Compassion

Awakening

The first thing Will noticed was that he wasn't cold anymore. The only remnant of the aching pain that had filled him was a faint throbbing in his shoulder and jaw. He was slowly coming back into consciousness, and with every breath he drew the throbbing became a little more noticeable. When he was finally able to open his eyes, Will thought for a moment he had gone blind. Black satin was draped above him, but as his eyes adjusted he could see faint light filtering through the room. He was in a large bed, clean and stitched back together.

He stared at the canopy, trying to catch the snippets of hazy memory that flashed through his mind. Warm water, careful hands that gently washed him, then the silky touch of soft sheets.

Will slowly sat up, letting the sheets slide off his shoulders as he swung his legs over the side. He was only in his boxers, which had clearly been washed as well. His cheeks warmed as he realized Hannibal had to have undressed and bathed him, washed the only piece of clothing that had survived the night, and redressed him.

"You're awake," Hannibal's rich voice came from the darkened doorway. He carried a tray, the contents of which were hidden in shadow.

Will carded his fingers through his hair, trying not to dwell on his realization and the fact that the doctor too was only wearing a loose pair of pants. "How long was I out?"

Hannibal moved across the room, his normally graceful movements only slightly impeded by a faint limp. As he walked Will noticed that the bullet wound had been expertly stitched closed as well. "All day, though you seemed to rally a few times." He set the tray on a small table next to the bed and offered the younger man a set of neatly folded clothing. The profiler didn't bother asking where they came from; Hannibal always seemed to have something on hand.

"Day?" Will turned again towards the window in the corner and noticed there were no curtains, and the only light source was the bright moon. Moving caused the world to spin around him. It didn't seem right, it being night again. Everything was a blur.

Hannibal merely guided his face back towards him and held a glass of water to his lips. Will winced as he tried to drink, pain lancing through his face. "Slowly," the doctor said softly, gripping the back of his head and helping him tilt back so the water would naturally trickle down his throat, where he could easily swallow instead of having to work for it.

Will finished the glass, and felt a little better for it. The clothes still sat in his lap, though putting them on didn't seem to be a priority for the older man now handing him a bowl of hot soup. He didn't ask what was in it.

He ate slowly, Hannibal helping him so he didn't reopen the stab wound in the side of his face. Of all the places... but at least it was survivable. They were quiet for a while, the only sounds the clinking of metal on ceramic and the faint gulp of Will swallowing.

"We can't stay long," Hannibal said as he set aside the bowl and released profiler's head. Will almost wished he hadn't; there was something about having his hand there, so steady and firm, that brought him comfort. "Get dressed; we should leave under the cover of darkness."

Though he felt much better after eating, Will still didn't understand how the he seemed so unfazed. It was as if he'd already recovered, though the older man's injury was far more serious than his own. Then again, Hannibal had always had a way to appear less affected than he was, and had always been good at recovering quickly. It was a skill he was envious of and hoped he would be able to develop, since this was his life now.

He did as instructed, gingerly lifting the shirt over his head and around his arms while Hannibal left the room to do whatever it was he thought he needed to. He returned with Will's shoes just as the younger man was finishing fastening his belt. He now had a satin button-up shirt on, and his own shoes now covered his feet. He knelt to help Will get his on, silently maneuvering the profiler's feet into the shoe.

They finally left, Hannibal taking care to leave everything in certain spots, except for the missing clothing and food. He even locked the door and tucked the key very carefully under the corner of the front mat. The walked down the long driveway to where an old, beat up truck waited. Will glanced at Hannibal, struggling to imagine the classy man selecting this to drive.

He seemed to notice the look, because he spoke frankly. "We need them to think we are dead, so I thought it best to arrange transportation that might be of a lower profile." He opened the passenger door and waited expectantly.

"I guess you're right," Will replied as he stepped into the vehicle. The seats were well worn and yellow cushioning peeked out of tears in the fabric. He tried not to be disgusted by the state of the poor thing; he was sure his companion was far more uncomfortable than he was.

The truck gurgled before roaring to life and Hannibal pulled out onto the road. "Where are we going?" Will asked, though he wasn't particularly concerned. Foolish as it may seem, he trusted the man beside him now, regardless of their past.

"We have much to discuss, Will," Hannibal replied. "There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of."

The former professor's gut clenched. He had an idea of what he meant; the doctor was a man of his word, and he'd promised a few people to come for them. "Who's first?"

Though his eyes had yet to leave the road, Hannibal now glanced at his passenger. He had that look in his eye, the one he got when he was on the hunt, planning and calculating every step. "Who do you want to take first?"

Will thought for a moment, running through a list of people he knew were on their radar – it didn't seem to be all that weird to him that he was now thinking as 'they' – and trying to decide. They had all been his friends at one point. All had tried to help him, and yet all of them and ushered him into the killer's arms. He owed them, and yet... he felt an odd sort of clarity thinking about what it would be like to take their lives. He'd imagined killing Jack once, when asked how he'd wished that night had transpired. This was different though. This felt real.

This was a test, he knew. He'd promised Hannibal these things before, and had ended up betraying him. It had cost him Abigail, and nearly his own life. Jack and Alana had nearly died that day as well, but by a miracle they survived. Not that it would get them anywhere now.

Will stared at his driver and when the older man glanced at him, he knew who the first target would be. He could see it in his eyes. He looked back at the road, though he was aware of Hannibal watching him for a moment more. A calm sort of silence fell between them. The younger man had accepted the test.