(Two years later)

Frederick Chilton, finding that, once he began to write his premier book on the serial killer Hannibal Lecter, he had next to no talent for the written word, chose instead to rely heavily on the words of others. One particular quote on page two-hundred-and-fourteen generously paraphrases J. Robert Oppenheimer: "The optimist believes we live in the best possible of all worlds. The pessimist fears this is true.

Will Graham vows never to read anything published on Hannibal Lecter, especially any piece written by Chilton, so he will never run across the quote. Still, as he accompanies the smug doctor down several flights of stairs to the lowest floor in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he considers all the possible timelines and worlds that were discarded to allow for this one moment.

This is not the best possible world. This Will Graham knows for sure. Back at home in Florida with Molly and Walter, where the veil is thick, Will can pretend, but he should have known that Jack Crawford would come calling sooner or later. Will clutches his case file and listens to Chilton drone on and on as the doors between them and Hannibal Lecter become fewer and fewer.

"Some of the staff are curious," Chilton says. "When you saw Dr. Lecter's murders, their 'style', were you able to reconstruct his fantasies? Did you identify with him?"

Will doesn't answer. He wouldn't have time to even if he chose; they've reached the maximum-security section of the hospital, and soon the steel door slides shut behind him, blocking of Chilton, blocking off the world.

Will notices that his hands are trembling, just as they did when he first laid eyes on the bedroom in the Leeds' home. He takes a deep breath to quell the tremors and begins to walk slowly down the hallway. He sticks close to the wall, refraining from looking into the cells he passes, though he can still hear noises. He blocks them out until he reaches the very last cell on the left.

Hannibal lies, seemingly asleep, on his cot through two inches of bulletproof glass. Will exhales shakily, forcing himself to focus on the other man.

"I can still remember the way you taste, Will," Hannibal says cordially after only a few seconds. Will swallows and looks uncomfortably away.

"Doctor Lecter, I - " He begins but is interrupted.

"Faintly metallic," Hannibal recalls, sitting up slowly, "like blood." His maroon eyes are like chips of glass, reflecting everything. Will sees himself in them.

"I need your help," Will says evenly.

"As you so often do," Hannibal sighs, rising from his cot. Despite the Spartan jumpsuit he wears, he still appears refined and capable. "You're looking well. I was disappointed to learn of your retirement, but to each his own, I suppose."

To each his own. Will remembers when the same words were spoken nearly three years ago. He remembers everything; the events of that one night are forever seared into his memory. He remembers how Hannibal tastes, too.

"You've put on weight," the doctor observes. "Not much, mind you, just enough to look healthy. Have you finally settled down? Have you found yourself someone willing to curl up with you at night?"

"I came about Chicago and Buffalo," Will says, pointedly ignoring the question.

"Ah…" Hannibal lifts his chin a fraction of an inch, lets his eyelids droop in understanding.

"I assume you've read about it."

"Of course. I can't take clippings; I'm not allowed scissors." Hannibal takes a step forward so that he and Will are mere inches apart. If it weren't for the glass, Hannibal could reach out and touch him. Will refrains from stepping away. Hannibal grins at his obvious discomfort. "You want to know how he's choosing them, don't you?"

"I thought you might have some ideas."

"I have many. For example, I don't believe our friend likes being called 'The Tooth Fairy'." Hannibal replies, stepping away from the glass.

"Interesting idea."

"Not idea, fact. Do you have the case file?"

"Yes."

"May I see it?"

Will crosses wordlessly to one side of the cell and opens the sliding drawer. Hannibal mirrors his movements, bringing them oppressively close once again. Will stuffs the case file into the drawer.

"River water," Hannibal says suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"That's what you taste like, in addition to metal. Pine too, and chamomile tea."

Will slams the drawer closed, but Hannibal doesn't make any motion to retrieve the file. He meets Will's gaze as if daring the other man to tear his eyes away.

One, two, three…

"Why should I help you, Will?"

Will swallows, refusing to blink. He thinks of all the other timelines that have been passed over to make room for this one. How easy it would have been to live through any other series of events if it hadn't been for one deciding moment, one word, one kiss.

"Please," Will whispers, "Hannibal."

The doctor smiles, and without looking away, picks up the case file.

"That's more like it."

… Four, five, six.