It was fairly early into the investigation that they found Dawn McCade. She was a simple kind of brute, Will thought, a woman who derived pleasure from the basic act of braining her victims with hammers until they were nigh on unrecognizable. It was inevitable that they would find her.

Unfortunately, finding her didn't mean catching her, as the gun McCade trained on them and Hannibal would indicate. "Hey, cops," McCade lilted, with a broad sort of smile. "Isn't this fun?" She cocked the gun. "Give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right now."

"I will admit," Hannibal said, "I am surprised to find you armed with a gun."

"Oh, it's less fun, but it's easier," McCade said airily. "People take a gun more seriously, too. So, first things first." She approached Will, handgun readied a foot from his face. "Drop your gun on the floor and kick it towards the wall."

Will felt the sick tilt that usually indicated things were going to bend horribly in his mind. This is NOT THE TIME. As usual, he had no say in the matter. "I think we can talk this through, Ms. McCade," he started.

McCade switched her aim to Hannibal. "I'm going to count down from five. Five…"

"You would add the deaths of two associates of the federal government to your list of murders," Hannibal said, apparently calm, somehow. "Am I understanding you correctly?"

"Why not?" She eyed Will. "Go on. Do it."

Will took out his gun, watching as she moved the gun back to him, then dropped it on the floor. He gave it a kick and watched his hopes of a bloody but easy resolution slide awkwardly across the floor.

"Great," McCade said. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way. Let's have some fun."

Hannibal watched her with an expression Will had never seen on his face. The light in the room started to dim, and Will felt cold, barely registering what Hannibal said in answer. "What do you mean to do?"

McCade pulled up a chair and aimed the gun at them. "I have an idea or two," she said. "Let's start with the easy part. You, the one with the accent." She gestured with the gun to Will. "Take his clothes off."

Will blinked. The light from the overhead light didn't come back, the room lit by bright but silvery moonlight instead. He opened his mouth to protest, but Hannibal was approaching him. "Hannibal," he started.

"Undress him," McCade said, "or I'll kill him in front of you."

Hannibal's eyes looked black in the moonlight, but they were soft. "Will," he said, an apology clear in his voice as his fingers began to work the buttons on Will's shirt.

"No," Will voiced. He could feel it landing on his mind like a ship to shore, the touch of horror disembarking, spreading. "Please." But he lost his shirt, his undershirt, and he felt so terribly cold as Hannibal pulled down his pants and boxer briefs.

"Good," McCade said, tone breathier now. "You're gonna fuck him. Suck his cock."

Hannibal looked into Will's face, searching it for something, but as Will looked back he saw his face was black as his eyes. "Hannibal," he repeated, desperate. "Dr. Lecter. Please."

"You won't die," Hannibal answered, the slightest weakness baring in his tone. He dropped to his knees in front of Will.

It shouldn't be this way. Maybe one day he might have opened up to Hannibal, drawn a kiss from him, more, in time, but now Hannibal's hand was on his cock and he could see the trees as dark lines scratched in the distance of the scene around them. He felt his eyes shudder close as Hannibal's mouth wrapped around his cock and began to work over the tip of his cock and down his shaft. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the body on the pale ground, the mess of its bludgeoned head visible at the distance.

Will groaned reflexively at the feel of Hannibal's mouth tight on his cock, and his knees bent. He realized his fingers were twisted in Hannibal's hair, and he tried to cling to reality. Maybe if he pretended he wanted this now, that it was just them, he could live with what was happening, and it would feel real.

What if this isn't real?

He couldn't cope with that. He tried to think, but his mind was skipping like a record; he breathed out a moan, the pleasure breaking through the confusion again, and a voice spoke again. "Make him come," it said.

Oh, it felt amazing, but something was horribly wrong. Hannibal's fingers pressed tightly into his hips, and he seized him tightly by the hair, clinging to reality by starting to fuck into Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal surrendered to the motion, and Will buried his cock hard into Hannibal's mouth until an orgasm burst over him and he came.

He felt the urge to cry for just a second, then the voice said something he didn't quite hear, and the dark man, the antlered man, was in front of him. Its mouth pressed to his, and he could taste his own come on its tongue. "Hannibal," he reminded himself once his mouth was free.

"Yes, Will," Hannibal said softly. "It's me."

"Fuck him," the voice said. "Now."

Hannibal seized Will and walked him forward against the wall, shoving him forward against it and bending him gently over. He felt a kiss pressed against his back, then a finger tracing his asshole. Panic spilled over him first, and he tried to stand, then Hannibal said gently, "Please. Just trust me, Will."

He did. He had no choice, did he?

Will tried to relax, as Hannibal worked fingers into him. Maybe it was just them, in this dark forest that was a room with a light, and he could brace himself and feel his cock twitch again at the fullness of the fingers pressing towards his prostate.

"Fuck," he managed.

"What are you doing?" the voice said from across the forest.

"I am preparing him, Ms. McCade."

"I didn't say make love to him, cop. Fuck him."

The fingers withdrew, and Will released a breath. Then the tip of Hannibal's cock was pressing inside of him and he tried to breathe as Hannibal pushed into him until he was full. He groaned, his toes curling, cock rising along with his shame.

Then it happened. The body moved. He could feel it. The body with no face was coming to him.

"Hannibal," he got out. "Please."

"Yes," Hannibal murmured, voice rough as he began to rock in and out of Will's ass with more force.

Will didn't know what to do. He could feel the body shambling, he could feel Hannibal's cock pressing against his prostate and his cock now half-hard, then Hannibal's hand with the wetness of spit gripping and working around it. Maybe he could ignore it. Maybe he could feel this. Maybe he could want this.

He shuddered, whether from pleasure or horror he couldn't place. "Shh," Hannibal said gently, and began to fuck him harder.

The pleasure broke Will. He knew this was wrong, but it felt good, it felt real; at the edge of his hearing he could hear Hannibal's ragged breaths and grunts of pleasure, which turned him on even more. His knees nearly buckled as he came again over Hannibal's hand, all the more incredible as Hannibal plowed into him roughly once, twice, again, before he came inside of Will with an amazing, weak and breathy grunt.

"God yes," the voice breathed from so far away, but Will barely recognized what was going on. Then Hannibal leaned into his ear and spoke.

"The gun is there," he murmured. "Take it. Now."

The gun. There was a gun. He had kicked the gun. "Hannibal."

"Now," Hannibal repeated.

He felt Hannibal withdraw from him, then he bent over the small distance and sought out the gun on the floor. He stared at it for just a moment, then turned to face the body with the mangled face, and shot. It was only then that he saw the woman with the panties around her ankles reach for her own gun, and emptied the clip into her.

The creature he knew was Hannibal paused in the silence after the gunshots faded from their hearing. "Will," he said.

Will dropped the gun.

"I should get dressed."

"Will," Hannibal said again. "Do you forgive me?"

He didn't know. He pulled up his pants. "Don't tell anyone," he said. It all flickered back to reality; the bright overhead light from the ceiling, Hannibal's face pale and real again. He pulled on his shirts, numbness starting to overtake him.

"I did what I had to do," Hannibal said; Will could feel his gaze on him. "To save you. To save us."

"I know." It didn't change what had just happened. "Do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Not a soul."

Will took out his phone and called the office.

"We got her. I had to kill her."

That would be the story. Not the truest story, but it was the story he had to tell. It was the story he would learn to believe.

He hung up the phone and looked at Hannibal. "I didn't want this to happen this way."

Hannibal watched him, a flat sort of vulnerability in his face, in his eyes. "It doesn't change what I want, Will."

"I know." It didn't change what he wanted, either. "But it happened."

"I know," he echoed Will. "I will help you."

He knew there was no one else he could trust. There were so few people he could trust, least of all himself.

"It's getting worse," Will voiced.

Hannibal approached him again, and put a hand to his shoulder, another to his face. "I am here," he said, "as long as you want me."

Will nodded shortly, then closed the distance between them, dropping his forehead against Hannibal's. Hannibal folded his arms around Will, and they breathed together until they heard the cars pull up outside.

They would work it out together.