Chapter Text
Jack slips his fingers into the hand of his new wife, smiling as they cross the street in Galway, Ireland. He met Aisling here three years ago while he was on a vacation, a trip he decided to take after he was forced to take an early retirement from the FBI for his gross miscalculation about Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter.
He fell in love with her almost immediately. She’s his age, a widow. Her husband died a year before his Bella did. She’s unbelievably beautiful, silver hair only peeking through her naturally strawberry blonde locks. Her sense of humor is his favorite thing about her.
She moves home with him after their brief affair here, and he proposes to her within the year. He has more time now that his work didn’t consume his life. Despite being fired, he still looked for Will and Hannibal for the better part of a year, until Aisling told him it was stop or she was done.
He decided to stop.
He heard that they had gotten married, and Jack spent that night getting so drunk that Aisling sat down with him and took the bottle of whiskey out of his hand, sipped it, and asked him to tell her about them.
He unloaded on her.
His biggest concern… His biggest regret is that he doesn’t know how he miscalculated so badly. How could he have been so far off about Will? How did he miss that the shy, quiet, man who he relied on for his most difficult cases was actually the thing he had sent him out to hunt?
She shakes her head when he asks her that, her long hair falling over her shoulder as she pierces him with her blue-green eyes. “Will Graham was your friend. You trusted him, and I respect that he broke that trust. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like he fought who he was for a long time. It also sounds a bit like Hannibal saw it in him and nurtured it to light. You want to see everything in black and white, good and evil, but a person cannot be defined as one or the other. Will is a killer. He’s also a shy man who likes to fish. Will is a murderer, but he also worked hard and put his mental health on the line to get other murderers off the street. Hannibal was your friend, too. And I know you think that he was pretending to be, but I don’t think that. He might not be a good man, but he’s also not evil. Stop tormenting yourself for seeing the good in others.”
And so he did. That was over a year ago, and now they’re back in Galway for their two-year anniversary to visit her family. He hasn’t thought of them in a long time, but something about Europe, something about Ireland, reminds him of Hannibal. He sees the old architecture and fine art, and he just knows Hannibal would appreciate it. Thinking of them again feels like resurrecting the dead, and Jack shakes his head to clear the thought.
They decide to go to a local distillery for some good Irish whiskey, and they head inside the old building, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room. Her family joins them there, and they pick a table and laugh and drink, sampling different whiskies for the evening. He stands from the table, announcing that he’d be back. Whiskey was rented, not bought, and he had to piss.
He walks back through the darkened hall that leads to the other side of the distillery, towards the bathroom when he sees them.
He’s almost certain he’s hallucinating, but he blinks a few times, and they’re still there.
Hannibal looks very much the same, aside from his hair being a little longer and owning a few more fine lines around his eyes. He doesn’t think they’re from aging, the bastard. He thinks it’s from all the fucking smiling he’s doing.
Will hasn’t aged a single day, still youthful and wide-eyed. His hair is longer, too, but swept to the side where it falls in in a riot of curls against the nape of his neck. He’s shaved clean, and Jack has never seen him that way before. His green sweater doesn’t hide the bruising on his neck, and Jack frowns as he realizes they are fucking hickies.
Will Graham, no, Will Lecter, now, is sitting in a booth, his body turned towards and pressing against Hannibal Lecter. Will’s face is flushed, likely drunk, and smiling and talking animatedly with his fucking husband, who looks at him like he’s seeing the stars in the sky for the first time.
He stands frozen for a few minutes, wondering what the fuck kind of luck he has, and debating what to do. He could call someone. Have them swarmed in a minute. He reaches into his pocket for his cellphone, touching the glass of the screen with his thumb as he debates what to do.
He watches as Will leans forward and presses a kiss to Hannibal’s mouth, touching his jaw affectionately as Hannibal leans in again, kissing him soundly. Hannibal’s fingers are tucked into the wild mess of Will’s curls, and he feels like he’s fucking intruding.
Jack thinks of Aisling, for some reason. He decides it’s not his fish and not his pond. Not his problem anymore. It doesn’t mean that he isn’t going to get some answers from them, though.
He walks over and settles into the booth opposite them, both of them startling when they realize who it is. Will’s expression changes to one of panic, while Hannibal eyes the steak knife on the table before Jack holds up a placating hand. “Not here to arrest you,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m here on a trip for my anniversary. I couldn’t give a shit anymore about chasing either of you down.”
Will leans into Hannibal, and Hannibal adjusts his body to make room for Will without breaking eye contact with Jack. They move so synchronized it’s like watching dancers that have known their routine for years. It’s unnerving, to say the least.
“Jack,” Will says eventually, sipping his whiskey and placing it down on the table. Hannibal adjusts for his arm, leaving no space between them. “Congratulations on your wedding.”
Jack flags a waitress, ordering another round of whiskey for all of them. “Congratulations on yours, as well,” Jack says harshly. “You killed two of my men to get him, Will. Was it worth it?”
Will says nothing while the waitress places three glasses on the table, waiting for her to walk away before speaking. Hannibal is still watching him, and he finds his gaze to be unsettling.
“I wish there would have been a better way, but yes. It was worth it,” Will admits, twirling his glass on the table.
“How’s married life, Hannibal?” he asks. No need for the doctor title anymore. Hannibal was not licensed in any capacity, now. Jack takes spiteful pleasure in the little moue of distaste that using his first name brings to the curl of his mouth.
“It’s more than I’ve imagined it to be,” he replies, sliding an arm behind Will’s back to rest against his side. Will adjusts for him almost unconsciously, shifting his body towards Hannibal’s minutely. Jack watches them and wonders how long they’ve been like this. Have they always been like this? “Did you meet your new wife here?”
Jack nods, glancing down at his whiskey. “About three years ago, now.”
“Will and I are on holiday,” Hannibal replies, letting Jack know not-so-subtly that they do not live here. “I’ve always wanted to take him to Ireland so he can try the good whiskies of the world.”
“It’s been… an eventful vacation,” Will replies with a wide smile, glancing over at Hannibal who blushes, who actually fucking blushes, in return.
“You let Will kill your therapist,” Jack says to break whatever tension was rising between them, and it works. Will’s eyes snap back to his, and Hannibal shifts minutely closer to Will, his hand grazing Will’s hip.
“I didn’t let him do anything, Jack. He does as he pleases. I am not his keeper, nor his jailer. One could argue that in my company, he is the freest he’s ever been,” Hannibal says with an arch of his eyebrow, pursing his lips.
Will arches an eyebrow at Jack in a mirror image of the look that Hannibal is giving him, though Will wouldn’t know it. It’s done unconsciously. He leans into Hannibal’s body a little more, and Jack feels like a fucking third wheel. “She wanted to write a book about us,” Will says lowly. “About me. She wanted to dissect us and make us out to be a sideshow. I didn’t let that happen.”
Jack sips his whiskey, tipping his head as it burns on the way down. “You ate her. It was a fucking sideshow, Will. Whatever you were trying to prevent by killing her and eating her leg, it did the opposite.”
Will shrugs, sipping his whiskey and Jack notices their matching wedding bands. He knows they’re married. He knows it because there are court documents to prove it. It’s still so fucking strange to see, that he stares at them, and Hannibal notices it. “What bothers you more? The thought that Will is here with me voluntarily, or the thought that I’ve manipulated him to be?”
Will looks surprised by the question, turning his head to press a kiss to Hannibal’s cheekbone. As though the idea that Hannibal is offended is something Will feels he needs to soothe, and Hannibal tucks him closer to himself in response. They were too fucking intense. Jack shifted in his seat, looking away from the blackhole in front of him. “Any illusion I had about Will Graham being with you against his will was shattered the moment I heard about your marriage.”
“Lecter,” Will corrects him, sipping his whiskey with a smirk. “I never get to tell people my real name, so you’ll forgive me when I enjoy telling you that it’s Lecter, now.”
Hannibal smiles at that, pressing a kiss into Will’s wild curls. “How could I forget?” Jack sighs. “Molly remarried. Don’t know if you knew that, but they’re expecting a baby.”
Will rolls his eyes, sucking his teeth. “Good for her. Whatever you’re trying to do, just don’t, Jack.”
“Just trying to figure out how much of what I knew about you was true, and what wasn’t,” Jack admits, sipping his whiskey.
“What you knew of my husband was real,” Hannibal says, and his tone is verging on threatening. “What we do together, and our love for one another does not negate our personalities as you knew us. He is still Will. He still loves our dogs. He still works on boat motors. He still loves to go fishing.”
Will grins at that, shrugging his shoulders and Hannibal slides his hand from Will’s hip to grip his waist. “All true,” he concedes with a shy grin.
It upsets Jack more than he cares to admit hearing that, and then to see proof of the shy, awkward, man that he knew all those years ago. “I still don’t understand what you want with him,” he says automatically. “Why are you with him? Why not leave him be?”
Hannibal grins as Will leans over the table, his eyes dark and dangerous as he stares Jack in the eyes. Will Graham, initiating and maintaining eye contact. “He’s with me because he loves me. He’s not two dimensional, either. You think all he does is kill and think about killing? You think all he’s capable of is lying and betraying? You don’t know him. You don’t know the quiet man that likes to sketch and read. The attentive lover that likes to laugh and tease. The caring man that enjoys cooking for me and playing the piano for me. You don’t know us, so don’t ask questions that you won’t like the answers to.”
Jack grimaces at that, shaking his head as if to clear it. The idea of them living somewhere, living such normal lives, immersed in such a loving marriage, makes him uncomfortable for reasons he’s not too sure about. “You’re with him knowing that he’s killed Beverly. Abigail. All those victims that you worked so hard to find justice for. I just… Will, the man I knew would not forget about that. The man that I knew could not disregard that for the sake of love. No matter how... intense it might be.”
Will sits back in his seat, twirling his glass against the worn wood of the table. Hannibal adjusts for his posture, sliding his arm around to hold him against his side. They’re so in tune, Jack wonders briefly what would happen if he could get them in separate rooms. He wonders if Hannibal would move when Will moves, even if he wasn’t there to see it. The thought unnerves him, and he sips his drink to settle the feeling. “I haven’t disregarded any of it. I’ve considered it. I’ve beaten myself up about it. I married Molly thinking I could forget about him. I never did. The hole inside of me was in the exact shape of Hannibal. Nothing he has ever done, or ever will do will make me leave him. I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry that my decision has clearly weighed on you.”
“He’s tried to kill you. Twice,” Jack reminds him, glancing to Hannibal who doesn’t look concerned about Will thinking about it.
Hannibal nods, “And he’s tried to kill me. Three times.”
Will wrinkles his nose, turning to Hannibal with a huff of laughter. “Was it three times? I sent the Brown guy to you, that’s one, the cliff, that’s two. When else?”
“The knife in the plaza after we left the Uffizi gallery,” Hannibal reminds him with an arch expression.
“Oh, that doesn’t count,” Will laughs, and Hannibal smiles at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “I don’t think I wanted to kill you. If anything, you’ve tried to kill me three times. You sent that weirdo to my house in his cave bear outfit.” Will tips his head, and Hannibal works a few fingers into his curls at the nape of his neck. “What was his name? Christ, I fucking killed him, I should remember his name.”
“Randall Tier,” Hannibal supplies. “I sent him to you because you sent me an idiot in a speedo. What an insult that was,” Hannibal laughs. “I’ve technically only tried to kill him with my hands one time. That night in Baltimore, I did not want to kill him. If I did, I assure you, he would have been very, very dead.”
Will shrugs at that, sipping his drink. “So, the actual tally is two for two.”
Jack watches them with his mouth hung open, discussing their attempted murders of one another like loving memories. “Anyway,” Jack interrupts them, his voice stern enough to make Hannibal squint at him.
“We’re well past that, now,” Will laughs, tipping his face and welcoming Hannibal to press a kiss to his cheek.
Jack shakes his head, sipping his whiskey. “This is fucked up.”
Hannibal laughs, and Will grins as he sips his own drink. “Never thought I’d see you again.”
“I hoped I wouldn’t see either of you,” Jack admits with a laugh. “Are you… Christ, are you still killing?”
Hannibal’s mouth purses, and Will turns his head to look at Hannibal, touching his leg under the table. “Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answers to,” Will replies eventually.
Jack sighs, tipping the rest of his drink down his throat. “Well, that answers that. You’re discreet about it, then. I haven’t caught wind of displays or anything else.”
Will hums, angling his body back into the space that Hannibal makes for it. The silence that follows is decidedly awkward.
“It was good to see you,” Hannibal says evenly, clearly warning Jack away from them at this point.
“Was it?” Jack asks him. “I used to consider you a good friend. Was it ever real?”
Hannibal licks his lips, sipping his as-of-yet untouched drink. “As Will told you, I am capable of more than killing and lying. I enjoyed your company. I looked forward to your visits. You were a friend until you were not.”
“Will always said the ripper wouldn’t fit in any conventional mold that profilers had of your kind,” Jack replies evenly, turning to Will. “Are you happy?”
Will smiles softly at that, turning his face to press a kiss to Hannibal’s cheekbone, and the older man closes his eyes as Will’s lips make contact with his skin. “Yes,” Will replies, leaning back into Hannibal’s body. “I finally found the courage to take what I wanted. Jack, I will do whatever I need to do to keep him. Make no mistake about me.”
“He is not a fragile teacup anymore,” Hannibal grins, and something about the statement makes Will smile wider.
“I’m the mongoose you want under your house when a snake slithers by,” he replies. Something about that makes Hannibal beam pridefully, and he presses a kiss to Will’s temple as they laugh.
“I’ve got to piss,” Jack announces, hauling himself out from the booth. “I never saw either of you, you get me? I don’t want to run into you again on my vacation. So maybe it’s time to go sample the local whiskies somewhere else.”
Hannibal tips his head at the not-so-subtle warning while Will smirks up at him. Their bodies are angled together in a seemingly relaxed pose, but Jack is picking up the subtle warning in them, too. “Noted,” Will says eventually, and the rigidity in Hannibal’s posture relaxes a bit with that.
Jack heads to the restroom, his head spinning and his hands shaking. When he’s done, he comes back to the booth, but they’re already gone. He goes to the window and sees them in the distance, Hannibal’s arm around Will’s waist as they walk away. He should call someone. He should care that two psychopath murderers are out and about, killing and living life to the fullest.
He reaches for Hannibal’s neglected whiskey instead, tossing it back.
He doesn’t call anyone, though. Maybe it’s residual guilt over all the hell he’s put Will through, taking him to crime scenes and causing damage to his mind with each one. Will looked… happy. He looked absolutely blissful. Jack had never seen him like that, and the only comparison he could find for the way the two of them are together is how he was with his Bella.
He wouldn’t take that from them.
He’s staring out the window at their retreating forms, and he sees Hannibal lean down to kiss him. Hannibal Lecter. The Chesapeake Ripper. In love with an empath that was covered in dog hair and had motor grease under his fingernails.
He laughs to himself at the thought, shaking his head.
What he tells himself is that it’s not his fish, and not his pond. What he actually feels, though, is that it’s not his place to take that happiness from them.