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Title: Not Haunted
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Sequel to "No Running Away."
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.

***

Will yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He should feel more refreshed, but lately, that had been impossible.

He hadn't been able to sleep much last night; he'd kept waking up, thinking that he heard something downstairs. He'd even crept down the steps to check twice.

But there had been nothing there; he had only been letting his imagination run away with him. He'd trudged back up to his bedroom both times, vowing to go back to sleep.

When he'd finally slept, dawn had just been starting to break across the sky. Fortunately, it was the weekend, so he'd been able to sleep in; he hadn't had to force himself to get up, take a shower, and drink two cups of coffee before leaving the house to get to the Academy in time for his first class.

Life would almost feel that it was back to normal if it wasn't for the fact that Hannibal was still in his mind -- and that he had made those threatening phone calls.

Maybe he shouldn't view them as threats. After all, he had always known that he and Hannibal would have a final showdown at some point.

Those words hadn't been threats. They'd been an inevitability.

There was no way that the two of them could not square off one last time. They had unfinished business, and neither of them would rest until it was taken care of.

He couldn't get those words out of his head, though; they had been a threat, and he knew it. There was no way that he could pretend otherwise.

He had to be vigilant; he didn't doubt that Hannibal was going to show up at some unexpected time. Will was almost sure that he was being covertly watched even now, though he had no proof of that. Hannibal was a wily bastard; he wouldn't let himself be caught easily.

What did he plan to do? Will wondered. Whatever it was, he knew in his gut that it would be up close and personal; they had too much history between them for it not to be.

He just hoped that he would be ready when he was confronted.

It was a terrifying thought, knowing that he could come face-to-face with his nemesis and not be prepared for that meeting. He couldn't let his guard down for even one moment.

At least he had the dogs to protect him, he thought with a smile as he bent down to pet Winston's head. They would give their lives to keep him safe; they were one line of defense.

Though he didn't want to sacrifice his pets. He cared about them too much.

Will sighed, going outside and sitting down in the rocking chair on the porch. No, he wouldn't sacrifice his beloved pets, unless it came down to his life or one of theirs.

Hell, he'd gone running outside when Hannibal had sent Randall Tier after him, simply because Buster had sensed that someone was out there who was a threat and had taken off out of the open front door. If he hadn't been crazy enough to do that, then the little terrier would be dead.

But Buster was here, alive and well, he thought, smiling as he watched the small dog bound around the front yard with the other dogs, yapping happily.

At that moment, his phone rang. Will flinched, sure that it was Jack Crawford calling him, saying that they had a fresh crime scene and they needed his insight.

But it was a number that he didn't recognize.

Will sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, a shiver of dread moving through his body. He was fairly sure who was on the other end of this call; after all, it had happened before.

He had no choice but to answer; to leave it unanswered would be cowardly. And whatever he might be, a coward was one thing he wasn't. He had to pick up that gauntlet.

Will sighed as he clicked the phone on, raising it to his ear. "Hello, Hannibal," he said, keeping his voice as calm and neutral as he could, even though his nerves were jangling. There could be nothing good about Hannibal calling him. It probably meant that he was too close for comfort.

"You haunt me, Will," Hannibal's voice whispered, without even prefacing the words with a greeting. "Do I haunt you? I'm sure that I do. You feel this attraction as intensely as I do."

Will swallowed hard, not speaking. He wasn't attracted to Hannibal, not in the way that the other man meant. At least, he didn't think so. He hadn't really thought about it.

Hannibal thought that he was in love with Will. It was frightening.

But what the other man felt wasn't love, Will reminded himself. It was obsession, nothing more. Hannibal had zeroed in on him and developed a fixation.

That wasn't love. No one who loved him would have repeatedly tried to kill him. No one who actually cared for him would have framed him for murders he didn't commit.

In Hannibal's sick, twisted world, that might be construed as love, but it wasn't any kind of love that Will wanted. What he wanted to do was turn and run from this man, to put as much distance between them as possible, and to erase all memory of Hannibal from his life.

That wasn't possible, and he knew it. If Hannibal was still out there in the world somewhere, then he'd come after Will. There would be no stopping him.

So what he had to do was stop Hannibal, manage to get him put behind bars, where he belonged. That wasn't going to be easy to do. He knew that already.

Still, he had to try. He had to face his enemy down once and for all.

"You don't haunt me, Hannibal," he finally said, knowing that his words weren't true, but not willing to admit that out loud. "The only thing I feel when I think of you is disgust."

Hannibal was silent for what seemed like a long time; when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded sad. "I should have expected that. And I suppose that I deserve it."

"You do," Will said, his tone short and clipped. "You've never done anything that would make me care about you in any way, Hannibal. The only thing I care about is excising you from my life in every way, and putting you behind bars where you can't hurt any more innocent people."

The silence seemed to stretch out for a very long time; for a few moments, Will wondered if Hannibal had hung up the phone, but then the other man spoke again.

"You'll have that chance, Will," Hannibal said, his tone measured and even. "I hope that you will be prepared for our final confrontation. I myself am greatly looking forward to it."

Will heard a click, and the line went dead.

Slowly, he clicked the phone off and returned it to his pocket. What had those last words meant? Were they a threat? Was Hannibal planning to kill him?

Of course he was, Will told himself. Hannibal had tried to kill him several times before; true, he'd left him alive that last time, but only to taunt him. Hannibal had wanted him to become as obsessed as the other man was; he had wanted Will to be haunted by him.

Well, he wasn't haunted, Will told himself firmly. He wasn't obsessed, either. Yes, he wanted to put Hannibal away, but it wasn't the ruling passion of his life.

He wouldn't let Hannibal have that much control over him.

Will got to his feet slowly, whistling for the dogs. He didn't want them wandering around outside for too long, not when Hannibal might be somewhere close.

He realized that his hand was trembling when he reached out to open the door so that the dogs could go into the house. He hadn't expected that.

He wasn't afraid. He wouldn't let himself be afraid.

And Hannibal did not haunt him.

He didn't want to admit that those words might very well be a lie.

***