[ Watching Hannibal's micro expressions, experience providing him a clear understanding of what other people would miss, Will sighed inwardly. Yeah, six months was a long time to expect the Ripper to remain dormant. All it took was the stress of this place, and a few rude people.
Will doesn't say anything, what can he say at this point in their relationship. Hannibal will share, or not share, as Hannibal sees fit. Hannibal knows, that Will knows. Not the specifics. Not who is in the sausage these days, but he knows someone is processed and hanging out in Hannibal's' refrigerator.
Before he can think beyond 'Ripper gonna Ripper' they are walking up to an exact replica of Hannibal's magnificent Baltimore home. Will pauses. At this point, he lives with so much PTSD it's akin to an old friend so that's not what stops him. He hasn't been back to that house since that night, and his imagination is replaying those events.
The grief surrounding Abigail's death is muted now, but never completely gone. ]
I told Jack, [ he begins in a voice so soft he might be talking to himself. Except, he knows how preternaturally acute Hannibal's senses can be. ] a part of me wanted to go with you. Not a small part, not a whisper easily ignored. I launched my boat, shortly after that conversation.
[ Why had he traversed the Atlantic in a sailboat, rather than hopping on a plane? The boat was quieter, and the extra days had given him the time he needed to finish processing it all. ]
Abigail was excellent company on that voyage.
[ Exhaling a deep breath, Will shakes himself out of the past and focuses on the here and now. Even as they stand in the kitchen, next to the counter he'd sat against, holding his vital organs, keeping them from spilling across the floor. ]
Tea sounds good. [ Something stronger sounded good, tea was a safe compromise. Will was too aware of his own mental instability in this moment, combined with the wisdom of remaining sober for this first full conversation with Hannibal. ]
cw mentions of cannibalism/murder
Will doesn't say anything, what can he say at this point in their relationship. Hannibal will share, or not share, as Hannibal sees fit. Hannibal knows, that Will knows. Not the specifics. Not who is in the sausage these days, but he knows someone is processed and hanging out in Hannibal's' refrigerator.
Before he can think beyond 'Ripper gonna Ripper' they are walking up to an exact replica of Hannibal's magnificent Baltimore home. Will pauses. At this point, he lives with so much PTSD it's akin to an old friend so that's not what stops him. He hasn't been back to that house since that night, and his imagination is replaying those events.
The grief surrounding Abigail's death is muted now, but never completely gone. ]
I told Jack, [ he begins in a voice so soft he might be talking to himself. Except, he knows how preternaturally acute Hannibal's senses can be. ] a part of me wanted to go with you. Not a small part, not a whisper easily ignored. I launched my boat, shortly after that conversation.
[ Why had he traversed the Atlantic in a sailboat, rather than hopping on a plane? The boat was quieter, and the extra days had given him the time he needed to finish processing it all. ]
Abigail was excellent company on that voyage.
[ Exhaling a deep breath, Will shakes himself out of the past and focuses on the here and now. Even as they stand in the kitchen, next to the counter he'd sat against, holding his vital organs, keeping them from spilling across the floor. ]
Tea sounds good. [ Something stronger sounded good, tea was a safe compromise. Will was too aware of his own mental instability in this moment, combined with the wisdom of remaining sober for this first full conversation with Hannibal. ]