It's finally here! The sequel to Bon Appétit!
Enjoy!
Beta: NemiNightingale
Present time
She pulled her car up to the curb further down the street than she would normally park. The usually empty street was packed with parked cars, making it impossible for her small vehicle to get closer to her destination.
'Someone on the road must be having a party,' she reasoned, getting out of the car to treat her back to a much needed stretch after having driven a ridiculous amount of miles in the past couple of days. Now all she wanted was a nice hot bath, a warm meal and a comfortable bed.
Hopefully she would be able to get all of the above before she had to move on to her next planned visit.
One week earlier
It was quiet in the office. As soon as Hannibal had greeted Will at the door, and they had gotten themselves comfortable in the chairs in which Hannibal usually conducted his sessions, the silence had settled. Will's furrowed brows and faraway look had initially kept Hannibal quiet, but after a couple of minutes, he decided he had given Will enough time.
"I see Miss Vodall has been neglecting to answer your calls," Hannibal started, crossing his legs after leaning back in his chair.
The sudden sound startled Will out of his reverie.
"Why do you assume this is about her?" Will questioned, his composure the picture perfect model of casual curiosity, but Hannibal was not fooled. He fought back a smug smirk at Will's very well-concealed defensiveness. No matter how many times he poked at it, Ashland Vodall would always be a sore bruise.
"Because smitten men tend to center their thoughts around the woman they find themselves in love with," Hannibal prodded, taking in Will's crossed arms and clenched jaw.
A quiet 'hmph' of disdain came from Will.
"Love..." Will trailed off, carefully choosing his next words. "...I find to be a strange concept," he finished, pronouncing the words slowly but surely.
"How so?" Hannibal questioned, giving his undivided attention to the man in front of him.
"I find myself unable to distinguish between genuine affection and a more... distanced curiosity."
Will leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and loosely intertwining his fingers between his legs.
"Perhaps you are experiencing both," Hannibal reasoned, shifting his position forward to mirror Will's, with his forearms comfortably resting on his thighs.
"How can you be both distanced and affectionate?"
The strikingly accurate parallel to their own relation dawned on Hannibal at Will's question.
"In a balanced and healthy relationship, I would assume you can't. There is something about Ashland that keeps you curious and accounts for your distance. In order to reach the closeness one might associate with love, you need to close the distance. You need to get past your curiosity or find a way to satisfy it."
Hannibal silently hoped their bond would soon be beyond distance and secrets.
"But what if I'm not the only one keeping my distance?" Will questioned, leaning back in his seat.
Hannibal had a feeling this wasn't entirely about Ashland anymore.
"Then perhaps you both have some curiosities to satisfy."
The silence grew in the room, leaving the atmosphere heavy as Hannibal took in Will with an unblinking stare.
"If you don't mind me asking," Hannibal started, breaking the suffocating silence that was brimming with unspoken questions and returning to the matter at hand. "What is it about Ashland that has gotten you curious?"
Will hesitated, not entirely keen on answering the question.
"I can't … See her," he finally declared, meeting the curious gaze of Hannibal Lecter opposite of him.
"Then I can see how you might find yourself curious."
Her hurried steps echoed off the bare walls as Beverly Katz walked down the hallway towards the lab with a determined Will Graham on her heels.
"I'm sorry Will, but we can't get a positive ID on the body," it came apologetically from Beverly as she turned towards him and stopped to give him the bad news.
"No fingerprints, dentals, anything?" Will interrogated, prompting Beverly to turn right back around and move on towards the lab. He had been grilling her all morning about this issue.
"Have you seen the body?" came the incredulous reply from Beverly as she shot him a disbelieving look over her shoulder.
The body was scorched beyond recognition. No way were they going to be able to identify it.
"Not for very long, no. Hannibal wouldn't permit it," Will replied, his frustration seeping through every single syllable of his psychiatrist's name.
The crime scene investigator shot Will a quick look of sympathy before continuing into the lab, greeting her fellow colleagues who were preoccupied with a previous victim.
"No arms, no dentals," Beverly started, taking place at the left side of the body, as Will stood on the opposite side of the table, inspecting the charred remains in front of him.
"The only shot we'd have at a meagre ID would be by footprint, and it's not like we have a database of those lying around," she continued with a rise of an eyebrow at the dry humor, gesturing towards the thoroughly singed feet.
"Don't look at me, I've always been all for alternative identification methods! The bureau didn't seem too excited about the footprint database suggestion I made a couple of years ago," Jimmy chimed in, sounding sarcastically miffed.
"You mean decades ago. Back in your forensic science class in freshman year," Brian chimed in, looking up from the most recent victim he was picking apart.
"I resent that," Jimmy shot back in a teasing tone.
"You said a footprint would give a meagre ID," Will hesitantly remarked, looking doubtfully at the singed feet while ignoring the morbidly casual banter that was going on around him.
He would pursue any potential opportunity, to be certain the body in front of them was Ashland Vodall.
"It was a joke, they're half-melted," Beverly replied, her face twisted into a look that represented sheepishness and a slightly sympathetic look. "Sorry, Will."
The look of sympathy was soon replaced by one of hesitation, and Will immediately knew what Beverly was about to say
She looked down at the body before settling her eyes back on Will.
"Look, Will…"
"Don't, Beverly."
Knowing he wasn't going to stop obsessing about this, but also knowing she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't get this on the table, she disregarded his comment and continued anyway.
"The way I see it, there are three likely scenarios here. Scenario number 1: This is Ashland," Beverly sent a nod towards the body, "Scenario number 2: Ashland has been kidnapped, in which case she's more than likely not much better off," she paused, knowing the last scenario was the least likely one. "Or scenario number 3: She left without telling anyone, and with no means of contacting her."
A short silence spread between the two, as Will regarded Beverly. He took a deep breath before looking away from the woman in front of him, and resettling his gaze on the charred body on the table.
"Reassuring as always," he stated quietly, his voice drier than the Sahara desert.
Beverly mentally gave a sigh of relief. He had taken it better than she would have expected him to, suggesting Will had already given any and every alternative scenario much thought and consideration. He knew what a disappearing-act like this normally meant.
"I'm sorry Will, but I don't want to give you false hope…"
Beverly caught Will's eyes again.
"This could very well be her," Beverly stated quietly, her look empathetic but watchful, searching his face, his eyes for any indication that this was breaking him.
Of course it was breaking him, but he couldn't allow himself to show her that. Ashland was personal to him. She was the one thing that he felt like he didn't share with the FBI or with Hannibal Lecter. Any feelings he had regarding Ashland he desperately tried to keep hidden behind a thick wall of detachment that his work provided, as he didn't know how else to keep the two things separate. Ashland had unknowingly and without a doubt unwillingly invaded the thing he tried to keep her separate from.
'You know what they say, you don't mix business with pleasure', he caught himself thinking.
The unvoiced comment brought forth a sting of self-disgust. Ashland wasn't just pleasure, she was much more than that. And he needed to get closure somehow. Whether it be by finding her killer or by finding her, preferably alive.
He zoned out of his muddled mind and focused all of his attention back into the conversation.
"I am fully aware of that," Will started, staring candidly into Beverly's eyes. "The problem is…" he continued, but found himself unable to finish the sentence.
He was reluctant to tell her. But it was something that needed to be done, something that needed to be said.
He looked towards the rest of the science team and found them sufficiently preoccupied for him to reveal his little secret to Beverly without it spreading to the rest of the team.
Lowering his voice, he cleared his throat to speak.
"Everything seems unclear and... Blurred. There is something more, but I can't…"
He stopped himself to gather his thoughts. He was never terribly good at monologues; that had always been Hannibal's domain.
Collecting his thoughts he strayed from his original sentence, and finished with whatever seemed to make the most sense.
"There's some sort of barrier I can't get past."
What else could you say to explain, that the empathetic web you normally find yourself entangled in is malfunctioning for one person? The situation was fairly rare and beyond bizarre.
And from the silence forming in the room, he wasn't entirely sure Beverly was picking up on his veiled insinuation before she suddenly replied, seemingly out of context.
"You know, Hannibal told me something about Ashland," she spoke, her voice confident and her eyes determined and relentless in their search for an answer.
Will nodded for her to continue.
"You can't... See her?"
She had gotten the hint after all.
"No," came his simple reply. There wasn't really much more to say about it.
She wanted to know more, he could see it on her face.
"Have you stopped to think that perhaps there's a reason why everything is unclear?" Beverly questioned, her brows lifted in innocent curiosity, causing Will to regard her with skepticism.
"You're saying you think I can't see her, because she's dead," he stated in a flat tone.
Death normally didn't stop him or his talent.
Beverly gave a sigh of frustration at Will's obvious skepticism.
"I'm saying it's got something to do with her, and you shouldn't disregard the fact that either this is her, or someone is out to get her," she retorted, tired of seeing Will in an obvious state of denial.
"I'm not disregarding anything, I'm trying to make sense of it. But jumping to conclusions based on an assumption without evidence doesn't seem like the way to go," Will countered, putting both of his palms on the edge of table in front of him, putting his weight onto his hands to lean forward in order to get his point across with Beverly.
"Every single scenario of what could have happened has gone through my mind, and not a single one containing her murder makes sense," he continued, cementing his faith in her survival."If there's logic, there's evidence. Keep looking," he finished, his eyes blazing and daring her to refuse.
The look in his eyes immediately told her that she had lost. But if she couldn't convince him with words, she would have to do so with science. Her small nod of acceptance prompted a grateful look to pass over Will's face before he turned around and left, leaving Beverly to her work with a soft "thank you".
Will didn't make it far outside the lab before crossing paths with Jack Crawford, who was having a fast paced conversation with an unfamiliar FBI-agent. He looked away from the conversation for a second, and greeted Will with a small nod of the head, signaling that he would be with him soon, before finishing his conversation.
"...The cellphone is nowhere to be found, but I need you to pull up her phone records; we need to know who the killer was talking to, and when. Perhaps that will give us a bit of a timeline," Jack finished off, absentmindedly waving the unfamiliar FBI-agent to do his job.
"Will," Jack greeted.
"Jack," Will greeted back, quickly getting on with the conversation to get what he wanted. "I need to be put on this case."
Jack's stern demeanor shifted into a look of uncertainty, and he narrowed his eyes at Will in skepticism. He knew very well why Will wanted to be put on the case, and he wasn't sure it would be a good idea. Scratch that, it would be a terrible idea to have Will on the case.
"There was a reason I didn't want you on the crime scene," he pointed out, "Ashland Vodall was your friend," Jack finished, hoping Will would just let it go, even though he knew he wouldn't.
"Is. I can help," Will insisted, adamant about his case.
"Was," Jack corrected sternly, mentally adding the fact that Will Graham still believed in his friend's survival to the list of reasons why he absolutely shouldn't be out in the field on this one. "I'm not sure I want you in on this," he added, despite knowing the chances of finding the killer were much greater if they had Will on board if he was able to let go of the absurd notion that Ashland Vodall was still alive.
"You can trust me on this, Jack," it came from Will, his voice quiet, but with a steady and firm tone. He desperately needed the distraction.
"It's not about whether I can trust you, it's about whether you can trust your own mind," Jack exclaimed, the volume of his voice raising along with his frustration. "And if I can trust it, for that matter," he added, restraining himself in order not to shout.
Will stayed silent. He couldn't argue with that. His increasing occurrences of losing time were unsettling to him, but that didn't mean he could afford to back down from this case because of it.
Jack looked around and found a few straggling FBI-agents walking around before taking a step closer to Will, not wanting what he was about to say to suddenly become common knowledge around the Bureau.
"I know that you can't see her," Jack said, his voice low and stern.
Will was not surprised Jack had gotten hold of that small piece of information.
"Hannibal told you," he lightly accused. He had been expecting this, he just wished his expectations hadn't been so spot on.
"He had to," Jack asserted, his voice loud and resounding in the sterile and empty hallway.
Still Will stayed silent.
The obnoxious silence Will was providing had Jack's lips firmly pushed together as he tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths through his nose, soothing his temper.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put you on a leave of absence right now," Jack demanded, his voice dangerously low.
"I don't necessarily need my gift to investigate, I worked in homicide for years," Will started. He hesitated, lowering his voice before continuing. "I need a chance," he insisted calmly.
"A chance for what?" Jack bellowed, his temper flaring at Will's obstinate demeanor.
"A chance to figure this out. We're a flock of sheep, Jack. And we're being herded in the wrong direction."
Jack suddenly fell silent, and the two stared at each other, daring the other to break eye contact. The silence lasted for all of 10 seconds before Jack exhaled deeply through his nose and relaxed the intensity of his glare.
"You want to find the herder," he stated quietly, gaining a "yes" from Will, putting Jack into a contemplating silence. "I'll put you on the case as a consulting special agent," it suddenly came from Jack, at which Will found himself holding back a big sigh of relief. "But I want Hannibal in on this; if he sees even the smallest thing that suggests you can't handle it, you're off the case," Jack continued, gaining only a hesitant nod of approval from his colleague.
"Now, get out of here before I change my mind," were Jack's last words as he turned and walked down the corridor in a fast, determined stride, leaving Will completely alone in the deserted hallway.
A sharp exhale that was a mixture of amusement and disbelief came from Will at the superior officer's behavior, before he turned around and swiftly stalked the opposite way, on the lookout for the second of the only two people he knew would be useful to him in this investigation: Hannibal Lecter.
She knocked on the door and waited, feeling the confusion well up in her at the muted sounds of casual chatter coming from the house.
'Are they having guests?' she wondered, hoping her visit wasn't too badly timed. She probably should have called ahead.
Nobody answered the door and she knocked again, thinking none had heard the door due to the conversing guests her parents seemed to be having.
Mid-knock the door finally swung open, and a woman stood in front of her, clad in black from head to toe and looking at her like she had seen a ghost.
In the house behind the woman, all of her friends and family could be seen, also dressed in different variants of black, while something that sounded suspiciously like Chris Tomlin's' version of 'Amazing Grace' played softly in the background, creating a subdued atmosphere in the living room of her childhood home.
Jack found just the person he was looking for in his office, only a few hallways away from his confrontation with Will Graham.
"Hannibal, just the person I was looking for," he acknowledged, putting his hand out in greeting, as Hannibal stood from his comfortable seat in front of the Special Agent's desk while smoothing down his expensive charcoal jacket, before grasping the hand in front of him.
"As you can see, you were just the person I was looking for as well," Hannibal replied, letting go of Jack's hand, before sitting back down at Jack's polite "please, sit".
"Okay, let's cut straight to the chase here, Hannibal," Jack started, as they were both seated.
"Let's," Hannibal agreed and leaned back in the chair, legs crossed and with his hands gathered in his lap.
"I need you to look after Will. He insisted on being put on the case and somehow managed to persuade me," Jack said, leaning back into his office chair, his face set in a look of displeased defeat.
"I see."
A brief silence stretched in the room with the unasked question.
"Can I persuade you?"
Before Hannibal had any chance to reply, the door to the office banged forcefully open, and the hurricane of a woman named Alana Bloom entered in a huff. Her steps were swift with purpose as she marched to the desk and slammed her palms into the wooden surface, her face alight with anger.
"Why did you put him on the case?" she asked, her tone unforgiving and the look on her normally delicate features suggesting the answer better come sooner rather than later.
'News sure spread fast', Jack found himself thinking before he was standing from his chair, positioning his hands on the desk to mirror Alana's.
"He needs to do this, Alana," he boomed back, standing up to Alana Bloom's challenge.
"He isn't stable Jack! He's personally involved with this case, and you're allowing him to obsess over it," she pointed out, lifting one hand from the desk to gesture the severity of her words.
As Jack didn't immediately answer, Alana looked over her shoulder to include the person she had noticed sitting in the chair when she had first entered, hopefully gaining an ally in this controversial topic.
"Hannibal. Say something, you can't possibly think this is a good idea!"
Alana was met with silence.
"I'm inclined to agree with Jack here, Alana. I'm not certain Will will be able to uphold a stable mind if he is not included in this investigation," he finally spoke, his words confident and his tone calm.
His mild mannered speech did nothing to placate Hurricane Alana, but only managed to aggravate her bothered temper further, making her turn her violently stormy mood towards Hannibal instead of Jack.
"What if he doesn't find her? What 'stable mind' will he have then? What if the only thing he gains from this is staggering guilt for not being able find her?"
Hannibal focused his composed gaze on the distraught woman in front of him.
"The guilt Will carries stems from his worries about having driven Miss Vodall away. He feels a certain responsibility for her, and the only way to redeem himself would be to find her and bring her home," Hannibal analyzed, having spent enough time with Will over the past couple of days to have his current mood figured out. Will had been reluctant to be in Hannibal's company, but Hannibal wasn't a psychiatrist for nothing, and he had diligently listened every time Will had been willing to divulge even the slightest tidbit of information about his feelings.
"In certain ways, Ashland is no different from the strays Will takes in, and though guilt may plague him for a while, it is nothing compared to the 'what if's' he would entertain if he was forced to leave the matter of her disappearance alone," Hannibal continued.
Alana's features softened into confusion and her demeanor changed, resembling when the air is let out of a ballon.
"Are you… comparing Ashland Vodall to a dog?" Alana questioned hesitantly, her eyes narrowing in questioning curiosity. It was a highly unorthodox comparison.
Hannibal lifted himself from the chair, standing by Jack's desk to face Alana on equal ground.
"The connection between them is strange, and built mostly on curiosity and a need for companionship, not entirely unlike Will's link to his dogs," he continued.
"And how does that have any effect on Will's…" Alana hesitated. " …Current situation?" she finished cautiously, not entirely sure whether she wanted to hear the reply or not.
"Due to his dedication to Miss Vodall, he will involve himself in this investigation, no matter what we say," the psychiatrist finished, turning towards Jack in a silent plead.
"Don't forget that this is a man's mental health we're playing with here, Hannibal," Alana warned. "I won't let him."
Jack, who had up until now been uncharacteristically quiet, decided it was time for him to offer his input to the discussion, and lifted his hands from the table, straightening out his back to stand at his full height.
"Well, that's not your decision to make, Alana," Jack spoke calmly, looking at the woman on the other side of the table.
"And it's yours?" she challenged, not at all liking the implications of Jack's reply.
"In case you're forgetting, I am the head of this investigation, so yes, it is my decision," Jack declared boldly, his voice gaining in volume before he walked towards the door to his office with clear intent to close the conversation.
Knowing the battle was lost Alana turned towards Hannibal, seeking to assuage her worries.
"Will you look after him?"
"I believe Jack was just asking me the same thing," Hannibal replied, his words making Jack halt by the doorway.
"We're on the same page then," Jack said, his tone displaying nothing of the irritation he had been broadcasting during the entirety of the discussion. His tone was pleasant, spurred on by the relief of having closed the topic of Will Graham.
"No, Jack. Right now, we're not even in the same book," Alana responded, her voice tainted with tired resignation, before she brushed past him, on the search for the only person who had any apparent say in this situation.
After all, a battle lost didn't mean she could't win the war.
The perplexing scene in front of her posed an excruciatingly inappropriate question that she had a hard time keeping in. Finding herself unable to quell her questioning mind, Ashland couldn't help but blurt out what she had so desperately been trying to hold in in front of her mother.
"Who died?"