man…i don’t know. that is a difficult one, mostly because i don’t think will has any idea either. he asks abigail in the chapel where they would’ve gone, and her answer – really his answer, since she only exists in his mind – is “in some other world?” and then five seconds later he’s confronting the reality of her death, like his inability to imagine a life with hannibal has finally brought him back to some sort of reality. so i tend to think he knows that it wasn’t possible. if will can’t imagine it, with his imagination, where does that leave him? but he still wants it. so…
–
Will sat at the stern of the boat with his line over the side. He wasn’t going to catch anything. The water was pale blue crystal. He could see all the way to the sandy bottom: nothing but flowing fronds of seaweed and a few stingrays. He didn’t mind. The sun poured over him and loosened his joints. He already had a tan that made the sharp line of his scar stand out, bone-white, against his stomach.
It had done the opposite for Hannibal. The scars on his wrists had faded as if bleached, and he looked almost untouched now. Will glanced at him where he sat in the shade of the sail, knees pulled up, a book propped open on them, pen between his teeth.
“Are you actually working?” Will said.
“Composing.”
“There isn’t a harpsichord for a couple hundred miles in any direction.”
Hannibal pushed his hair back from his face and looked up at him. “We’ll have to land eventually,” he said.
They would. Eventually.
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