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Title: Secret Agent Man
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Table: writers_choice
Prompt: #367, Agent
Author's Note: One-shot.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.


One of the things he loved about being an FBI agent was the freedom that it gave him. He could manage to get things done that other people couldn't.

And right now, the main thing that he wanted to get done was to track down Hannibal Lecter, wherever he might be, and bring him to justice.

Will knew that he wouldn't turn away from that mission.

He had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted revenge against Hannibal for all that the monster had made him suffer through. And he would have his revenge.

He would make sure that Hannibal spent the rest of his life behind bars, his reputation stripped from him, robbed of his freedom and his self-respect.

That was what he wanted most. He wanted the world to know just how evil Hannibal Lecter was; he wanted the entire universe to know that Hannibal was behind some of the most horrific crimes ever committed, how he had made untold numbers of people suffer.

Not only his victims, but their friends and families, everyone who cared about them. He had destroyed so many lives with his selfish, conscienceless actions.

Not least of all his life, Will told himself with a soft sigh. He would never be the same again, and he had only recently reluctantly accepted that fact.

The person he had been before he'd met Hannibal was gone forever.

In its place was a man who was even more isolated from the world than he had been before, a man who had grown even more jaded and cynical.

But in addition to growing more jaded, he had also grown stronger, Will noted. His resolve to track Hannibal down and put him behind bars was more firm than ever.

He might not have been able to achieve that goal before, but he wasn't going to stop until he did. Hannibal wasn't going to get away with all that he'd done. He would pay for his crimes. And he would know that it was Will who had brought him to justice.

At some point, he would find a clue as to where Hannibal and Bedelia had disappeared to, and then he would hunt them down like the animals they were.

He couldn't see either of them as people any more.

They had harmed too many innocents to be viewed as decent people. Will cursed himself for having believed that Bedelia was on his side, that she was one of the good guys. That bitch was just as evil as Hannibal himself was; he was sure that she'd helped his quarry to escape.

But wherever they had gone, they wouldn't be able to hide forever. Sooner or later, they would slip up, make a mistake. And then they would be found.

Will didn't know how long that would take, but he knew that he wasn't going to give up his relentless pursuit of the fugitives until he he tracked them down.

He would be the one to make the arrest. He would slide the handcuffs around Hannibal's wrists, and read that monster his right. It rankled Will that such a merciless killer should actually have rights; in his eyes, Hannibal had forfeited any right to be treated as a human being.

He wasn't human. He was a monster that wore a human face.

Will knew that he had been a fool to warn Hannibal about the FBI closing in on him. He would never understand why he had done such an idiotic thing.

He had let a moment of weakness overcome him. For some reason, he had felt that Hannibal didn't have a fighting chance, that the net of the law was closing in upon him too fast. That had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done, after the callousness that Hannibal had shown towards him.

And what had he gotten for that moment of weakness? He'd had a knife shoved into his guts; he'd nearly bled out on the floor of Hannibal's house.

Not only that, but he'd had to watch the girl who he'd begun to think of as his adopted daughter die right in front of his eyes. And Hannibal hadn't given a damn.

He was a cold-hearted monster, a killer without a conscience.

He had tried to play the strong, capable secret agent man before, and he'd failed miserably. He'd let a warped sense of fair play betray him, and betray the law.

Will knew that he would never do that again. After what Hannibal had done to him physically and emotionally, he had no sympathy left for the bastard.

Hannibal had hurt him too much. He had taken away people who Will had loved, people who had meant a lot to him. He had to pay for that. And he had to pay for all the others who he'd harmed, the families he'd destroyed, all the pain that he had caused.

Hannibal was pure, unadulterated evil. There was nothing human about him; that human mask hid the kind of monstrousness that nightmares were made of.

He had lived that nightmare when Hannibal had been a part of his life, mistakenly believing that such a monster was actually his friend.

That had been a lie. Hannibal knew nothing of friendship.

And he himself obviously wasn't very good at choosing the right friends to have, Will thought, his lips twisting in a grimace that might have been a wry smile.

Well, he wasn't going to make that mistake again. He didn't need friends; he didn't need to have anyone close to him, anyone who understood him. He had spent his whole life not having that; there was no reason for him to feel as though he needed it now.

He could spend the rest of his life being a secret agent man, getting his job done, hiding his feelings and forcing himself to sublimate his own needs.

Those needs weren't important. Not in the big picture.

It was how he'd spent his life up until this point. He could keep doing it indefinitely. Actually, he was quite good at it, so there was no reason to stop.

Will squared his shoulders, silently renewing his vow. He would find Hannibal and Bedelia and bring them to justice, if it was the last thing he did.

And it very well could be his last act. They wouldn't go down easily.

When he found them, it remained to be seen who would be the winner in the deadly game that they would play out. There could only be one -- their side, or his.

He had justice on his side, Will told himself firmly. He was the FBI agent. They were the criminals. That had to stand for something in the long run.

Whatever happened, he wouldn't go down easily, either.