Dreams had never been Frederick's favourite place to find himself. Not for the general, psychologically-stereotyped reasons, mind. (Really, he was less about meaning, and more about content). His subconscious mind had never truly been the friendliest place in the entirety of his existence, ever since he had been a child. Always – literally, almost nightly – he was plagued by images of the things that terrified him, the worst. The monsters under his bed, at the tender age of five. His father, by the impressionable age of twelve. School bullies. Not getting a date for Prom. Failing his state exams. The fear of an ultimate failure. Abel Gideon. Hannibal Lecter. Losing Will Graham.

Ah, that last one. Well, that had become a more recent favorite of his subconscious mind, ever since Hannibal Lecter had become his own number one Ripper suspect. Will was high on the good Doctor's hit list, there was no question. Without Will there to – yes, he could admit it – guide him, even from within the confines of the mental hospital... He, himself, was sure to be next.

And, oh, how right he was. If the throbbing pain in his face that seemed to wake him up out of a dead sleep was anything to go by (which, it both did and was), the Chesapeake Ripper had won, yet again.

"Frederick?"

He barely registered the voice calling out his name, but was acutely aware of the hands that were all-too-suddenly fighting to restrain him. He was grabbing for an obstruction, preventing the scream that wanted to break free from his chest. A breathing tube, panicky, shaking fingers gripping at plastic hosing and medical tape. Stronger fingers wrapped around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. Still, he struggled, tried to force the other hands away, off him, but there was nothing he could do. If this was it, Hannibal Lecter come to finish the job, to leave him dead in his own hospital bed, he was powerless to stop it. Though, he was damned if he would go down without a fight.

"Frederick!" that voice yelled, again, this time capturing his attention, and bringing him to a dead stop. That wasn't Lecter, at all. It was... "Look at me, Frederick!" He did, turned his head to the side, eyes following a length of off-green fabric, up the expanse of an arm, over a shoulder, along the neck to rest on a friendlier face than he had been expecting. Will Graham stood over him, staring down at him with a look of concern on his features. The other man's lips were moving, he realized a second later than he wished. "-Need you to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself." Frederick blinked, several times, allowing his hands, curled into fists above where Will had his wrists pinned to the bed, to relax. He nodded, two jerking, unsteady motions that the other seemed to accept.

That was, until the movements reminded him of the pain below his eye. The scream once again tried to pass his lips, again stopped by the tubing down his throat. He tried to fight his arms free, once more pushing against Will's hold. His chest heaved, tight with panic. Have to get out. Have to get out of here. He's going to find me. He's going to-

And, just like that, the entire world slouched before his very eyes, and faded to darkness.

...

The hospital room had fallen to darkness before Frederick found his way back to a groggy, docile form of consciousness. It lasted about five minutes, beginning with a look around the room and a slow, deep breath that both went unnoticed by the other occupant of the room. He was surprised to see Will curled up in one of the visitor's chairs, covered with his jacket, his face illuminated by the glow of the television set. When he spotted the other man, Frederick reached for him. Fingers stretched as far as they could go, he still strained to make them go further. To touch him, to make Will acknowledge him, to notice that he was awake.

Quickly exhausted by the movements, Frederick dropped his arm back down onto the bed. He rolled his head to the side, dizzy, sparing a brief glance at the television. The volume had been muted, the scenes of a familiar movie playing in the silence. Somehow, the thought of Will falling asleep in such a way made Frederick uncomfortable. Returning his eyes to the huddled form in the chair, Frederick tried to muster up another reach. It just wasn't in him, it seemed, the exhaustion quickly winning out. His eyes closed as they focused on Will's hair, shorter than he recalled last seeing it. Honestly, he didn't much care for it.

...

The next time that Frederick was awake, the Doctor gave the okay to remove the breathing tube. Will stood outside, chatting with one of the nurses (so much as Will Graham could 'chat' with another human being, Frederick silently joked with himself), but only a few steps away, should anything have gone wrong. Frederick was listening to what the Doctor was telling him, glancing back at the door every couple of moments. It was calming, being able to look away from the reality of what he was being told.

Lucky to be alive, that was what Dr. Allard reported to him. The bullet had entered through his left cheek, somehow making its way out the right side of his neck, missing his spinal column by a matter of millimeters. A lucky, lucky man. The words caused him to flinch. The same Doctor had told him the same thing when Abel Gideon had tried to re-arrange his major organs in alphabetical order. A lucky, lucky man.

Funny. He didn't feel like one.

"We can't discharge you, yet, of course," Dr. Allard informed him. "It's going to be a few days, at least, before you'll be able to leave here."

That was just fine. There was no way in hell that he was going back home, for the first, and there was no one there to look after him, for the second. Sad a thought as that was, Frederick shoved it to the back of his mind. He could take the time to examine it, later.

"So far, you don't seem to be having any difficulties with memory, correct?"

Frederick shook his head, just a little bit. "No, I... I'm quite certain that I remember myself." He wasn't trying to be rude, or sarcastic, but... Answering questions was becoming tiresome. Not to mention, it was torture on his throat. Just how hard had they crammed that tube down there, anyway? Will had already run him through a round of Twenty Questions, most of which he could have recited back to Dr. Allard, should the situation call for it. Fine, that's what he wanted to proclaim, that he was just fine, thank him, very much.

Turned his head, Frederick glanced back toward the door. The only questions and answers of present interest were the ones that he had reserved for Will Graham. "C-... Can we continue this, a bit later, please?" The urge to clear his throat came to him, not for the first time, and he swallowed against it. He was in quite enough pain, as it was. "I, um... I find myself rather tired."

Dr. Allard smiled, and nodded, once. "Of course. You get some rest, Dr. Chilton, and I will drop by to check on you in a couple of hours, hm?"

"Thank you," Frederick replied, trying to settle back against the pillows as the Doctor left, and waited for Will to come back into the room. He ran the questions around in his head, in the meanwhile, arranging them by matter of importance. In the last two hours of Frederick's consciousness, Will hadn't mentioned the Chesapeake Ripper, their dear friend Hannibal Lecter... Nor had he uttered a word concerning whether or not Frederick himself still had a cell reserved in the county lock-up. Knowing his luck, Will had already called up Jack Crawford to keep him abreast of the situation. Just fantastic.

The door opened, carefully, slowly. Will stepped back into the room, eyes finding Frederick, almost immediately. "May I come back in?"

Frederick nodded, pulling himself from his thoughts. He watched as Will returned to the other side of the bed, pulling the chair a bit closer before taking a seat beside him. Will leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clasped together in front of him, and smiled.

"I'm glad to see you can talk, now," he said. Suddenly, his smile faltered. "Are you feeling up to talking? This can wait, if you'd rather-"

"Is he still out there?" Frederick found himself interrupting, cutting right to the chase. He needed to know the truth. Will took in a deep breath, sitting up a bit straighter, and Frederick felt his stomach knot up. He knew it. The bastard was still out there, free to kill innocent people, able to murder Will, once the mood struck. Then, he'd cycle back around to finish the work he'd begun with Frederick, himself. Or, he'd let him linger in the asylum for the rest of his days, forever branded the Chesapeake Ripper.

Startled, Frederick jumped at the sensation of pressure on his arm. He glanced down to find Will's fingers wrapped around his wrist. Following the green material up to his face, their eyes met, and it was clear that the younger man had caught him panicking.

"We got him," Will murmured, his thumb brushing lightly, back and forth over Frederick's skin. "We got the bastard, and he's locked away, right where he belongs."

Just like that, it's was all over? It sounded too good to be true. He stared hard at Will's face for a long moment, searching for any trace of a lie. All that he found was sincerity. A morbid sense of victory, to how high a cost, but, victory, nevertheless.

It was over.

Frederick trembled, the relief overtaking him, as tears formed in his eyes. It was over. Oh, god, it was over.

He wept.

...

Hospitals were, ironically enough, the most dull, boring places to spend one's time. Sure, Frederick had plenty of things to read, and a television to waste his brain cells in front of (as if he didn't spend enough time in front of his own set, at home), and – here was the kicker – a steadier meal plan than he was used to, but... Sue him, he would rather be home. Okay, not home, proper, but, he was certain he could have come up with the names of at least a half dozen decent hotels with vacancies.

At the end of the day, he could console himself to know that he wasn't short on company, either. Will made a habit of dropping by the hospital every afternoon, sitting with Frederick until the hour drew late, or the wounded man drifted off to sleep. Really, the younger of the pair could have taken up better company with a light post, but, there he was, night after night, in the same chair, with the same smile, and the same quiet, easy presence that Frederick found himself growing all-too-accustomed to. This night was no exception.

"Don't you ever work, Mister Graham?" Frederick joked, smiling as he finished off his dinner. He set the tray to the side, pausing to flex a small cramp out of his palm, squeezing his fingers in and out of a tight fist. "I swear, you must spend more time here than you do at home." It wasn't meant to sound as though Frederick was offended, or bothered. Far from it, in fact. He was relieved to hear the small huff of laughter that came from Will's direction, a second later.

"You know, you're not the first person to mention the same, this week," the bespectacled man returned, pointing the remote control toward the television to lower the volume. He reclined in his chair, and Frederick couldn't help but admire the curve of Will's spine as he stretched, settling back into his slouch, in the next movement. "I think one of the nurses has her suspicions."

Frederick quirked an eyebrow, curious. "About?"

Here, Will grinned, and Frederick felt his stomach drop. He'd never seen the man smile, before, not in such a genuine manner, all teeth and amusement, and no sarcasm, no bitterness. "About us." Frederick shook his head, not understanding, and Will rolled his eyes. "About how much time I spend in here...?"

Again, Frederick found himself at a loss. "They know I have a concerned, ah... Friend?" Will laughed, and Frederick frowned. "Fine, a concerned colleague."

"It's not the 'friend' portion that I find so amusing," Will informed him, still chuckling. He reclined further, propping his feet up on the bottom of the hospital bed.

"What is it, then?"

There was a moment where Will eyed him with the most absurd, fondly amused expression, then shook his head. "Another time." He looked over his shoulder to the small clock hanging on the wall above the bed. "Ah. Almost eight o'clock." Taking a quick breath, Frederick nodded. Time had definitely flown for yet another evening. He aimed to bid Will a good night, when the other man beat him to words. "I think there's a repeat of Top Chef on, tonight?"

Scowling, Frederick reached out to snatch the remote control from the hands of a laughing Will. "Ha, ha, Mister Graham." He changed the channel to ESPN, grumbling under his breath, "You're such a comedian."

...

Frederick managed to avoid a near-panic attack, up until Dr. Allard started talking about his discharge. Granted, he knew that the day would come, hell, he'd longed for it. He just hadn't given much consideration to the finer points of his release. According to Jack, his home was still in no shape to be considered... inhabitable, and he certainly didn't have the stomach to clean it, himself. There was no dancing around a mess like that, either. Oh, yes, by all means, help yourself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Don't mind the traces of intestine on the counter. I had to fire the maid while I was being framed for murder.

Swallowing back bile at the thought, Frederick shook his head, and reached a trembling hand out for the phone book. He turned to the hotel listings, hoping to find something relatively close by. In no shape to drive a car, or walk. He scoffed, disgusted with himself. Some sight he had to have been, losing his composure over the slightest of things. How Will had-

Oh, damn. A piece of the puzzle he had temporarily forgotten about. He supposed it was only fair to let Will know that he was being let loose. Would he really care, though? Frederick couldn't be certain. That was unfair of him, though. If he didn't care, why would he have been by, so frequently? Regardless, if Will stopped by the hospital, to an empty room... It would be a wasted trip. For all of the hours that Will had spent keeping him company, he was owed the courtesy.

Will's cell phone number had been committed to memory, the only nine digits he had any business dialing for any given reason, these days. He had a call button for emergencies, and the kitchen was on a speed dial. Upon entering the numbers, Frederick put the phone to his ear, listening to the line ring until Will's voice mail message came through the receiver. Glancing back at the clock, he noted the time. Probably in class, he thought, clearing his throat just before the beep.

"Hello, Will. It's D-Frederick." He took a breath, and continued. "It seems that I am to be discharged in a couple of hours, so, I didn't want you making the trip down here for no reason, tonight." There was more to be said, he could feel it resting on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't force the words from his mouth. "Have a good evening," he finished, in a rush. Frederick hung up the phone, somewhat astounded with his own tone. You can take the Doctor out of the Asylum...

The nurses came and went with his afternoon pills, wishing him well, and reminding him to take it easy. He smiled at them, pleasantly enough, for they had all gone out of their way to keep him comfortable. It was another hour before there was a firm knock at his door. Expecting Dr. Allard to be on the other side, he called out a simple, "Come in." He was genuinely surprised to see Will Graham poke his head in. "What are you doing here?" he asked, momentarily unable to voice a less hostile reaction. Will just smiled.

"I'm here to pick you up." Frederick blinked, and Will raised an eyebrow. "Your message said something about being discharged, correct?"

"Yes, but..." He lifted the phone book that still rested on the bed, beside his leg, and shrugged. "The hotel isn't too far from here. I can call a taxi."

Will had the grace to look skeptical. "Didn't Dr. Allard advise you, several times, to remain under someone's supervision until you are back to one hundred percent?"

Another shrug. "I've managed through worse." He looked away, as Will's expression turned to something that foretold of a future conversation about just what 'worse' he was referring to. Sighing, he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Go home, Will. I'll be fine. Thank you." There was silence, before Will could be heard moving closer. Frederick looked at him, once again, catching sight of the younger man lifting his duffel bag from the foot of the bed. "What are you doing?" he asked, tone dull. Really, he was in no mood for this.

Again, Will just smiled, a bit. "You'll stay with me." There was no room for argument in the man's tone, but, damn, was Frederick tempted to try. "Once the Doctor gives the okay, I'm driving you back to Wolf Trap." Frederick opened his mouth to interject, when Will caught him off-guard. "The dogs would love to see you, again, I'm sure."

Frederick quieted, once again, just in time for Dr. Allard to make his appearance. Just ten minutes earlier, would it have hurt? He nearly sighed. Nothing to be done about it, now. He listened to Dr. Allard's speech about his medications, about what to look for in terms of signs of infection. (That, he directed at Will, which ticked Frederick off, a little, because, goodness, he wasn't a doctor, himself, or anything). He wished them luck, and told them to call if anything came up. The thought of anything left a bad feeling in Frederick, as a whole, knowing just what anything could lead to.

A missing kidney, ruined digestive system, and a bullet wound to the face, but, really, who's counting?

Discharge papers were soon signed, prescription sheets were handed to Will, and Dr. Allard bid them farewell. Will turned to Frederick, and nodded, once. "All set?"

Taking one last glance around the room, Frederick nodded, himself. "So much as I'll ever be, I suppose." He climbed into the wheelchair, a final indignity, per hospital policy, and took the duffel bag that Will handed over his shoulder. They were in motion within a matter of seconds. It wasn't until they reached the lobby that Frederick noticed his hands had stopped shaking.