Been A Son

Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water.
Come back here, man, gimme my daughter.
Little fish, big fish, swimming in the water.
Come back here, man, gimme my daughter.

--'Down By The Water', PJ Harvey

BEEN A SON
chapter seventeen

The sound that wails across the lit city of Baltimore is the lamentation of a spoiled child that has finally been told it can no longer wallow in its selfishness. The child cries and offers up its woeful argument, insisting that what it wants is for the good of everyone, but as is the case for those with the narrow focus of the navel, this is a lie. The selfish child only want nurture solely for itself. It does not want to share and it bullies the quiet, shy hand that reaches towards it. It kicks and hurts the weaker child, stealing from it, spreading rumours about it, making that sorry little sibling endlessly weep. The spoiled child wants what it wants without the annoyance of consequence. It is shocked when the result of its mean efforts are not what it had imagined.

Baltimore is on fire, a series of flames lighting across its horizon as looting and general chaos descends upon the city. The citizens themselves are eager to make an example of the place, the mob taking its cue from the vicious rendering of all that represents power and privilege amongst the Coastline royalty. It is mayhem that rules the Coast now, not the random, picked and chosen laws of the GSF nor its oppression with Federal might as it wandered into the bedrooms of every Coastline resident. Into the vast flames that are cast into the darkness, Baltimore has become a starting point for a larger stain, one set to spread in a long line throughout the Coastline until it is no longer habitable, until all that had made it great disintegrates into the squeezing grip of civil war.

The spoiled child weeps and points accusing fingers at the Mainland. It wants someone to pay, even if the rest of the Earth tells it to hush, and calm itself, and take a clearer look beyond its own wants to see the broken toys it has left in the wake of its constant, arrogant tantrums.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter stood with his hands clasped behind his back in front of his stately home, deep, satisfied breaths cleansing his soul and leaving an unfamiliar sense of peace behind. The success of the night was bathed in blood and fire as he had always planned it would be, and his army had been diligent and glorious in their retribution. He had never felt such pride. As he was driven to his home, the Verger limousine filled with his first wave of Omegas, he couldn't stop himself from smiling and embracing his warrior daughters, his cheeks stained with tears at their unrelenting devotion to their cause. They had done more than merely make history this night, they had destroyed the universe a charismatic monster like Jeb McBain had tried to create. This was a victory that had far more reaching implications than a personal vendetta, even if that was how this resistance had germinated.

There were more Omegas, of course, and the other twenty had already been secretively whisked away into the Mainland by sympathetic taxi drivers, most of them from the desolate deserts and expatriates from the Texas region and some from the inner dead heart. Some were Mainland Alpha rivals for his warrior daughter Cindy Blackstock's affections. Her free promiscuity had paid off, her meddling inlaws were turned into black bacon smouldering beneath the ruins of the Baltimore Convention Centre and she couldn't be happier. She was set to leave her once miserable Alpha mate behind, allowing him to live the rest of his life in conjugal bliss with his Beta boyfriend while she moved into the Mainland, enjoying whoever took her fancy. It was an envious sort of freedom that the other Omegas regarded with notes of suspicion, but he had no worries. Cindy would be sure to educate them all.

The limousine pulled away and Hannibal, proud and erect as he stood on the front step of his home, waved at the driver in thanks, earning a stern nod in response from the deeply black browed man at the wheel. Yosef, Verger's chauffeur, had lost his own Omega daughter to traffickers many years ago, and he had become an active participant in Hannibal's plans. As the driver, he'd facilitated the escape of his key Omegas, and with the memory of what one of Mason Verger's purchasers had done to his daughter, he was already itching to be the getaway man again.

Hannibal waited until the black shape of the limousine was swallowed up by the sharp curve in the road leading out of Hannibal's neighbourhood, black trees obscuring his house from view of the street. He quickly opened his front door and bolted it behind him once he was in, a habit he was going to have to get used to. He wasn't one to lock his doors as he was usually prepared for an enemy's attack, and besides, a misguided home invasion had often resulted in ample Alpha produce, rather like a home delivery service. But he couldn't take such risks now, not with his precious jewel waiting for him in the corner of his atrium, the whirring and clicking of machines drawing him closer like an infant alligator's sonnet to its mother. He didn't take off his coat, his steps long and purposeful as he strode through the corridor leading into the kitchen and then beyond into the dining room, straight past the open trap door leading into the cellar and then, there she was, waiting for him in the muffled near silence of the atrium. He felt his heart lighten as he stepped towards her with outstretched arms, his fingers dancing in anticipation of touching her. As he approached, he sensed her sleeping form within the jar, and with hands held wide he slid them along the jar's warm, smooth circumference, a relieved sigh leaving him.

The shock of how deeply she had already embedded herself within him was a source of wonder, for he had never thought it would be this easy to recollect that which he had thought lost amongst the debris in the bottom dwellings of his dungeon on his soul's ocean floor. Yet here she was, perfect and waiting, as though gift wrapped into his life, a precious addition that sent every molecule in his veins pumping with the sole purpose of giving her more, always more, until she was chubby with love. From the moment he'd seen the barest hint of her within the jar he had been hopelessly lost to her needs and he refused to falter in them.

What was this? Another handprint on the lid of the jar, a bloodied soiling that had tempted the handle, and thought better of it. Concerned, Hannibal ghosted his fingers along the glass, checking her temperature with a quick glance at one of the monitors, as well as eyeing the equipment for any signs of sabotage. He squared his shoulders, ensuring that all was well, that she hadn't been tampered with, though it was clear the temptation had been there. He fought the shaking rage as the very thought of this betrayal scraped like open blades within him, and he pushed down those inward swords with effort. Will would explain to him what this meant, and he was sure he would get a satisfactory answer.

Will. Ah yes, his darling, dear Will, it was evident he had been busy, the streaks of blood sliming the floor in the atrium and dining room an extended, answering poem to the love note Hannibal had left him in the form of Mason Verger tied up in the cold room. He was probably tired from his ordeal, though Hannibal felt energized, ready to talk until morning, his adrenaline still pumping with joy over the events of the evening. He gave his sleeping daughter a kiss beside Will's bloody handprint, and bid her a whispered 'goodnight' before taking his steps back into the kitchen. He slid off his spring coat and carelessly laid it over the marble top of his kitchen island and snatched a couple of wine glasses, along with an opened red merlot that was still languishing in their refrigerator. Humming Bach's 'Goldberg Variations', Hannibal followed the thick blood trail to the open cellar trap door and began his descent, the stems of two wine glasses tucked between his fingers as he gripped the merlot by the neck with his other hand. He had a bounce to his step as he made his way into the dimly lit space, the stench of freshly spilled blood so powerful it eclipsed the usual mossy dank of his favoured lair. Upping the tempo of the Bach against the back of his throat, Hannibal placed the glasses of wine and the bottle on top of Will's crime lab photos which were still spread over the prep table. He peered into their bedroom, but the deliciously soft fur blankets hadn't been touched since Hannibal had made their bed that morning. With pursed lips he inspected the small space, and dared to take a peek into the cold room, where he was instantly assailed by the stench of blood and bowels, not a pleasant combination by any means. Mason Verger was no more, in fact the pink putty that was smeared along every inch of the walls and floor of the cold room revealed he had been properly obliterated. Pleased, Hannibal closed the cold room door, and figured he would take a pressure hose to it tomorrow, after shovelling up the larger chunks of human debris and disposing of them first, of course. No need to make a mess of the house's plumbing.

He heard water splash, and Will's whereabouts were revealed. Hannibal let out a contented sigh as he walked into the grey light of the bathing room, the ripples of water on the surface of Will's bath reflected on the ceiling and walls of the small room. Hannibal paused in front of the tall mirror, adjusting the red silk bonding at his neck and smoothing down imaginary wrinkles in his silky black suit before turning towards Will. Will didn't look at him as he came in, his gaze affixed to the ceiling as water pinked from sloughing off the blood and chunks of Mason Verger coursed over his body in even waves.

Hannibal sat on the curved, ceramic edge of the deep bathtub, his hand testing the water and finding the temperature perfect. Will's nude body rippled beneath it as he slid his wet hand on the now dry, rounded shape of Will's knee which was poking up from the water's surface. "A late night, dear Will. You must be very tired."

"As are you," Will said, still concentrating on the ceiling. Hannibal cocked his head to one side and traced circles with his fingernail on the rounded mound of Will's knee. Will blinked and then shifted his head, his beard dipping into the water. "I killed Mason."

"I saw."

"The whole city is in flames."

"I hadn't intended for the city to plunge itself into riots over the events that happened at the Convention Centre, but one must make room for the unexpected. I see you were inspecting my daughter's home, Will, your bloody handprint is on the lid of the jar. Were you hoping to set her free prematurely?"

Hannibal braced himself, the levels of hurt he felt welling through him like the ripples in Will's bath, and though he was pained to do it, he would protect his daughter. He sought out easy items to dispatch of him with within the bathing room. A razor, that would do, slicing quick along his neck and he would simply bleed out in the bath, which made for an easy clean up besides. He could smash the mirror and cut out his heart with a shard, that would be equally appropriate seeing as how what Will had nearly done would have rendered Hannibal in a likewise state. Murder of a man he loved was a drastic measure, but Hannibal had to coldly prioritize, he couldn't risk losing her again, this was the third try and if it didn't work this time...

"Hannibal, I wasn't going to open the damn jar so stop killing me." Will groaned and eased the crook of his neck against the rounded edge of the tub. "That being said, I'm not getting attached to it. For me, it's just a fish in an aquarium, I can't see it as a person, not yet. Just give me some time, Hannibal. If she makes it, if she actually starts looking like a damn baby, well...That'll be pretty damn miraculous and we can go from there. I don't have the connection to it that you do, Hannibal, and it's not fair to judge me for it. When I'm holding her in my arms, that's when she'll be my daughter, not before."

Hannibal startled at this, his hand dipping back into the water its perfect warmth bathing his heart. He inclined his head softly, and suddenly felt an overwhelming rush of emotion at what Will had just said. "You are eager to embrace her," Hannibal said, and fought to keep his smile from being too obvious.

Will shrugged upwards in the bath, his eyes fluttering closed as the water sloshed in gentle waves against his chest. "Of course I am. She's your baby, Hannibal, why wouldn't I want to hold her?"

Hannibal slid off his shoes and then stepped, fully clothed in his expensive silken black suit, into the bath with Will. Pink water sloshed over the edge of the bath in a steady waterfall onto the black and white floor tiles as Hannibal immersed himself. He slid against Will in a wet embrace, curling against him in the warm water. He placed a cool, underwater kiss against Will's neck before resting his head against Will's shoulder, submerging his cheek.

Will's hand left the water and stroked Hannibal's hair, wetting it further. The ends of the silk bonding collar floated along the surface, like ribbons against a fierce wind. "I'm going to be a very good father."

Hannibal wound his arm around Will's waist, the wet cloth of his suit ballooning around Will's bare skin. "I don't doubt it at all. You are a man of deep insights and profound understanding. You destroyed that which had tainted her, she is solely our flesh and blood now." Hannibal nuzzled Will's neck, his face partially cut in half by the surface of the water that reflected black at that angle. He slid further up, his lips kissing the pink tinged water as he spoke. "How shall we raise her? I aim to love, first, and then bring all manner of knowledge to her, nothing shall be barred from her future. What paternal joys will you present her with? I know you will be kind, you will be a strong and solid presence she can rely on. You will read to her, and she will be mesmerized by how you wrap her so fervently in story."

"I have a lot of them to tell. But there are some that might not be wise to read." Will kissed Hannibal's temple, his lips overly wet and cool against Hannibal's warmed skin. "There's one I have ready to tell now, but I don't want her to hear it. Do you want me to tell you that story, the one that can never be whispered again?"

"Which story is that, my dear Will?"

Will combed his wet fingers through Hannibal's hair, and he closed his eyes, mesmerized by the gentle ease of Will's touch. He could lay like this forever, drowned with Will in this place where none of his demons could find a footing. Will's heart felt warmer than the water as Hannibal placed his splayed hand over it, water lapping up over his knuckles.

"It's a story about the Chesapeake Ripper," Will said. Hannibal frowned against Will's cheek, and descended once again, his cheeks submerged as he nosed Will's neck and stretched the length of his own, bidding Will to caress him. "Do you want to hear it?" Will whispered to him, and Hannibal closed his eyes, giving Will the barest of nods against his wet flesh. Yes.

"How shall I start it?" Will whispered against the dark ripples that coursed over them both, the entire room set to drown them in water and words. "Should I say 'Once upon a time'?"

Hannibal curled against him, knees drawn up to his stomach, his arm draped across Will's shoulders, the posture not unlike a child seeking comfort. Will raised his chin above the water and kissed Hannibal's forehead.

"Once upon a time...There was a brilliant young Omega with a mind as vast and deep as every ocean fashioned upon the earth and just as dangerous. He had already fought through great tragedies in his life and he was finally aiming to start a new one, this time filling it with triumphs. The chance to be a success on the shores of the United Main was within his grasp and it was an easy thing to check 'Alpha' on his application forms. With a mind and determination like his, no one doubted he was anything less. He earned a full scholarship to John Hopkins and though he was an artist he had always had an interest in anatomy and he transferred this passion into becoming a surgeon.

He was top of the class, envied and feared by his fellow students who he didn't associate with, both out of fear of discovery and an inner arrogance that he was steeped in. He didn't need anyone else, his studies kept him company and when isolation crept into his consciousness he would conjure up the image of his late sister, Mischa, who he lost at a young age. It was she who sat at his side while he studied for long hours, ignoring the ostracizing of his peers who reacted to his single mindedness with a sense of fear and in some cases, jealousy. He took hormone supplements to fool them into thinking he was Alpha for while he'd heard that the United Main was not a good place for Omegas, he hadn't realized the extent of that prejudice. He knew only a tenth of the divide been the culture of the Coastline and the poverty stricken Mainlands.

He managed to hide his heat cycles, ordering a hotel room for the purpose during the season and suffering terribly in silence. This worked well for the entirety of his education, until he was in the final stretch of his residency in John Hopkins. He was set to become a full blown surgeon, with a specialist concentration on the human heart. He was young, and beautiful and completely alone. He couldn't wait to earn the money needed to finally chuck the shores of the United Main behind him and take the skills he learned elsewhere.

He would have succeeded. He would have found himself on some beautiful shore where he could be who he was in full freedom, finally able to connect with others in ways he hadn't been permitted before. The realization of a dream, and the ghost of his late sister Mischa was so proud...

And then a heat came and he wasn't fully over it when he had to work and couldn't get out of the responsibility no matter how hard he tried. He took a near overdose of suppressants and mixed it with chemical Alpha hormones and while it masked his Omega scent easily enough from the Betas and lower level Alphas, there was one who detected it, and who had been watching him for a while.

There are a lot of questions I have for the Ripper in this instance, because there are a few variables I haven't been able to decipher. How did he capture you? Did he drug you? Did he beat you unconscious? Did someone help him subdue you? He was an arrogant Coastliner with a long list of abuses in his past, none of which he was punished for because he was an Alpha of the Coastline elite. You must listen carefully, Hannibal, because this is the part of the story that is most important, this is the part where the Chesapeake Ripper was born...So don't be frightened. It's a story, after all, and it has a happy ending. Yes, I promise.

The Chesapeake Ripper was caught and imprisoned, placed in cruelly in chains. There was a thick metal collar that was too small affixed to his neck, and it had a sharp point on it, one that cut into his skin deep enough to scar it. But this was not the scar that would wound him to his core, this was just a reminding scratch. For the second time in his life he was exposed to evil and this time on a very personal level. The Alpha meant to harm him, and he did, in the most vile way he could.

Everything was a threat after that.

He refused to allow the evil the Alpha had done to destroy his future so he suffered his way through the next few months, eager to get his medical license so he could leave this dungeon of a country and be safer elsewhere. But as time stretched on, his body warned him that his plans were not to be made alone.

He could feel her, swimming like a little fish inside of him, bumping against the confines of that tiny inner pond that was rich with life. Despite how she arrived, he wanted her, for after what he had experienced there was no way an Alpha was ever going to touch him again. Hiding her was near impossible, he couldn't take the Alpha hormones because they could potentially harm her. He had to protect her at all costs, for she was the rebirth of his sister, the second chance at hope, and he was not going to lose her. So he did what was necessary.

The Chesapeake Ripper rose from within his cage of flesh and killed his ethics professor and ate his liver and his thalamus, and probably his heart later. He realized he needed an organic supply of Alpha hormones that would nourish her and protect her home, which was in turn himself. And every time guilt tried to surface, he would pick at the scar on his neck, reopening it, reminding himself of what Alphas on this shore were capable of, and he felt justified.

He made so many plans. He was eager to get started on his new life, bringing her with him and spinning a vast mythology around the two of them, for he loved her dearly already, he spoke to her in obscure languages, he named her and was excited at the prospect of taking her out of dreams and into his arms. At each month of her growth he could easily calculate how much she would weigh as he held her in his imaginings.

Contrary to what we are taught in the United Main, Omega males are not barren. They are, however, often brutally abused by their Alpha mates thanks to a system that has sanctioned it. He was attacked again, possibly by the Alpha father, though I suspect it was another, a partner in crime who was in the early stages of his deviance. He harmed, but the Chesapeake Ripper didn't let him live. He was shocked at being murdered by someone he wrongly perceived as weak. The Ripper ate his liver and made black pudding from his blood. He was a rich source of Alpha nutrients and hormonal masking for a while.

The vile thing that had been the sire of his little fish was frightened enough by this retaliation to leave him alone after that. He skipped a few states and went into law school, with a heavy leaning on political science.

But still, the Ripper had been harmed, and her little pond had been disturbed, slowly leaking dry, and one day he awoke to discover she was no longer swimming and bumping into the reeds within his stomach, she was no longer fluttering happily against his skin. He found someone to help him, a friendly Beta who was horrified by what had happened. And he told him the truth, which the Ripper has always respected him for. That his little fish was gone, and it would be a matter of days before its stagnant pond would dry up and leave nothing behind.

Hush, Hannibal, don't cry. This story has a happy ending, remember? Don't cry.

She had been stolen, this magical koi upon which he'd placed all his hope. There was no point leaving the United Main now.

He eventually switched his career, taking up psychiatry, not because of the high statistical mortality of his Alpha patients, but because every time he opened up a patient's body cavity to operate he expected to find his little fish swimming within it.

He had a plan. He always does. His sorrow gradually turned to rage and it wasn't long before Omegas were coming to his practise, telling him of cruelties that reflected his own back. He was prepared as he watched the years slip past, and the man who had murdered his dreams gained momentum within the political miasma of the Coastline elite. He is very patient, the Chesapeake Ripper. He will make an excellent mother.

Within his Omega patients he planted the seed of revolution. He made warriors out of their sadness, pulling them into the strength of his samurai ancestors and releasing them upon the world. He chose his method of retribution carefully, for it wasn't enough to sate his own hurt, he had an army's to fulfill. There were many miraculous signs that were guideposts towards his goal, a career given him with the FBI that would obfuscate his efforts with ease, work relationships that served as deflection. Even as he was discovered he found allies hidden deep within the framework of his connections, eager to dismiss his murderous tendencies. The cruel pantomime of his past shockingly brought back that which had been stolen from him. His ocean depths were pulled to the surface, coalescing into the contents of a jar where his strong, precious little fish had returned. He was ready, for all of Fate had predestined this, and all the world was to stand up and take note of his fury.

How glorious it was, the earth cracking open and releasing his army as it rushed the weak compound of his enemy, crushing that Alpha who had so viciously hurt him and others like him. As the entire city burned to the ground he realized he had accomplished so much more than mere revenge. This was revolution. This was a declaration of war.

He stands on the precipice of it even now, victorious and shining against the carnage, so like his heritage, the echoing clap of his ancestors sharing in his battle cry. What happens now is the mythology of history, and he is its glorious epicentre."

The water in the bath was now cold, and Hannibal shivered against Will's likewise cooled body. His clothes were so saturated they weighted him down within the water, and if Will deigned to slide his face beneath it with a gentle push and never let him up again, he would be satisfied with this. He pressed his lips close to Will's ear. "Tell me another story, Will. Tell me the one about how the Chesapeake Ripper fell in love."

Will turned his head and sighed against Hannibal's mouth, their lips turning blue in the grey light of the bathing room. "You've heard this one before, and we should get out of this bath before we turn into ice cubes." Will stroked the back of Hannibal's head, his hands wrinkled and soft against the back of his neck. "It's a silly story, really.  I believe it started with a kiss..."

~*~

Will sipped at his morning coffee as he watched Hannibal fuss over his little fish, a moniker Will couldn't shake himself from using and one that Hannibal himself had already absconded and had used twice already. Dressed in a quilted, red silk dressing gown, he appeared soft and harmless in the muted light, a delicate doe with her fawn checking on her hidden form within the dense foliage. Will sat on the harpsichord's bench and contemplated that it would be a good idea to move one of the many antique couches into the atrium, for Hannibal's comfort as he tended to their daughter as well as Will's own. Hannibal was currently wiping down the surface of the glass jar with a warm, damp cloth, ridding her of fingerprints and evidence of Will's revulsion. Hannibal had been very busy this morning. Will awoke that morning alone in his bed and the remnants of Mason Verger miraculously scrubbed clean from both the killing room and upstairs. Hannibal would not tolerate such filth to be in such close proximity to his baby.

Will cell phone buzzed, and he sighed, giving Hannibal a knowing look as he answered it. "Hey, Jack."

"You don't know how to fucking call back? You left me hanging on Armageddon last night, Will." Jack cursed and Will listened to his Alpha pacing as he rustled papers on his desk. He was no longer at the charred ruins of the Baltimore Convention Centre, and Will guessed he was back in the relative comfort of his office in Quantico.

"Sorry about that Jack, we had...uh...There were some pressing issues that I had to take care of."

Jack ploughed on as though he hadn't spoken. "We tore apart McBain's campaign bus looking for connections and we sure as hell found some. We're talking some pretty damning evidence, Will. A whole photograph album, full of Polaroid of Omega victims. McBain's been doing this shit for decades and we never caught him because the GSF figured he was killing throwaways. Fucking sick prick. He dated the photos, too, the earliest one was inked in all the way back in '92, some unknowable young male Omega with an iron collar clamped on his neck. The picture's kind of fuzzy because he was trying to fight back, it'll make it real hard to identify that one, if we can at all. We handed off a chunk of these to that cold case historian Lily Rush, she's been working some of these already for a long time. There's close to a hundred, about four to five a year. Our latest Omega murders are in there, too. Can you fucking believe this? Makes me sick to think that guy could have become president, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah, it's a hell of a thing," Will said and sipped at his coffee with exhausted boredom. "Jack, I'm sorry I didn't get back to you last night, I had a bit of a family emergency here." Will paused, and chewed his bottom lip wondering how best to frame the news. "Hannibal wasn't feeling well, I mean, he hasn't been for a while and I was worried and...Let's just say he took a few tests and we got unexpected results."

"What do you mean he took tests? What kind of tests?" Jack's protective Alpha hackles were way, way up. "Is he sick?"

"No," Will said, choosing his words with the utmost care and gaining a questioning tilt of the head from Hannibal in the corner. "Let's just say we're now a trio instead of a duo."

Jack made a shocked, choking sound on the other end of the line. "You have to be joking."

"I'm not."

"You of all people. Dammit, Graham, I don't think my heart can take these kinds of shock treatments. I guess it happened during his heat, so that's what, three and a half months ago? Well, that explains his behaviour at that last crime scene. Jesus, Will, I thought male Omegas were barren, what the hell?"

Will stared at the machines as they clicked and whirred, the jar and its little fish a thing dwarfed beneath tubes and IV's hooked up to it in a clump of medical technology that made Will's head swim. "I'd say Hannibal's condition is very complicated. The obstetrician has ordered bed rest for the rest of the gestation and to say there's a lot of careful monitoring going on is an understatement."

"I don't know what to say. I guess it's congratulations, but it's quite a nasty world that child is coming into, Will. Have you seen the news this morning? Coastline GSF are gearing up and getting sent to guard the boundary lines along the Mainland. By next week we'll be in the middle of a civil war." He could hear Jack clicking a pen open and shut, as though weighing his options. "I take it this means you're on leave?"

"I can still teach," Will offered. "But you're right, with the way things are going, I can see it as clearly as you do. I'm a Mainlander, Jack, the Coastline is going to be a dangerous place for a fish out of water like me to be." He gave Hannibal's small smile at this one of his own. "I'm thinking of heading back to Louisiana. My grandmother's property is still floating on the bayou, we can be comfortable there for a while."

Jack gruffly huffed an assent. "I can't see Hannibal being suited to that kind of life, he likes his creature comforts. You sure that's what you both want to do?"

Will's eyes fluttered closed as Hannibal approached him, his elegant hands framing Will's face as he looked down at him in such naked need it was difficult to ever envision him as a serial murderer, let alone the devil himself. "I'm sure, Jack."

"You're one of my best, Graham," Jack said, his voice wistful. "Remember...You always got family here."

He hung up his cell as Hannibal draped his arms over him, placing soft kisses along the side of his head, lips searching through tangled locks of hair. The city of Baltimore was still burning into ruins as its less prosperous citizens tore through its veins in chaotic ferocity. The breakdown was going to happen quickly, Will knew, and he didn't need to be a man who studied politics to know the ricochet affect of what Hannibal had started. Long buried animosity was set to rise to the fore, international and domestic, and he was sure the rest of the world would deign to step in, offering arms to the Mainlanders to even out the fight. The Coastline would fight dirty with its economic power, but the Mainland had the knowledge of survival on it side, they weren't going to acquiesce to Coastal rule on starvation tactics alone.

"Jack says congratulations," Will said to Hannibal, who was now kneading the ache out of his tense shoulders. "They found McBain's trophies. A bunch of Polaroid in an album. Don't worry, they don't know one of them is you."

Will turned on his Tattle Crime app and wasn't surprised to see that Freddie Lounds had leaked McBain's grisly photo album of tortured Omegas, and was surprised to see she shared the byline of this particular article with former cold case detective turned historian Lily Rush. A bit of expertise into these cases could go a long way, Will guessed, and he opened the article to see a half dozen of the Polaroid plastered on the top of it in a graphically violent slide show. It was a valiant effort, but only a few would understand that the truth came in these kinds of battered, unhealthy packages. The article and McBain's obvious guilt was set to be quashed by mainstream Coastline news agencies, leaving the legacy of the man as either a monster or a martyr dependent upon political view a certainty. Freddie Lounds would be ridiculed in journalistic circles as a sad, word spinning hack. He doubted they'd be able to do the same to Lily Rush, however. Now there was a woman whose haunted life was made of ghosts.

He chose the image reputed to be McBain's first victim and studied the blurry image carefully, noting the sharp jut of Hannibal's cheekbones were still evident, as was the shape of his grimacing lips. The metal collar at his neck was thicker than he'd imagined it, an added torture in Hannibal's past that made Will's stomach lurch in a memory that wasn't his.

Hannibal buried his face in Will's hair as he slid beside him on the harpsichord's bench, and Will gently stroked the red silk encasing the arm that embraced him. "You smell different," Will said, breathing deep into Hannibal's neck and kissing the scar at his throat. "I like it, your skin has this alluring cleanliness to it, it's very calming for me. I could scent you all day and night, it makes me sleepy." Will tasted Hannibal's neck, liking the delicious way it made him sigh. "Is it because of the baby? It must be, your body is already reacting chemically to it, bringing all of those long denied maternal urges to the fore."

Hannibal fell into dreamy bliss as Will placed his empty mug of coffee onto the floor and turned his attentions to the slow, steady massaging of the back of Hannibal's slender, highly sensitized neck. "Did you really mean it when you told Jack we are moving to Louisiana?"

"I did. After the baby's born, it will be a safe place for her, I still have a lot of family ties there, they'll be more than surprised to see I finally settled down and had a little gator to add to the Graham clan. There'll be lots to celebrate--me moving back, that I'm bonded, a welcoming for you, then for the baby--we'll be partying for weeks." He shook his head at the irony of it. "My father might even start talking to me again, at least more than the usual small talk that we suffer through with each other on the phone. If we're plunged headfirst into civil war by then, my father will be the first man with a shotgun and handing me one to join him at the front of the line. He'll call it reconnecting with family."

"A reciprocal beginning," Hannibal observed.

"It seems that way." Will slid his fingers along the keys of the harpsichord, tempting them into sound. Hannibal rested his head on Will's shoulder as the strings were plucked into lazy notes. "You're going to have to kill some people. I imagine with it being war this will make that easier."

"I will donate blood religiously but I won't be able to keep up with her nutritional needs during her final months," Hannibal admitted. "I was originally planning on simply breaking into a blood lab, but perhaps more familiar methods of such sustenance are wise to implement. As war breaks out, the routine disappearance of people will become common enough. Displaying them as victims of violent skirmishes will be remarkably simple, though I will need to avoid my usual flare for the dramatic. We wouldn't want our Uncle Jack to catch on that certain corpses share a similarity in blood type."

Will lightly laughed at this, his fingers splayed across the keys of the harpsichord in a playful, but concentrated, purpose. "Do you think she would like to hear me play for her? You've been gorging her on Bach and Mozart, but if she's to be my little girl she's always going to have a thing for daddy's ragtime blues. What should I play? I know, how about something smooth, that has the lilt of a lullaby? Bethena by Scott Joplin, that will do."

Will's hands moved with a calculated grace over the keyboard, the notes pulled out with a slow and tender melancholy in remembrance of what the composer had suffered when he'd brought them to life. The great ragtime composer Scott Joplin had only been married ten weeks when his wife succumbed to pneumonia, and Bethena, his first published composition, was dedicated to her memory. The piece was a testament to his genius for it became a happy, toe tapping melody when played at a faster tempo and was a sorrowful waltz when played slower. Will opted for the latter, the notes strong and poignant.

Hannibal understood his mate's choice, his attention riveted beyond the horizon of the harpsichord's strings, to that pumping, whirring, clicking corner that held their future amassed within it. "I am uncertain of what this will bring as well, Will. Though I feel the tug of her weight within me as though I am carrying her, it is one that is admittedly more heavy with worry than joy. Is it wrong of me, even in the midst of my fervour and passion to keep her, to admit that I am afraid?"

Will paused over the keys, his hands hovering above them, leaving the ivories bathed in the slender shadow of his touch. "No, Hannibal. It's not wrong."

He recognized it, then, the vast ocean that had been thrust open, the demons set free to create their havoc upon the world, Hannibal's broken pieces placed into Will's cupped hands to hold onto. He was as vulnerable now as finely threaded silk about to be severed with a blade. Hannibal couldn't be any more raw and exposed to Will if he opened his chest cavity and asked him to kiss the gory pump-pump of his heart.

"We should give her a name," Will said, and Hannibal grinned at this.

"I already have, dear Will."

"Oh?" Will slid his fingers over the keys of the harpsichord once again, resuming his playing. The notes carried a low lament, one that soothed the gently rocking jar in the corner, a tiny human foot the size of a dime pressed against the glass the only sign that anything living was actually present. "Do tell."

Hannibal kissed Will's ear, his grin predatory, his teeth grazing cartilage as he whispered with eager, delighted persuasion into it.

"Her name is Judith."