Title: Too Late For Regrets
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Table: 50ficlets
Prompt: 18, Future
Author's Note: Sequel to "Standing in the Rain."
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.
***
He wished that he'd never entered this house.But it was far too late for regrets, Will told himself, sighing as he looked around the darkened foyer. He had come into this house willingly, at least the first time.
He wished that he wasn't here now. He didn't want to be here. But he knew that he had to do this; if he didn't, then he would never make peace with his own past.
How many times had he stood in this foyer, with Hannibal reaching for his coat? How many sessions had he come here for, until he'd realized that those "therapy" sessions were no therapy at all, but just a way for Hannibal to reach into his mind and try to twist him into something that he wasn't?
The memory of those sessions made him shudder. Hannibal had done things to him then; things that he only vaguely remembered, things that he didn't want to come to the surface.
He had been foolish enough to think that his nemesis understood him, when all the while, Hannibal had only been toying with him, trying to find out what made him tick.
Hannibal had never been his friend. He wasn't capable of friendship.
Hannibal had only wanted Will to become a carbon copy of himself. He had needed someone to take the fall for his crimes, and Will had been the perfect patsy.
The perfect prey, he thought, wincing as he moved deeper into the house. Yes, that was all he'd ever been. Prey. But now his eyes were opened, and he would never be so helpless again.
The furniture was covered with dust sheets; he'd expected that, but he hadn't expected the place to look and feel so .... uninhabited. He had been sure that the house would still retain some of Hannibal's malevolent spirit, that it would still hold some of the evil of its owner.
But the place felt strangely deserted, void of any character.
That thought made Will's spirits lift a bit. If the house felt so oddly stripped of everything that had been the essence of Hannibal, maybe it wouldn't be so hard to walk through these rooms.
That feeling left him quickly, though, as he moved more deeply into the house. He stopped just outside the dining room, closing his eyes as memories came flooding back.
What exactly had he eaten all the times he'd been in that room?
Will almost felt as though he wanted to throw up; he swallowed hard, fighting back the urge. Whatever he had eaten in this room was long out of his system; he didn't want to think about it, didn't want to remember all the times that his nemesis had invited him over for dinner.
He knew now exactly what Hannibal was, and it sickened him more than it ever had. To think that Hannibal had ever thought that he would follow in those evil footsteps!
He could never be like Hannibal. He could never kill for the pleasure of doing so; he'd killed out of necessity, to save lives, including his own. That was all.
He wasn't evil. He had a dark side, but he didn't give in to it.
He regretted a lot of what he'd had to do to put Hannibal behind bars, but he didn't regret the fact that such a monster was now where he belonged.
It was hard not to have regrets, even though all the things that he'd done had been necessary. He just wished that so many lives hadn't been lost to put one life in jail.
Still, it was far too late for regrets. He'd done what he had to do, and hopefully, he'd managed to get some justice for those who had lost their lives at Hannibal's hands. He hoped so. He would hate to think that all he'd done, the sacrifices that he himself had made, were in vain.
Will pushed those regrets to the back of his mind, slamming a mental door on them. He didn't need to think about them now. This wasn't the time or the place.
He had to keep in mind why he was here. He needed to exorcise this place, to put away the ghosts of all that had taken place here, not drag out regrets and examine them.
Taking a deep breath, Will squared his shoulders.
He would never feel comfortable in this house, but at least he was taking the proverbial bull by the horns and facing his fears, rather than running away from them.
Nor was he trying to lock them away. He was admitting that they existed, and he was standing up to them -- just as he had done when he had first confronted Hannibal.
He would never regret doing that. He'd had to make sure that the bastard was behind bars, and he had no regrets whatsoever about being the one to put him there. But a part of him would always regret the lives that he hadn't been able to stop Hannibal from taking.
There was one life in particular that he wished he could have saved, a life that had meant a great deal to him. And he had watched her die in this house.
Will closed his eyes, then opened them to look down at his hands. They were trembling as he slowly raised them to his face. He couldn't stop their shaking.
He didn't want to walk into that upstairs room. But he had no choice.
He had to face that room, and all that had happened there, no matter how hard it was for him. He couldn't truly be at peace until he did.
That room had played a large part in his nightmares for the past several months. He had to exorcise those memories, had to manage to put them aside, to lock them away in the past where they belonged. He couldn't let them keep plaguing him. If he did, then he would go insane.
It was too late to stop those memories from being a part of his life, but he could at least face the place where they had formed, and hopefully, lay them to rest.
Slowly, reluctantly, Will began to make his way up the stairs.
***
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