us. I miss it. For a while I wondered if I’d truly ‘gone soft,’ but I find myself hungry. Would you join me?” 

Will opened his mouth, then closed it, fretfully examining the anticipation that squirmed around his ribs like vines. He’d sort of put these thoughts on the backburner as of late, but he remembered killing Frederick Chilton and those guards without thinking twice. It had felt so good , but that was to save Hannibal and Leila. Before that, he’d always had the plausible deniability of self-defense or proxy. Could Will murder in cold blood just because he felt like it? Because he wanted to ? Because it would make Hannibal proud?

Rounding the counter and looking his monster in the eyes, Will cupped his jaw and pecked kisses on high cheekbones. 

He settled on, “I’ll think about it, okay? I won’t stop you, and I’ll eat whatever you cook. I love you, but that’s the most I can promise right now. Maybe when Leila’s a bit older…” 

Hannibal nodded and returned his kiss, accepting, then picked up the peach and apple mush with a mischievous, eager smile. “Shall we?” 

Leila was kicking her feet and babbling, glaring at them as if she understood the conversation. Hannibal laughed and went to sit beside her, gently pried the spoon from her grip while she scowled, then dipped it into the mixture and held it to her mouth. She then just looked confused, blinking at him and almost insulted by the lack of a bottle. She was already so expressive and her personality grew by the day, and Will would gladly spend forever watching her discover new textures, sights, and sounds. It reminded him how beautiful the world could truly be, and she’d clearly inherited that burning curiosity from Hannibal. 

Once she cautiously opened her mouth and tasted the mush, staring at him in search of security and feedback, she banged her hands on the tray and giggled. Hannibal showered her with praise and featherlight kisses, scooping her up for cuddles and twirling her in a circle, and Will folded them both in a hug full of laughter.

The doorbell rang and he tensed, but Hannibal went to answer it. “That would be Chiyoh with your dogs,” he explained. 

Will practically tripped over himself to meet Winston and Buster at the door, and they climbed all over him with slobbery kisses and indignant swats for having been abandoned. The rest of the pack had been carefully rehomed and Will would miss them, but seven dogs, a baby, and Hannibal Lecter in one house wasn’t feasible. 

“I’m sorry, guys,” Will laughed. “Missed you too. Yeah, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I got a bit busy. I have an excuse. You remember Leila.”

Hannibal raised a brow at that. “They do?” 

“Oh, yeah, Alana brought Leila to my house. That’s when I first met her. The dogs recognized her before I did. Recognized your scent, I guess.”

“Alana did that for you?” 

“Yeah. I think she felt guilty. She said I needed to know.”

Hannibal hummed and seemed to think aloud. “I may have to break my promise just this once.”

“What promise?” 

Hannibal explained his petty vendetta with Alana, and Will rolled his eyes. He didn’t end up mentioning how Alana said they’d be unfit parents; despite everything, he wanted her to live and that now looked likely. He still didn’t care what she thought. 

While Winston was more reserved, Buster yipped and toddled around Hannibal’s ankles, Leila making excited grabby hands and trying to hurl herself down. Hannibal held her closer and drew himself up straight, looking down his nose. 

“Not right now, my love. Maybe once Mr. Buster has calmed down.”

He shot a pointed look to Will, who snickered and corralled the dogs into the backyard. This would take some adjusting and compromising, but they’d been through crazier things. 

. . . 

Weeks passed, and Will grew to love their new home as much as the cliff house. It was cozy and light, spacious without sprawling and surrounded by rolling fields of green and gold. Anything could happen here, the air clean and open as it whistled through trees.

One night, Hannibal emerged from the shower in the pale blue version of his favourite thin robe, plucked a book from Will’s hands where he’d been reading on the bed, and straddled his hips for a long, giddy kiss. His face was flushed and glowing, his mouth lax with unmistakable joy. Will melted into the pile of pillows, arching closer and mumbling sultry nothings. Their huge bedroom window displayed a vast night sky of spilled stories, all etched into ancient light and whispering eagerly like his heartbeat.

“Will?”

“Mmhm?

“It seems we’ve established a pattern.”

“Of what?” 

Hannibal bit his own lower lip, and dammit if he didn’t manage to pull that off, but a hint of nerves played underneath that prompted Will to caress his sides. Hannibal shivered, moaning gently and melting into the touch.  

“We’ve established a pattern of impetuous and rather prolific love-making when we fear we might lose each other. Do you recall the night we spent before leaving America? Approximately a month ago?” 

Will chuckled and kissed along his throat. Hannibal seemed like he was waiting for something.

“Yes, of course I re–”

The words died as Will caught up to the conversation, and he paused to look back into thrilled, hopeful eyes. Something in his chest flooded and burst, mingling with those stars like warm, euphoric bees, and he dissolved into unstoppable tears before dragging Hannibal down to hold him.

Chapter Text

Retirement treated Jack Crawford well. Only a week after Lecter’s escape, he’d been quietly disgraced by the FBI and sent on his way, drowned out in a media frenzy that lasted months. He preferred to think of it as the retirement he would have taken anyway. His consolation was that the girl never made it into the news; she deserved a chance away from the likes of Freddie Lounds. 

Never let it be said that Hannibal and Will weren’t full of surprises, for better or for worse. 

Jack settled down in a modest bungalow in Florida, content to dither about with America’s old men by golf courses and beaches. He refused to end up in a retirement home, resolving to eventually die on his porch overlooking the sea. He sat there each morning and longed for Bella, and she would sit by his side with her sketchbooks and potted plants, smelling as always of the herbs he’d learned how to name just for her. He made boisterous friends and chatted with interesting ladies, but none of them quite scratched his itch for adventure. 

So, he splurged on a good laptop and took up creative writing. A life of high tension, the satisfaction of the chase and a job well done, his insider knowledge of procedure and criminal minds… it all bled onto the page through the scar on his neck and produced some pretty decent crime thrillers, if he did say so himself. It wasn’t quite closure, but people seemed to like them and he punched out a few bestsellers. 

He didn’t write under a pseudonym. He probably should have.

A few years into this new venture, he checked his mailbox. Inside lay a bunch of flyers, coupons, a small package, and a creamy envelope sealed with wax.

He paused, hunched over as he looked into the dark cavern. No address or return address on either item of note, only his name in familiar calligraphy. It tossed him back like a wave into that harrowing night so long ago, the night he’d seen Lecter for what he was. Jack still dragged the parcel and letter out and settled on the porch with them, scanning the nearby area and finding no one. The package contained a copy of one of Jack’s own novels, whose protagonist he’d projected onto… just a bit. Hannibal and Will had signed the title page, and he pictured them snickering as they did it. Next, he read the letter.

Our dearest friend, Agent Crawford, 

Or perhaps you’d like to know that we refer to you as “Uncle Jack.” Leila thinks quite highly of you. 

Congratulations on your blossoming new career. You’re very talented, and we’re thrilled that you’ve found happiness elsewhere. We certainly have. Rest assured that we have no plans to call on you or the lovely Verger-Blooms. We propose laying the past to rest, and it seems you’ve already found a way to memorialize and process it. We eagerly await your next installment and wish you only the best. Thank you for barging into our lives uninvited and offering us the most wonderful of gifts. 

Sincerely, 

Hannibal, Will, Leila Isabella, & Nicholas Lecter-Graham.

(And, of course, the dogs)

Finally, there were two photos enclosed. Jack could only shake his head in disbelief. In one, Hannibal and Will appeared to have just woken up in bed, and a beaming Will held the camera up for a selfie. They seemed to age backwards, the bastards. In his other arm was Leila, just over a year old, and Hannibal cradled a baby that couldn’t be more than a week. They looked so soft and sweetly happy, Hannibal and Leila almost camera-shy, and Jack mused that life was not fair nor made any sense; he’d spent all his long years fighting to be righteous, yet the two monsters he’d brought together got everything he’d ever wanted.

In the second photo, Hannibal and Will leaned close on a blanket in a vibrant garden, and a toddler who must be Nicholas slept soundly in the shade between them. Leila was standing with a big grin, offering them handfuls of flowers. He thought about reporting them all and turning this evidence in, but what good would it do? They wouldn’t be found. 

He exhaled heavily, rubbed his temple, and didn’t think of them again for fifteen years.

. . .

Leila took a deep breath of salty beach air, admiring the musk of palm trees and the sweetness of tropical flowers. She mourned that this would soon be sinking into the Atlantic as the air weighed heavier and heavier. The populations of Florida and other coastal places were decreasing. The bluff where she’d begun her life was steadily eroding, the property no longer safe. Human recklessness and greed were gnawing the continents away piece by piece, but Leila’s papa had walked her along that old cliff in a sling every day, whispering stories of places far away where they would be free, safe. She knew that technically, she’d been born in a prison, but she preferred to imagine the cliff house. She didn’t remember it, but she could imagine. The ocean always beckoned to her like a friend. 

Jack Crawford’s beige front porch wore only a rickety plastic chair and some half-dead potted plants, but Leila grinned at the effort he’d made. She rubbed the back of her neck, scanning the property and twisting her dark, sweaty curls. Finally, she hit the dusty doorbell, and it sang a tune that she mimicked just for fun. It took a moment for Jack to answer, hunched over his walker but adamant all the same. He was likely pushing eighty. When he set his eyes on her, recognition dropped his jaw and the flood of emotions warring with logic washed over her like rain. 

“Hi, Jack. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” he sighed.

Excitement rose her up on her toes for a second. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” 

Reluctantly, he chuckled and shuffled to let her pass. “Alright, alright.”

She obliged, drifting inside and turning in a circle to assess the house. It was small but tidy, habited by books that he’d read and written, an ancient laptop and radio, and knick knacks that had obviously been gifts. 

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Jack asked. “Or… I don’t know, chips? I don’t get much company these days.”

Her eyes widened with mischief as she considered this. “I was never allowed to have those. Plenty of great desserts, mind you, but no chips. Dad would try to sneak some but Papa threw them out.”

Jack scoffed and poured some sour cream and onion into a bowl. “That sounds about right.”

Taking it, she popped one into her mouth and barely managed not to flinch. She could see the appeal if one didn’t know better, but all she tasted were chemicals and the approximate consistency of cardboard.

“Not a fan?” 

“Thank you for your hospitality, but no.”

“Picky eater?”

She grinned and dragged the moment out. “No.”

He didn’t react to this either way. Jack ultimately settled in an armchair and Leila on one end of a sofa, hands folded in her lap with her white summer dress smoothed around the cushion. They studied each other with curiosity before Jack spoke again.

“Did they treat you well?” 

“Yes. Always.”

He rubbed his jaw and looked out the window. “I wanted to give you a normal life. An emotionally sustainable, safe and healthy life.”

Leila leaned forward. This Jack character was awfully presumptuous, but she wanted to be kind to him. She could be scathing when she liked, but today was a day of cleansing and camaraderie between humans.

“I love my life, Jack. My childhood was idyllic. I don’t think I’d ever forgive you if I’d spent it wondering where I came from.”

He took a moment to process this, leaning on his fist and still staring outside. Finally, he nodded, and she could see him letting go of tension he’d long ignored. When he looked back at her, it wasn’t with the shadow of his failure looming over him, but a neutral curiosity. She could see him as the hardened agent storming crime scenes with guns and badges blazing; he was bedrock, but over the years he had finally learned when to quit. Her eyes roved over the nasty scar on his neck, and she hid a cheeky smile beneath steepled fingers.

Jack coughed into his fist and grunted, “And your brother?” 

“Sibling. Nicky’s studying abroad. The university type. They’re… shockingly normal, all things considered. I would swear they’re adopted if they didn’t have Dad and I’s hair… What?” 

Jack was grinning and shaking his head. “All this time I think I’ve pictured you like the Addams Family.”

Leila shrieked with laughter. “We’d never have such a dusty house!”

“So what have you been doing then, if you aren’t in school?” 

“Travelling. It’s been incredible seeing and doing things out on my own. Papa cried a lot, but he agreed that I had to do it. I don’t regret a thing. So far I’ve been to Japan, Argentina, Lithuania and pretty much everywhere else in Europe… After this I’m going to New Orleans, then maybe Maryland… You aren’t going to track me and rat us out, are you?” 

Jack sighed. “I’m not FBI anymore. It’s none of my business. Taking my life back is the only bird I care to flip your parents. No offence.”

Her eyes wandered to that scar again. “None taken. Tell me about the time you beat up Papa.”

This time, he chuckled as if the memory was fond. “Leila, I did it twice .”

She leaned forward in her seat, and they shared stories until long into the night. When it was time for her to leave, she gave him a hug and a smile. 

“I’m glad I got to meet you, Uncle Jack.”

He patted her on the back. “Yeah, get out of here. Tell them I said hello.” 

“Will do.”

“Will I see you again?”

Leila smiled, unable to repress the familial affection she’d resolved not to develop. “I might stop by if you promise some better refreshments.”