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Baltimore, Maryland
Jack did not at all appreciate the heinous consequences that a simple sighting of two men grocery shopping could bring.
Stella, an American visiting Florence who was eager to help out her proud nation wherever possible, submitted a very particular description to the FBI’s online Tip Line of two middle aged travelling companions. One, an impatient curly-haired brunet with an overgrown fringe and a guarded posture. When the wind blew, the aforementioned fringe lifted to reveal a distinctive scar across his forehead that Stella assumed was the result of some sort of brain surgery.
This man’s obvious attempts to go unnoticed were completely overshadowed by his counterpart. A taller, lighter haired man sporting high cheekbones and a rather pompous appliquéd linen blazer unsuited for the humble vegetable market they were all standing in. The impression Amanda gave made it clear that his ensemble was bordering on impractical and luxurious to the point of stupor; her exact words were, “It was like seeing a Gucci advert superimposed onto a frame from ‘Eat, Pray, Love’. Odd, but mesmerising”.
Jack was decidedly less impressed.
It had been almost eight months since Jack had watched the pair fall off a cliff with his own two eyes. He had been repeatedly assured that there was now way for two already injured middle-aged men to survive such a steep drop into freezing waters. They should be whale food, a problem of the gratefully forgotten past now out of Jack’s rapidly-greying hair. And yet, the description couldn’t fit any other pair.
This is how Jack found himself following obscure paper trails spanning multiple continents, once more tracking down two painfully familiar imbeciles. After a further three months of shouting down various investigators, legislators and Swiss bankers to increasing degrees of success, Jack’s team finally secured a warrant to monitor all cash withdrawals and purchases emanating from an offshore account they suspected belonged to Hannibal Lecter.
The earliest recorded purchases from this account corroborated this deduction. First Aid boxes, canned food, boat supplies etc. The next purchases they uncovered were less recovery-based, shaving supplies and new clothes were bought, alongside a not at all suspicious lump sum transferred to a prolific “custom passport artist” that has remained out of the FBI’s grasp for years now.
From there, purchases shift to a more domestic light. Crate shipments of decadent wine selections, imported artisanal cheeses, specially procured chef’s knives and other culinary components only Hannibal would be equipped to handle. Against his will, past images of Hannibal’s dinner parties came to mind. Disgust and despair bled into Jack’s memories of sharply dressed caterers toting artisanal charcuterie boards of beaufort d'ete, smoked serrano ham, sliced chorizo sausage and other bites too fancy for the FBI agent to name. Jack would never outwardly admit to the twinges of jealousy he felt returning home that evening; imagining the lavish feasts that two of the FBI’s Most Wanted were enjoying, juxtaposed with his own humble dinners of mediocre takeout (for the third night in a row) at a small dining table with an empty spot next two his own.
After weeks of close study, Jack and his team were not only sure of the bank account's owner, but could also piece together the life being built with these funds. A timeline began to form. One of slow recovery, of tireless travelling before eventually falling back into old habits.
But once this image had formed...it grew a little too detailed for Jack's liking.
In all his musings on their new life, Jack had never considered just how close the two criminals would grow. A rather telling acquisition of just one king-sized bed frame and mattress revealed that the two most likely shared a bed, but Jack’s mind never once lingered on exactly what went on in that bed. At least, not until these most recent purchases.
The first shipment of lube and condoms was merely something to giggle at and dismiss; Jack wouldn’t be proud to repeat some of the more distasteful jokes that he and an associate made about choice cuts of meat and eating habits.
Then the second lube order came.
Five days later.
Then another, and another, and another – each time exactly five days apart. This led to the distressing conclusion that those monsters had felt the need to sign up for some sort of subscription service .
If Jack were a luckier man, the revelations would have stopped there. But no, why end his suffering.
Instead came more orders, each one more salacious than the last; silk ropes, costume headbands, cushioned handcuffs, premium leather whips, custom harnesses, engraved collars and edible underwear in more flavours than Jack cared to think of.
The previously established image of the two cannibals’ life together began to distort in ways no one could’ve predicted; instead resembling some awful, twisted den of sin.
The stalwart professional, Head-of-Department part of Jack Crawford soldiered on in the face of such lechery for some time onwards. Diligently collating a list of any region-specific ‘specialty’ retailers being patronised and utilising shipping costs to estimate location -- but that same part of Jack died a little every time yet another dildo of monstrous proportions is paid for with that damned account. The small but dedicated team Jack had managed to rally, ultimately disbanded in the aftermath of a commission for a specially tailored cat tail-buttplug hybrid.
Everyone had their breaking point, and Jack was teetering towards his own. Early retirement was sounding better by the minute.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the Mediterranean
In the past year, Will has received a first class education in just how impactful a few friends in the right places can be. A favour here, some blackmail there, and you could secure your heart's desire no matter the price.
At the start, these strings were only pulled to quickly procure the bare necessities - a boat, temporary lodging and two one way tickets to far, far away. As this period of frenzy eventually passed, Will and Hannibal found themselves in a comfortable villa on some sparsely populated island with plenty of time to spare. Well, the devil makes work of idle hands, and once settled, Will proposed a plan to obfuscate their true location whilst simultaneously making a fool out of an old friend. As it so happens, the esteemed Mrs Lucretzia Amato-Casella - an old classmate from Hannibal’s youth in Florence - found herself burdened with a husband who yields substantial power over a surprisingly relaxed Swiss bank.
One short reunion and a beautiful tableau later, the newly widowed Ms Lucretzia Amato happily aided the two men in the anonymous establishment of an easily traceable account.
The initial purchases - connected to a multitude of billing addresses, obvious pseudonyms and financial dead ends - no doubt confused the intended target, but soon enough Will felt the urge to up the ante.
"Let's make Jack homophobic"
“You confuse me dear, Jack has never presented any bigoted attitudes in our years of working togethe-”
“We can change that.”
-
“That spyware you had installed on his desktop was a stroke of genius, Hannibal.”
“Yes, quite. Unrestricted webcam access as our old friend Jack discovers…certain purchases has truly been the chef-d'œuvre to this whole venture.”
Another pained facial expression fills Will’s laptop screen as yet another indecent order is read aloud, in adherence to the FBIs protocols on live developments. Jack’s developing migraine practically radiates off the device as two killers laugh among themselves in the dark before falling into a certain silence.
Having grown increasingly accustomed to each other's company, spells of comfortable silence between the two men were not uncommon, nor unwelcome. After so many torturous years of running away from his true nature, constantly running from his own thoughts and now a life on the run with his partner for life - Will had grown to appreciate the indulgent stillness of a peacefully quiet moment.
This was not that.
This silence held something more.
“It seems…wasteful to just discard all those purchases, no?”
The pair had stayed awake late to overcome differing time zones and catch Jack’s reactions live, but between the weak glow of his laptop and the thin moonbeams slicing through their heavy curtains, Will could just about make out Hannibal’s face. The Lithuanian man was not quite looking at his husband, instead those amber eyes were positioned slightly above Will’s eyebrow; no doubt Hannibal was studying the head of hair he buried his hands in, seemingly for hours everyday. There sat Hannibal, still as a mountain, but mind moving at miles a minute - eyes cool and calculating as always, giving very little away and yet clearly envisioning something .
“Hmm,” The younger man pretended to consider these words. “It would be easy to get Mario to bring the boxes over here. And some of those supplies are genuinely useful.” These words fall upon deaf ears, as Hannibal has an agenda to fulfil.
“Will, your empathy has allowed you to experience a myriad of mental states, granting you access to the most extraordinary psyches. In your time working under Crawford, you primarily entered the minds of killers; tasting the thrill of the hunt secondhand until your own murders brought those familiar, primal pleasures to the forefront.”
The hairs at the back of Will’s neck were standing at attention now, the air between the two men becoming increasingly charged with something as Hannibal continued his soliloquy.
“Post-domestication, Felis catis still manages to maintain the violent instincts of its predator ancestry, whilst simultaneously showcasing its newly inherited submissive tendencies, all in order to please their human masters. After indulging the urge to stalk and murder a songbird, cats obediently present the spoils of a successful hunt to their owners. Tell me Will, do you resonate with this duality? Do you wish to explore it further?”
Hannibal’s eyes are fixed on squarely on Will’s now, pupils blown wide, intense yet unquestioning - as if he’s always known the answer to this nonsensical question.
“...How fast can Mario get the tail here on that moped?”
Fin.