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Chapter 3: And as I Looked
Title: Listen Close to Me
Fandom: Hannibal (TV series)
Pairing/Characters: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Abigail Hobbs, Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz, Garrett Jacob Hobbs (in espiritu)
Word count: TBA (total), 2253 (chapter)
Rating: M
Warnings: Gore, maybe violence, improper use of beloved children's literature
Summary: Will Graham takes control of his life. Or someone does, anyway.
Read from the beginning
Chapter 3: And as I Looked
Will tugs awkwardly at the stiff collar of his new shirt, then curses himself for drawing attention to his clothing. Jack had shot Will a look when Will arrived at Quantico wearing what passed in the Will Graham clothing line as Red Carpet wear, but he has so far not deigned to comment, instead ushering Will into his office and directing Will’s attention to the spread of files on the latest case.
In addition to the crime-scene photos Will had seen before, Jack’s desk now boasts reports of the lab results, all detailing long lists of the tests run, and all ending in the same Inconclusive.
The pressure is on, and it’s on Will.
“I’m not sure what I can do, Jack. I’ve already told you everything that I’ve been able to see.” Everything about this killer’s design, anyway.
Jack paces the room while Will tries not to shift guiltily. “What you’ve told me isn’t good enough, Will. We’re no closing to finding the Ripper than we ever have been.” He rubs his face with his hands. He’s exhausted, Will sees. Will’s friend is exhausted, and Will could help him.
But Jack has an entire building of people to help him, and Abigail only has Will and--maybe--Dr. Lecter. The Ripper.
And to think Will had thought his life would get less complicated as he traveled farther along the road to healthy stability.
“Can you at least verify that it is the Ripper we’re dealing with here?” Jack asks, not quite masking his anger at Will’s reticence.
Will hesitates. On this, of all things, he remains undecided. He wonders what it says about him, that he can feel so unconflicted in his decision to protect Dr. Lecter to keep Abigail safe, but that he can’t decide whether or not to give Jack this seemingly innocuous piece of knowledge. “I’m not sure,” he hedges, and Jack throws up his arms in frustration. “The similarities are clear, but there’s something… different. If it is the Ripper, something important has changed for him.”
“Change,” ponders Jack, seemingly only having heard half of what Will had said. “Change is good. Change means he’s leaving his comfort zone. He might start making mistakes.” He looks at Will, trying to force eye contact. “What else do you have for me?”
“That’s really all, Jack. I’m grasping at straws, here, just like you are.”
“Look again. I need more, Will, and if you can’t--”
“Jack,” says Alana coldly. Jack and Will both freeze, barely able to turn their heads enough to confirm what their ears have told them. There is a click of heels against the uncarpeted floor as Alana steps Jack’s office, closing the door behind her as she does so. “I am certain we have already discussed Will’s continuing participation as a consultant on your cases, and how it is not going to happen.”
These words are enough to jar Jack into motion, and he turns on Alana, vibrating in fury. “Will’s insights on these cases save lives. You can’t expect me to--”
“I can and I do,” snaps Alana. Even in her heels, Jack is larger than Alana in every dimension; he should be dwarfing her. Instead, she stands before him with her back straight, her hands clenched into fists, and the physical presence of a tiger, huge and fierce and ready to attack head-on. “In case you don’t remember, let me remind you: Will has only just been released from the hospital with a serious neurological disease. He could have died if we hadn’t caught it when we did.”
“He seems fine to me,” says Jack, voice hard.
“How dare you--”
Will lets the sound of their voices fade away with a sigh. He wonders when they’ll remember that the subject of their argument is still in the room. He wonders if they’ll remember.
He looks back at the photos spread before him. Should he tell Jack? Linking this murder with the former Ripper kills could be a way to keep Dr. Lecter safe from ever being suspected, but that will be worthless if, on finding this new killer, they discover that he would have been unable to have committed any of the Ripper’s murders.
He needs more evidence. If he’s even seriously considering a frame-job, he needs to find this killer before Jack does.
Or, he could just tell Jack what he knows. Say he’s sure it’s not the Ripper, that it must be a new killer.
This would not immediately be an issue. Dr. Lecter is respected and admired, and no one has cast any doubt or suspicion on his sterling image. There’s no reason for Will to make a preemptive move in his defense.
But Dr. Lecter is complacent and perhaps even careless, showing off his macabre art and his morbid humour to all of Baltimore’s elite at every opportunity. He thrives on attention, both for his public skills and his darker, private ones. For how long will he be willing to remain anonymous?
Will imagines being called up to testify on the murders committed by the Ripper. He imagines being asked, directly, if Hannibal Lecter is the Ripper.
Will is a terrible liar at the best of times.
No. He can’t let it get that far. It would be best for Dr. Lecter and, more importantly, the daughter he has stolen from Will, if the option of discovery is removed entirely.
So it’s back to this new killer, who has been handed to Will like a wrapped present. Already believed by Jack and the BAU to be the work of the Ripper, it will be simple work to nudge their suspicions along, ensuring that the Ripper is locked up.
Then, Will will be able to deal with Dr. Lecter and his predilections for attention-grabbing displays at his leisure.
If only he could be sure.
There is a knock on the office door. When neither Jack nor Alana make any move to answer it, nor even bother to pause in their argument to acknowledge it, Will shuffles over and opens it hesitantly.
“My goodness,” says Dr. Lecter mildly. “I see that I should have brought an apron to protect against the blood stains.”
Will gives him a look, trying to communicate how unimpressed he is with Dr. Lecter’s ability to pretend that he isn’t a cold-blooded killer.
His look must be unsuccessful, because Dr. Lecter only smiles at him and says, “What a lovely suit, Will. Is it for me?”
Dr. Lecter is only teasing; he seems completely unsuspecting that there may be any truth to his implication until Will ruins it by turning bright red. Will fingers his tie nervously as Dr. Lecter’s eyes pass over him again, suddenly sharp and considering.
“If it were,” says Dr. Lecter carefully, “I would of course be beyond flattered.” He’s studying Will with the air of someone who has been playing checkers only to find the board has transformed into a game of chess, with half the pieces already deployed.
Will scoffs. “Yes, I’m sure,” he says dismissively, trying and failing to hide his discomfort. He should be pleased to have thrown the normally implacable Dr. Lecter for a loop, and he is, but he can nevertheless feel his stomach dropping. He is forced to remind himself, yet again, that his fabricated crush on Dr. Lecter is just that--a fabrication.
Dr. Lecter eyes him for a moment longer before visibly coming to some sort of decision. “What has happened that caused our friends to engage in this vicious and bloody battle?” he asks, smiling and encouraging Will to share in his joke.
Will shoves his sweaty hands in his pockets, seeing Dr. Lecter wince at the abuse of the fabric. “I happened,” he says drily. “Again.”
He wonders what Dr. Lecter decided. The change of subject was less of a clue than it seemed; even if Dr. Lecter was planning a confrontation, he would doubtlessly want to have it in a more private setting.
Dr. Lecter raises his eyebrows at him inquiringly, and Will sighs. “They’re fighting about me, so recently inflicted with encephalitis and still recovering, consulting on casework meant to be investigated by the sane.”
Dr. Lecter’s lips thin disapprovingly. “It is certainly not your sanity that is the concern,” he chides, “but your good health.” Dr. Lecter hesitates for a moment, seeming to choose his words with care. “You did not tell me about your encephalitis,” he says. “I had to hear of it from Alana.”
And though he couldn’t say precisely where the knowledge came from, Will knows with sudden, startling clarity that Dr. Lecter knew. Dr. Lecter knew about his illness, perhaps knew exactly what he was suffering from, and did nothing. Will turns away, trying to hide the fury he feels bubbling up inside of him. This is the man he is trying so hard to protect? This is Abigail’s only chance at a normal life? He keeps his eyes on the floor, hovering somewhere around Alana’s shoes and says, “I didn’t want you to know.”
“I see. Perhaps--”
“Hannibal!” says Alana, finally noticing them standing by the door. “I’m so glad you’re here. Please help me explain to our friend here exactly how severe of a condition encephalitis is and exactly how important a long period of convalescence is for a complete recovery.”
“He has had two weeks of convalescence! I’m not asking him to run a marathon, just to sit in a damn chair and look at pictures.”
“I’m not convinced that those pictures aren’t at the root of the problem, here!”
“Of course,” Dr. Lecter interrupts, finally, “I would be happy to discuss the details of encephalitis with Jack at any time. However, I’m not currently in a position to comment on Will’s health or readiness for work. Perhaps you might consider asking Will himself?”
The last comment is pointed enough that Jack and Alana both deflate, looking slightly shame-faced but, unfortunately, no less stubborn.
“Yes,” says Alana. “Yes, of course.” She and Jack exchange awkward expressions.
Will clears his throat. “So, uh, about my… convalescence. Like you said, it’s been two weeks. Katz has been really great about staying with me and everything, but does she still need to? And what about driving?”
Will’s eyes flicker between Alana and Dr. Lecter. Alana looks almost smug at the stress Will’s questions place on Will’s health--or lack thereof. Dr. Lecter looks oddly displeased, though when Will replays his questions in his mind, he can’t see why that might be.
“Your next check-up is tomorrow, isn’t it?” asks Alana. She doesn’t bother to wait for an answer, as she knows exactly when his check-up is, having scheduled it herself. “Depending on how they say you’re doing, we may be able to see about letting Beverly off the hook. I’m going to have to give you a hard no on driving any time soon, though. I’ll pick you up for your appointment tomorrow, if you’d like.”
Will makes a face. “That’d be great of you, thanks,” he says, and hopes he sounds more grateful than sulky.
Dr. Lecter adds, “If something should come up in your respective schedules that makes the drive inconvenient, I would be happy to pick Will up.”
Alana frowns at this interjection, looking between Dr. Lecter and Will thoughtfully. “You said before that you’re not in a position to comment on Will--are you referring him to another psychiatrist, Hannibal? Is that what brought you here today?”
Will hides a wince. He guesses that it’s good that they’re having this conversation sooner rather than later, but he wishes he didn’t need to be present for it.
Dr. Lecter, however, unpredictable as ever, side-steps her question smoothly. “Actually, I’m here to pick Will up for dinner,” he says, smiling at Will fondly.
Both Jack and Alana start at this statement. Jack recovers quickly, leaning back on his heels with crossed arms and a frown. Alana, spends a long moment floundering in shock before she visibly gathers herself. “I see,” she says. “I suppose that answers my question.”
Dr. Lecter inclines his head, but does not answer.
Sneaky bastard, thinks Will.
“I’m afraid we really should be going,” says Dr. Lecter into the silence. “If you will excuse us?” He steps back and holds the door open for Will.
“Thanks,” Will mumbles. He’s suddenly really not looking forward to the car ride into Baltimore and the questions Dr. Lecter will no doubt have for him.
“Not at all,” says Dr. Lecter, smiling.
--
Somehow, the conversation during the long drive to Baltimore is remarkably benign. Dr. Lecter speaks mostly of Abigail--her recovery, her plans, the adoption. As Will listens, he feels something inside of himself relax. It isn’t until Dr. Lecter’s sidelong glances at him become increasingly lingering that Will realises he’s smiling softly.
When they arrive at Dr. Lecter’s house, Abigail answers the door.
Will lets his eyes meet hers, and the resolve which had been weakening all through that awkward conversation in Jack’s office solidifies within him. Dr. Lecter was going to let Will’s encephalitis destroy him, yes, but if Will was willing to protect him as the Ripper, he might as well protect him through his terrible professional decisions. He had promised to keep Abigail safe, and that promise was more important than anything Dr. Lecter might do.
“Will,” says Dr. Lecter smugly. “I believe you know Abigail?”
“Hi, Will,” Abigail says. “I like your suit.”
--
Fandom: Hannibal (TV series)
Pairing/Characters: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Abigail Hobbs, Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz, Garrett Jacob Hobbs (in espiritu)
Word count: TBA (total), 2253 (chapter)
Rating: M
Warnings: Gore, maybe violence, improper use of beloved children's literature
Summary: Will Graham takes control of his life. Or someone does, anyway.
Read from the beginning
Chapter 3: And as I Looked
Will tugs awkwardly at the stiff collar of his new shirt, then curses himself for drawing attention to his clothing. Jack had shot Will a look when Will arrived at Quantico wearing what passed in the Will Graham clothing line as Red Carpet wear, but he has so far not deigned to comment, instead ushering Will into his office and directing Will’s attention to the spread of files on the latest case.
In addition to the crime-scene photos Will had seen before, Jack’s desk now boasts reports of the lab results, all detailing long lists of the tests run, and all ending in the same Inconclusive.
The pressure is on, and it’s on Will.
“I’m not sure what I can do, Jack. I’ve already told you everything that I’ve been able to see.” Everything about this killer’s design, anyway.
Jack paces the room while Will tries not to shift guiltily. “What you’ve told me isn’t good enough, Will. We’re no closing to finding the Ripper than we ever have been.” He rubs his face with his hands. He’s exhausted, Will sees. Will’s friend is exhausted, and Will could help him.
But Jack has an entire building of people to help him, and Abigail only has Will and--maybe--Dr. Lecter. The Ripper.
And to think Will had thought his life would get less complicated as he traveled farther along the road to healthy stability.
“Can you at least verify that it is the Ripper we’re dealing with here?” Jack asks, not quite masking his anger at Will’s reticence.
Will hesitates. On this, of all things, he remains undecided. He wonders what it says about him, that he can feel so unconflicted in his decision to protect Dr. Lecter to keep Abigail safe, but that he can’t decide whether or not to give Jack this seemingly innocuous piece of knowledge. “I’m not sure,” he hedges, and Jack throws up his arms in frustration. “The similarities are clear, but there’s something… different. If it is the Ripper, something important has changed for him.”
“Change,” ponders Jack, seemingly only having heard half of what Will had said. “Change is good. Change means he’s leaving his comfort zone. He might start making mistakes.” He looks at Will, trying to force eye contact. “What else do you have for me?”
“That’s really all, Jack. I’m grasping at straws, here, just like you are.”
“Look again. I need more, Will, and if you can’t--”
“Jack,” says Alana coldly. Jack and Will both freeze, barely able to turn their heads enough to confirm what their ears have told them. There is a click of heels against the uncarpeted floor as Alana steps Jack’s office, closing the door behind her as she does so. “I am certain we have already discussed Will’s continuing participation as a consultant on your cases, and how it is not going to happen.”
These words are enough to jar Jack into motion, and he turns on Alana, vibrating in fury. “Will’s insights on these cases save lives. You can’t expect me to--”
“I can and I do,” snaps Alana. Even in her heels, Jack is larger than Alana in every dimension; he should be dwarfing her. Instead, she stands before him with her back straight, her hands clenched into fists, and the physical presence of a tiger, huge and fierce and ready to attack head-on. “In case you don’t remember, let me remind you: Will has only just been released from the hospital with a serious neurological disease. He could have died if we hadn’t caught it when we did.”
“He seems fine to me,” says Jack, voice hard.
“How dare you--”
Will lets the sound of their voices fade away with a sigh. He wonders when they’ll remember that the subject of their argument is still in the room. He wonders if they’ll remember.
He looks back at the photos spread before him. Should he tell Jack? Linking this murder with the former Ripper kills could be a way to keep Dr. Lecter safe from ever being suspected, but that will be worthless if, on finding this new killer, they discover that he would have been unable to have committed any of the Ripper’s murders.
He needs more evidence. If he’s even seriously considering a frame-job, he needs to find this killer before Jack does.
Or, he could just tell Jack what he knows. Say he’s sure it’s not the Ripper, that it must be a new killer.
This would not immediately be an issue. Dr. Lecter is respected and admired, and no one has cast any doubt or suspicion on his sterling image. There’s no reason for Will to make a preemptive move in his defense.
But Dr. Lecter is complacent and perhaps even careless, showing off his macabre art and his morbid humour to all of Baltimore’s elite at every opportunity. He thrives on attention, both for his public skills and his darker, private ones. For how long will he be willing to remain anonymous?
Will imagines being called up to testify on the murders committed by the Ripper. He imagines being asked, directly, if Hannibal Lecter is the Ripper.
Will is a terrible liar at the best of times.
No. He can’t let it get that far. It would be best for Dr. Lecter and, more importantly, the daughter he has stolen from Will, if the option of discovery is removed entirely.
So it’s back to this new killer, who has been handed to Will like a wrapped present. Already believed by Jack and the BAU to be the work of the Ripper, it will be simple work to nudge their suspicions along, ensuring that the Ripper is locked up.
Then, Will will be able to deal with Dr. Lecter and his predilections for attention-grabbing displays at his leisure.
If only he could be sure.
There is a knock on the office door. When neither Jack nor Alana make any move to answer it, nor even bother to pause in their argument to acknowledge it, Will shuffles over and opens it hesitantly.
“My goodness,” says Dr. Lecter mildly. “I see that I should have brought an apron to protect against the blood stains.”
Will gives him a look, trying to communicate how unimpressed he is with Dr. Lecter’s ability to pretend that he isn’t a cold-blooded killer.
His look must be unsuccessful, because Dr. Lecter only smiles at him and says, “What a lovely suit, Will. Is it for me?”
Dr. Lecter is only teasing; he seems completely unsuspecting that there may be any truth to his implication until Will ruins it by turning bright red. Will fingers his tie nervously as Dr. Lecter’s eyes pass over him again, suddenly sharp and considering.
“If it were,” says Dr. Lecter carefully, “I would of course be beyond flattered.” He’s studying Will with the air of someone who has been playing checkers only to find the board has transformed into a game of chess, with half the pieces already deployed.
Will scoffs. “Yes, I’m sure,” he says dismissively, trying and failing to hide his discomfort. He should be pleased to have thrown the normally implacable Dr. Lecter for a loop, and he is, but he can nevertheless feel his stomach dropping. He is forced to remind himself, yet again, that his fabricated crush on Dr. Lecter is just that--a fabrication.
Dr. Lecter eyes him for a moment longer before visibly coming to some sort of decision. “What has happened that caused our friends to engage in this vicious and bloody battle?” he asks, smiling and encouraging Will to share in his joke.
Will shoves his sweaty hands in his pockets, seeing Dr. Lecter wince at the abuse of the fabric. “I happened,” he says drily. “Again.”
He wonders what Dr. Lecter decided. The change of subject was less of a clue than it seemed; even if Dr. Lecter was planning a confrontation, he would doubtlessly want to have it in a more private setting.
Dr. Lecter raises his eyebrows at him inquiringly, and Will sighs. “They’re fighting about me, so recently inflicted with encephalitis and still recovering, consulting on casework meant to be investigated by the sane.”
Dr. Lecter’s lips thin disapprovingly. “It is certainly not your sanity that is the concern,” he chides, “but your good health.” Dr. Lecter hesitates for a moment, seeming to choose his words with care. “You did not tell me about your encephalitis,” he says. “I had to hear of it from Alana.”
And though he couldn’t say precisely where the knowledge came from, Will knows with sudden, startling clarity that Dr. Lecter knew. Dr. Lecter knew about his illness, perhaps knew exactly what he was suffering from, and did nothing. Will turns away, trying to hide the fury he feels bubbling up inside of him. This is the man he is trying so hard to protect? This is Abigail’s only chance at a normal life? He keeps his eyes on the floor, hovering somewhere around Alana’s shoes and says, “I didn’t want you to know.”
“I see. Perhaps--”
“Hannibal!” says Alana, finally noticing them standing by the door. “I’m so glad you’re here. Please help me explain to our friend here exactly how severe of a condition encephalitis is and exactly how important a long period of convalescence is for a complete recovery.”
“He has had two weeks of convalescence! I’m not asking him to run a marathon, just to sit in a damn chair and look at pictures.”
“I’m not convinced that those pictures aren’t at the root of the problem, here!”
“Of course,” Dr. Lecter interrupts, finally, “I would be happy to discuss the details of encephalitis with Jack at any time. However, I’m not currently in a position to comment on Will’s health or readiness for work. Perhaps you might consider asking Will himself?”
The last comment is pointed enough that Jack and Alana both deflate, looking slightly shame-faced but, unfortunately, no less stubborn.
“Yes,” says Alana. “Yes, of course.” She and Jack exchange awkward expressions.
Will clears his throat. “So, uh, about my… convalescence. Like you said, it’s been two weeks. Katz has been really great about staying with me and everything, but does she still need to? And what about driving?”
Will’s eyes flicker between Alana and Dr. Lecter. Alana looks almost smug at the stress Will’s questions place on Will’s health--or lack thereof. Dr. Lecter looks oddly displeased, though when Will replays his questions in his mind, he can’t see why that might be.
“Your next check-up is tomorrow, isn’t it?” asks Alana. She doesn’t bother to wait for an answer, as she knows exactly when his check-up is, having scheduled it herself. “Depending on how they say you’re doing, we may be able to see about letting Beverly off the hook. I’m going to have to give you a hard no on driving any time soon, though. I’ll pick you up for your appointment tomorrow, if you’d like.”
Will makes a face. “That’d be great of you, thanks,” he says, and hopes he sounds more grateful than sulky.
Dr. Lecter adds, “If something should come up in your respective schedules that makes the drive inconvenient, I would be happy to pick Will up.”
Alana frowns at this interjection, looking between Dr. Lecter and Will thoughtfully. “You said before that you’re not in a position to comment on Will--are you referring him to another psychiatrist, Hannibal? Is that what brought you here today?”
Will hides a wince. He guesses that it’s good that they’re having this conversation sooner rather than later, but he wishes he didn’t need to be present for it.
Dr. Lecter, however, unpredictable as ever, side-steps her question smoothly. “Actually, I’m here to pick Will up for dinner,” he says, smiling at Will fondly.
Both Jack and Alana start at this statement. Jack recovers quickly, leaning back on his heels with crossed arms and a frown. Alana, spends a long moment floundering in shock before she visibly gathers herself. “I see,” she says. “I suppose that answers my question.”
Dr. Lecter inclines his head, but does not answer.
Sneaky bastard, thinks Will.
“I’m afraid we really should be going,” says Dr. Lecter into the silence. “If you will excuse us?” He steps back and holds the door open for Will.
“Thanks,” Will mumbles. He’s suddenly really not looking forward to the car ride into Baltimore and the questions Dr. Lecter will no doubt have for him.
“Not at all,” says Dr. Lecter, smiling.
--
Somehow, the conversation during the long drive to Baltimore is remarkably benign. Dr. Lecter speaks mostly of Abigail--her recovery, her plans, the adoption. As Will listens, he feels something inside of himself relax. It isn’t until Dr. Lecter’s sidelong glances at him become increasingly lingering that Will realises he’s smiling softly.
When they arrive at Dr. Lecter’s house, Abigail answers the door.
Will lets his eyes meet hers, and the resolve which had been weakening all through that awkward conversation in Jack’s office solidifies within him. Dr. Lecter was going to let Will’s encephalitis destroy him, yes, but if Will was willing to protect him as the Ripper, he might as well protect him through his terrible professional decisions. He had promised to keep Abigail safe, and that promise was more important than anything Dr. Lecter might do.
“Will,” says Dr. Lecter smugly. “I believe you know Abigail?”
“Hi, Will,” Abigail says. “I like your suit.”
--