Chapter Text
In a small cabin, somewhere south of the cliff house, they heal. It’s slower than both of them would like but that’s middle age for you.
The first hours in the cabin are a blur. Hannibal has connections and calls in an old favor a veterinarian owed him. A seemingly-sensible younger man with kind eyes. He is mostly quiet when he makes his first visit, operating with steady hands on the rustic kitchen table, Hannibal drugged out of his mind on ketamine but still talking him through every step in a detached but calm voice.
Will sits by the head of the table and just stares at the gaping bullet wound and the tools going in and out of Hannibal’s lower abdomen. Will is pale and a bit out of it as well. He couldn’t swallow pills because of the gigantic fucking hole in his cheek that’s been taped together as best as the young veterinarian could manage. Will refused to be tended to any more than necessary to stop the bleeding, ushering the veterinarian to focus on Hannibal.
Will injected himself with morphine and the warmth that currently is enfolding him is almost enough to calm him — but not quite. It’s a strange blend of emotions he’s feeling. Being thrown violently between euphoric relief and joy, and then JesusChristwhathaveIdone, to be topped off with an I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry, and a splash of you deserve every second of agony… I love you. But two things are crystal clear; Hannibal needs to live and they need to remain together.
If the ocean wouldn’t take them, then no one could have them except for themselves. And certainly not something as mundane and ugly as a gunshot wound. Fair is fair.
“If you die now, I’ll never forgive you,” Will hisses out when the veterinarian is putting the last stitch in place, his voice sounding hoarse and strange to his own ears.
ooOoOoo
“And if I live?” Hannibal murmurs back, closing his eyes against the strong nausea that threatens to make him vomit. Vomiting with a freshly patched-up hole in your stomach would be…less than desirable. He sits himself up, room spinning.
Will moves to stand directly in front of him, his hands on Hannibal's shoulders.
“If you live, I’ll live with you. We’ll live together. Never to part. Have and hold. Better and worse.” The words come without even a second's hesitation. Like an ancient truth passed down through genetics.
Hannibal's brow furrows just a little; he could believe Will. He truly could.
“I believe the phrase is 'Better or worse,'” he replies, to buy himself just a moment to gather himself and his thoughts.
Will lets out a painful huff of a laugh that turns into tears. He leans in, presses his head against Hannibal’s shoulder.
“You know what I mean,” Will whispers between sobs
The reply comes to Hannibal then. A crystal clear thought and emotion, in an otherwise rather dissociative state.
“I do.”