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Title: No Answers
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Table: Quotables, Part 2, tv_universe
Prompt: "Enjoy my shirt, because that's all you're getting."
Author's Note: Sequel to "Delicate Flame."
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 could sense that something was wrong from the moment he entered his house.

Oh, there had been nothing taken. There were hardly any signs that anyone had been there, and the dogs didn't seem at all upset. Everything seemed normal.

But it wasn't. He could feel that there had been someone in the house. Someone who wasn't there any longer, but who had made themselves at home while he was at work.

The thought made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle; even though he was absolutely positive that there was no one in the house now other than himself and the dogs, he felt violated. The idea that anyone could get into his house and not leave any trace of themselves behind was unthinkable.

Who would do such a thing? he asked himself. Who would violate his privacy in this way, obviously trying to make him feel unsettled and junpy?

There was only one answer to that question, he told himself grimly. Hannibal had decided to pay him a visit. Which meant that his nemesis was still around.

He hadn't left the country. He was still somewhere near Wolf Trap.

That took some balls, he thought as he moved cautiously up the stairs, towards his bedroom. Anyone else would have gotten the hell out of Dodge by now.

But of course, Hannibal wasn't like anyone else. He had the kind of hubris that would lead him to believe that he would never be caught in Will's home.

The annoying thing was that he hadn't been caught, Will told himself, feeling anger rise like bile in the back of his throat. Hannibal had been here, he was sure of it. He could somehow feel the other man's presence, like a miasma that had been left behind.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal had strolled through his house as though he'd belonged here; he might not have upset the dogs, or taken anything, but he'd made his presence known.

He hated the idea that Hannibal had been here, that he had felt confident and comfortable enough to feel that he had some kind of divine right to be in these premises.

Will was sure that his nemesis wouldn't have left here without taking something, but so far, he hadn't been able to discern whether or not he'd done so. What would Hannibal have chosen to take? Something that he could use at a later date to frame Will for another of his crimes?

No, somehow he doubted that Hannibal would try that again. He'd already done it once, and he'd been spectacularly successful in that frame-up. But it was an old tactic.

This time, Hannibal would try something new, some insidious way of tormenting Will. Breaking into his house was more than likely only the beginning.

He could expect more unsettling events in the future. He was sure of that.

When he entered his bedroom, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what Hannibal had taken. His closet door was open, and he could see an empty hangar lying on his bed.

Hannibal had taken one of his shirts. The plaid shirts that he always wore, the shirts that he had dozens of, all hanging in his closet. One of the shirts that he wore most often.

Why would Hannibal want to take one of his shirts? Will frowned, unable to come up with a reason why. The only thing he could think of was that Hannibal planned to commit a particularly bloody murder, soak WIll's shirt in the blood, and leave it there, to place suspicion on him.

But no, that didn't seem to be how Hannibal's mind would work. He had to have something else planned, something that would be even more horrific than the scene Will's own mind had conjured up.

He almost yelped when his cell phone rang; he hadn't been expecting anyone to call. When he checked the number, it wasn't one that he knew; the hairs on the back of his neck prickled again.

"Hello?" he breathed, his voice a mere thread of sound.

"You really need to dust and vacuum, Will," Hannbal said, sounding as though he was scolding. "Your house should be more well-ordered. Your housekeeping skills leave much to be desired."

"I thought you were here," Will said through clenched teeth. "Don't come into my house, Hannibal. You're not welcome here. I'm surprised the dogs didn't attack you."

"The dogs know me," Hannibal returned, apparently unperturbed by the anger that was evident in Will's voice. "They had no problem with me being there. Unlike you, who seem to resent my presence. At one time, I would have been welcomed into your home and into your life, Will."

"That time is long past," Will snarled, unable to keep his fury from showing. "Why did you steal one of my shirts? Are you planning to frame me for another string of murders?"

"Of course not." Hannibal sounded indifferent; Will could almost see him shrug. "That has already been done. I won't try toe same tactic twice. You should know that."

He did. He'd just had to ask, and he still hadn't gotten an answer.

"Why?" he demanded, wishing that Hannibal would give him just one single clue as to where he was, and why he was doing this. "What do you want with one of my possesisons?"

"I wanted to have something of yours, Will." Hannibal's voice was very soft; for a moment, just a mere moment, WIll could almost hear what sounded like regret in his tone. "I can't be around you, so I thought that it would be pleasant to have some sort of a reminder of you near me."

Will was dumbfounded; of all the answers that Hannibal could have given him, that wasn't one that he'd expected to hear. His former friend almost sounded .... sad.

No. He couldn't be. It was just another mind game that he loved to play.

"Well, enjoy my shirt," Will snapped. "Because that's all you're getting. You'll never have another chance to victimize me, Hannibal. That time is in the past, too. And it's never coming back."

"I'm quite aware of that, WIll," Hannibal said, the words ending on a sigh. "And I know that it's entirely my fault. I've made far too many mistakes with you."

With that, the phone went dead, and Will was left staring at it in astonishment.

None of that had been what he'd expected to hear. Not at all. What was he supposed to think now? That Hannibal was somehow repenting of all the evil acts he'd committed?

He snorted aloud, shaking his head. No. He wasn't going to believe that. Nothing could make him think that Hannibal was turning over a new leaf.

Because, at the bottom of everything, Hannibal was still a killer. And he always would be.

In the end, he was still out there, and Will still had to catch him.

And he still had no answers, and no clue as to where he should start.