"I come all the way here to see you, and you spend the night at your computer."

"I was bored, and you weren't sure you'd be able to make it."

"Mmhm."

Elliot flicks his gaze from the computer screen to where Tyrell lies, stretched out on his bed. His lips twitch into an awkward smile before he returns to the lines of code glowing on his screen. "I'll be done soon. I don't want to let it slip."

"Who is it?"

"Some guy. Ivan Korhonen."

"And what's so special about Ivan?"

Elliot shrugs, one shoulder lifting as his fingers continue to type. "A lot of protection for a personal hard drive. Makes me think he's hiding something."

"Like what?"

"Could be anything," Elliot tells him. "Or nothing."

Tyrell smiles at him but doesn't respond. Instead, he adjusts his body so he's lying on his back, face turned to the dirty ceiling. He listens as Elliot works, the tapping of the keyboard oddly comforting as he relaxes into the mattress.

They're like that for a while, Tyrell almost dozing off as Elliot does his thing. He would've, had it not been for Elliot's quiet Found it.

"Found what?"

"The folder."

"What's in it?"

There's a pause before Elliot replies, filled with the clicking of a mouse. "Pictures."

Tyrell sighs, turning his head where it rests against Elliot's pillow to look at him. "It's not child porn, is it? That's not really what I came here for."

"It's not child porn," Elliot answers, amused. "Looks like a couple on holiday."

"That's boring."

Elliot hums, noncommittal. The protected folder is filled with hundreds of pictures that he flicks through quickly, looking for the incriminating content – if there is any. All he can see is pictures upon pictures of a holiday; photos of vast landscapes and ancient architecture.

The couple in question look vaguely familiar, almost as if he'd passed them on the street once, but he pays it no mind; choosing instead to continue looking through the photos.

A scruffy looking man lying in the middle of a pile of dogs. The same man waist deep in a lake. The same man again, looking directly at the camera and laughing; the sky a darkening pink behind him. Another, this time with his lips pressed to a clean shaven cheek.

Elliot sighs, bored, but continues to sort through them.

A face pressed against pristine white sheets, nothing visible save a closed eye and a mop of curly hair. A man bent over a kitchen table, the shot focused on the curve of his back. A golden corgi running around in mud. Two hands intertwined, resting atop a black clad knee; matching silver bands gleaming in the sun light.

"Anything?" Tyrell asks from behind him.

"Not yet."

A face squished in the crook of a neck. A silhouette of two men kissing. A wet dog, tongue sticking out at it looks up at the person behind the camera. A man, face splattered in red, standing in front of a—

"What the fuck!" Elliot yells, standing from his chair and moving away from the screen.

Tyrell jumps from the bed in an instant, moving to stand directly behind Elliot. He squints to look at the screen, an odd puff of air escaping his mouth as he sees what's there.

"What the fuck," Elliot repeats. It's not so much a question as it is a statement of disbelief. "That's not a…"

"That's a body," Tyrell confirms, swallowing around the nausea rising in his throat. "Mutilated, but a body."

When it becomes apparent that Elliot won't move, Tyrell claims his previous seat. Reaching for the mouse, he clicks to the next picture.

It's a close up of a body, mutilated beyond recognition. Blood covers everything, the ground, the skin, the utensils that sit impaled through flesh.

Disgusted, he clicks again. It's another of the same scene, this time showing two men standing in front of it. Their pride is evident, as is their love for one another. One man has his face pressed to the others, bloody lips pressed against a forehead.

Tyrell moves to the next one; the same shot but taken a few moments later. It shows a little more of their faces, and Tyrell's mouth drops open in recognition.

"Elliot," he says slowly, turning to glance up at him. "That's Hannibal Lecter."

Elliot's brow furrows. "Who?" he asks, and Tyrell looks at him in disbelief.

"Are you serious?"

Elliot shrugs again, looking away from the computer screen.

"Doctor Hannibal Lecter," Tyrell repeats. "Hannibal the Cannibal. Surely not even you zoned out through that news story."

Hannibal the Canni— Oh. "Shit."

"Yeah," Tyrell murmurs, returning to the screen and flicking through the next set of pictures. They continue to show Hannibal and Will; covered in blood and basking in a murderous afterglow. A low whistle leaves Tyrell's mouth as he moves through them, returning to shots of an almost ridiculously domestic life. "I thought the news amped the whole 'Murder Husband' thing, but it looks like they were right."

"What do we do?"

"There's a number," Tyrell says as he looks at more pictures. "They're on the most wanted. There's some guy you're supposed to call. Or email."

Minimising the screen, Tyrell turns to where Elliot stands on the other side of the room. "Are you alright?"

Elliot nods jerkily. "Just not what I expected to see. What guy?"

"We don't have to call anyone, you know. We could just pretend we never saw it."

"And what? Let them go free?"

"Do you really want to get involved with that?"

"We can send an anonymous email. Find me the guy."

Tyrell shrugs and turns back to the screen, getting up the relevant page.

Half an hour later sees Elliot press send on an email to an Agent Jack Crawford, the pictures and a brief explanation enclosed.

By the time the information reaches the news, both of them are too wrapped up in each other to care.