A/N; okay so I sat on my couch for ten hours with my ridiculously huge phone and only managed to accidentally delete a heap of it and be forced to rewrite it once. Thank God. I'm posting this from my phone out of pure laziness to move myself from my lounge to my bedroom so I hope it's formatted okay. I'm rewarding myself with chocolate as I type. So I hope you enjoy it! I certainly worked hard.

Tw: mentions of suicide and generally manipulative Hannibal. This is not a lovey hannigram fic by any means.

Alana Bloom sits directly across from Will Graham, her legs and arms are folded. Defensive, Will thinks.

"Jack Crawford sent me in to evaluate you, he can't get a hold of Dr. Lecter."

Will looks down at the floor, the last thing he wants to do is come face to face with Lecter again. His hatred for the man burns hotter than the hatred for the kids who harassed him in high school. He closes his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Alana asks.

Will gives a dry, humorless laugh and glances at the ceiling. "I'm fine, yeah. My career has been destroyed, my reputation... I can't sleep, I hallucinate. Everything's going just great," he spits the last word like it's a foul taste in his mouth.

Alana unfolds her arms only to adjust herself and fold them again. "How many hours have you slept this week, Will?"

He thinks for a second, then glances at the clock in the hallway, "I've been awake for exactly 58 hours. It's a new personal best."

Alana keeps her face passive, despite the concern that churns in her stomach. "Are you having any suicidal thoughts? "

"What do you think?"

"I think you're up for numerous murder charges that could lock you away for life."

Will doesn't look at her, instead he stands and lays down in his cot. Alana Bloom won't be getting any more answers out of him today.

"Ah Dr. Lecter, you finally pick up the phone!" Jack Crawford exclaims.

Hannibal smiles, "My sincerest apologies, I was suffering from a bought of stomach flu."

"Well I'm glad you're better now, Doctor." Jack scribbles down some phone numbers he means to call later. "Would it be possible for you to come in and talk to our dear Will?"

Hannibal answers without hesitation, "Of course."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"He did try to kill you."

"I can handle him."

"I think Will is suicidal," Alana Bloom says.

"It doesn't surprise me," Hannibal counters, "I'm honestly surprised he held out this long."

"I don't think he's going to cooperate with us," Jack interjects.

Hannibal looks down at his notes, flicks through some papers. Will had never before reported feeling like topping himself but Hannibal had never doubted that the thoughts would plague his mind in the middle of the night. He isn't too concerned.

"I must request to speak with him in private, somewhere comfortable."

Jack sighs and looks down at his desk, "Are you sure?"

Hannibal nods, "I believe it's the only way I'm going to get anything out of him."

"I'll work something out."

An hour later Hannibal Lecter is carrying a taser in one pocket and handcuffs in the other. Jack instructed him to perform a physical examination on him as well as a psychological examination, Hannibal knows Will better than anyone after all.

He takes a left into a small corridor that leads to an even smaller room. Inside Will Graham is sitting on a two seated couch with a coffee table in front of his knees. He is rigid. Hannibal smirks and turns the knob and steps inside. Will flinches at the noise.

"How are you Will?" Hannibal says, closing the door behind him.

The room is roughly the size of a standard cell, except cleaner and softer and warmer. Comfortable. Will looks away.

"They called me in to evaluate you," he places his briefcase on the coffee table, next to the plastic jug of water. "And I need you to cooperate."

Will is visibly upset.

Hannibal sits down next to him. "How are you feeling?"

Will keeps his gaze firmly fixed on a chipped brick in the wall; his chest is tight like someone has wrapped barb wire around his ribcage and pulled tight. He's panicking. "O-okay." He manages.

"Good, we're making progress," Hannibal places his hand on Will's thigh.

His touch feels white-hot, painful. Will's breath catches in his throat and his entire body tenses against it. "Don't touch me."

Hannibal ignores him, and opens his mouth to speak.

"Don't touch me."

"Will-"

"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"

His voice is growing increasingly panicky and Hannibal still chooses to ignore his requests.

"Get off me!" Will shouts, he slaps his hand away and attempts to slide over to get away from him but hits the wooden arm of the chair on his hipbone. He cries out and holds his side.

Hannibal remains passive. "Are you alright Will?" He replaces his hand on his upper thigh.

Will keens, "Please Hannibal," and he finally meets Hannibal's eyes.

He's satisfied, and he takes his hand away.

Will sighs shakily and just barely manages to snuff out a panic attack before it completely envelopes him. Hannibal leans over and fills up a glass of water then offers it to him. Will shakes his head. Hannibal takes a mouthful and places the cup back down on the table.

"How are you feeling?"

"Violated."

Hannibal gives a look that might be mistaken for guilt before sitting back in his seat. "Are you having suicidal thoughts?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because we are concerned for you."

Will almost hisses. "I don't believe you."

Hannibal wraps his hand around Will's forearm, he doesn't flinch or pull away. "If I handed you a gun, right now, could you guarantee that you wouldn't turn it on yourself?"

Will hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. Hannibal expects him to do something, anything. Cry. Maybe shout at him. But he doesn't. Will is numb. "If you gave me a razor I'd slit my wrists, if you gave me a noose I'd wear it around my neck and jump from the rafters."

Hannibal rubs his thumb in circles and feels the muscles underneath relax. Will sighs.

"Do you have a history of this?"

"I don-"

"We don't have to talk about it. I just need to know if you need to be hospitalised for a short time to deal with this."

Will shakes his head, "No I don't need it."

Emotionally disarmed and feeling physically sick, Will hides his head in his hands and places his elbows on his knees. It takes a second for Will to unwind and let the emotions flood back into his system again. Hannibal doesn't feel bad about this. If anything he feels accomplished that he was able to bring Will down to such a level... he likes it. He likes watching him fall apart bit by bit, likes watching the pieces start to fall from his puzzle. Will's web of sanity intricately starts to unwind in the most puzzling of ways. Hannibal wants to know exactly how he still walks around like nothing is wrong. In time, Will will trust him again. He knows it.

"If you don't mind; I have to examine you physically. To make sure you're healthy."

Will sniffles and wipes his face. Pathetic, Hannibal thinks. Will is submissive now, he sees no point in resisting whatever Hannibal has to throw at him, he just hopes no needles will be involved.

Hannibal pops open his briefcase and pulls out a stethoscope, "Can you unbutton your shirt for me Will?"

With shaking fingers Will undoes the first four buttons, then clasps his hands in his lap. Hannibal works the ear pieces into his ears and smiles comfortingly at Will; who doesn't look at him. Hannibal shifts the collar of Will's shirt aside and ignores the whistling of a terrified breath through Will's nose. He flinches away from Hannibal when he presses the cold metal to his chest.

"God that's cold," he hisses.

Hannibal chuckles, "Sorry."

Will's fists clench around the material of his pants, he concentrates hard on that chipped brick, wonders how it got to be chipped.

"Breathe in..." he does. "Breathe out..." he does, albeit shakily. "Now I need you to turn around." Will shakes his head, eyes still locked on the brick. "Will." Shakes his head again. Hannibal slides his hand up his neck and rests his hand on Will's jaw. "Will I have to check everything or I will have failed my duties as a doctor."

Will closes his eyes and carefully slides around so his back is facing Hannibal. "I need you to unbutton your shirt completely."

"No."

"Will..." Hannibal sighs.

"Can't you leave me alone?"

Hannibal slides the pieces out of his ears and places them back on the table. Will is terrified all of a sudden, like Hannibal might hurt him because he didn't obey. He suddenly squeezes the back of his neck and Will gasps. His stomach clenches. Oh God.

"Will I need you to cooperate for me," Hannibal's other hand comes to rest on his shoulder and his thumbs dig in. He begins to work the tension from Will's shoulders.

It hurts for a second then his shoulders drop, he unwillingly lets out a soft moan. Hannibal smirks.

"Why won't you cooperate, Will?" He slides his thumbs down his spine, forcing it to arch away from him.

Will reaches around himself and grabs a hold of Hannibal's wrists. He forces them away. "Leave."

He easily twists out of Will's grip. "Will I-"

"No!"

"Will-"

"What do you want from me?"

Hannibal turns to sit straight on the chair, "I want to know how long it's been since you slept."

Will swallows, "About sixty hours."

"Why?"

"I can't sleep."

"You have no history of insomnia-"

"No, I mean I don't want to sleep. I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Nightmares."

"About?"

"About," his voice breaks, "killing Abigail Hobbs."

"That's understandable, seeing as you... did."

Will suddenly stands, his legs can hardly hold his weight. He's shaking. "I didn't. I know I didn't."

Hannibal stands to match him, "Will all the evidence says otherwise."

"But I don't remember!"

"Georgia Madgen didn't remember her crimes."

"I AM NOT GEORGIA MADGEN," he cries, "I DIDN'T HURT ANYONE. YOU SET ME UP," he spins to face Hannibal and points threateningly at him. "AND NO ONE WILL BELIEVE ME WHEN I TRY TO TELL THEM."

"Will calm down," Hannibal reaches out a hand with the intention of laying it on Will's shoulder, but he smacks it away.

"No! I know what you're doing!" He steps forward, but he finds a cold lump of metal under his chin. He gasps in surprise and anger is replaced with sheer terror. Possibilities and scenarios ran through his head, is it a gun? Has Hannibal Lecter been out to kill him this entire time? The noise in his head stops abruptly and all that's left is the sound of his own frenzied breathing. He meets Hannibal's eyes.

"I have been authorized to use this if you misbehave," he lingers on the word 'misbehave'.

Will stumbles back from Hannibal, breathless and neaseus and terrified. He hits the wall and helplessly slides down it to curl in on himself when he hits the floor. He bursts into tears. Just the way Hannibal likes it.

He sits on the couch and fills out the necessary forms, places them into his briefcase. By the time he's finished Will Graham has fallen asleep in the corner and is snoring softly.

Hannibal stands, "I think we've finished for today."

Jack Crawford is waiting in his office for Hannibal to finish, as soon as he enters Jack is on his feet.

"Is he suicidal?"

"Glaringly."

Jack sighs. "Does he need to be transferred?"

"No."

"Then what do you suggest?"

Hannibal pops open his briefcase and retrieves a script, then hands it to Jack, "He's afraid to sleep. He's afraid to dream, in fact. I'm hoping that these pills will put him so far under that he won't dream."

Jack nods and folds the script up and slides it into his pocket. Hannibal closes his briefcase. "How is he now?"

"Asleep, it might be best to not move him until he wakes."

"Very well. Is there anything else?"

"He cant know that he's taking them, if he does he will resist."

Jack nods, "Same time next week?"

"Oh no, same time tomorrow I should think."