Spoilers for 2x13

Afterwards, Frederick liked to think that the second he heard of Will's presence in the ICU, he immediately left his own hospital room to sit at his bedside. In actuality, he sat frozen in his wheelchair, gripping the metal rungs around the wheels tightly as his mind raced with dread, apprehension, shame, a touch of fear, and the vestiges of betrayal. He had felt a lot of things when he woke up in the hospital bed, the least of which was the throbbing pain in his skull that still only could be quelled by strong medication, and the thought of Will once again brought them to the surface. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't understand why Will had gave him up to the FBI, to Jack, to be shot in the head by Mariam Lass. From everything he learned about what had happened after, it had been necessary. To catch Hannibal Lecter, sacrifices had to be made, but even so, he resented being included among those sacrifices. He had never been a team player, and even in the face of catching someone like Hannibal, he still valued his life more.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed all the emotions clouding his mind to the back and finally resolved to see Will Graham. The verdict though was still out for forgiveness.

The ICU was only a floor below, and after a quick elevator ride, Frederick found himself sitting in front of Will's hospital bed. For one horrifying brief second as he entered the room, he saw himself laying on that bed, and he froze, his heart racing, absolute fear and panic creeping up in his chest, bile stinging the back of his throat. Breathing deeply once again, he blinked and the face of Will appeared once again on the body before him. Wheeling over, hesitantly he reached out to Will's hand laying on the bed next to his side and grasped it with his. Even deeply sedated, Will looked unsettled and in pain. From what Frederick had heard he had gone through, it wasn't surprising. His eyes locked on the white bandage across his abdomen, pity and possibly guilt burning through him like red hot dripping metal.

Tearing his eyes away, he settled for staring at Will's face and his chest slowly rising and falling. It was soothing somehow, and Frederick let the calm envelop him. Only a small part of his mind questioned his actions and how Will, when he woke up, would feel about seeing a man he disliked so strongly waiting at his bedside.

Still clutching Will's hand, Frederick leaned down so that his forehead rested against the bed and closed his eyes, focusing on the humming monitors and the soft sounds of Will breathing. Next thing he knew, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Frederick yelped and let go of Will's hand as he tried to spin around, nearly falling out of the wheelchair. A nurse stood behind him, arms outstretched as if she was going to catch him.

"Time for bed Mr. Chilton."

"Doctor," Frederick muttered to himself as he took deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. Seemed to be all he was doing lately. He looked back to Will who still was asleep before he slowly turned his wheelchair and left the room.

Over the next several days, Frederick traveled downstairs when he could. He knew he was nearly healed from his head injury, as he liked to call it, and was more than ready to be released soon, but he was still a mess emotionally. Nightmares and daily flashbacks plagued his mind. Visiting Will, especially an unconscious, unjudging Will, felt like company and took his mind off the horrors he had witnessed. The idea of being in another's presence who had been as affected by the whole situation as him, or more so, was comforting for Frederick. In this whole crazy world, only a few people actually understood what he had been through, what they were against, and Will was one of them. A particularly empathetic one of them.

Finally, the doctors had determined him fit enough to leave the hospital, to his complete relief and horror. As much as he had grown to hate hospitals, they had also surprisingly become a place of refuge for him after the Hannibal incident. Going home felt out of the question and here at least he felt some form of safety, knowing Dr. Lecter was not going to jump out of the shadows and finish him for good. And of course, the voice in the back of his head supplied, Will was one floor above.

Frederick shook his head as he pulled on his coat. A spark of contentment developed when he realized it was his first day in his own clothes in months. He looked down at himself and back up to the mirror above the sink. After all this time, after the incident, fleeing to Will's, being detained by the FBI and then shot, he barely recognized himself. Excluding the obvious, his left cheek covered in faint red scars blooming out of the entry point of the bullet, his face looked different to him. His eyes were ringed with lines, a testament of the sleepless nights he had spent in pain and in fear. Whether he liked it or not, this ordeal had changed him, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to go back to his previous job at the hospital. The very thought of the criminals there, the long corridors with flickering lights, and the haunting footsteps down hallways he heard in his dreams every night caused his heartbeat to drum faster.

"Excuse me, Dr. Chilton?"

Frederick jumped, this time actually being able to spin around, with one of his arms clutching the sink to steady himself.

"Will Graham has woken up," the nurse said, with a knowing smile.

"Oh," Frederick stammered, nodding. "Thanks, I'll just…" Flustered, his mind racing with anxiety and unsure of what to say, he gestured randomly.

"I told him you would be right down. I have the wheelchair ready."

Frederick's eyes widened, panic gathering in his gut. He hadn't thought about what he would do when Will actually did wake up, how he would… if he would approach him. He was a trained psychiatrist, but what Will had gone through was not something even he thought he could help with. That Will would even want his help was laughable. That Will would even want… anything like the companionship he craved was outright ridiculous.

Frederick limped out of the bathroom, and grabbed his cane laying against the bed.

"Uh-uh," the nurse scolded. "While you're still in the hospital, wheelchair." Frederick nodded, but tightened his grip on the cane. Settling on the wheelchair, he couldn't bring himself to move. The man had left the room, but Frederick stared at the door in front of him, unable to stop thinking of all the different ways this could go. Last time he had come to Will for help, he had called the FBI on him. Breathing deeply, he rested his cane across his lap like a security blanket, and began wheeling out of his room.

Just outside Will's door, Frederick stopped. He was tempted to peer into the room to see what Will was like before making his presence known, but decided it would be a bad idea.

"Screw it," he muttered to himself, and entered the room. After standing up from the wheelchair, and using his cane to steady himself, he finally met Will's eyes.

Silence.

Will's face was a mask as he looked at Frederick. They had apparently removed the bandage, and his left hand rested on the sutures on his abdomen. His right hand lay at his side, clenched into a fist. His eyes were rimmed with red, and he looked like he had aged a hundred years since he had last seen him.

Frederick opened and closed his mouth several times before clearing his throat. "Hello, Will."

Will nodded. "Frederick. Great seeing you here," he said hoarsely, cracking a broken, unamused smile.

Frederick's heart dropped to his gut, but he tried to prevent the pity from showing on his face.

When he didn't say anything in reply, Will looked back down at his abdomen fingers tracing the black thread of sutures.

Frederick walked forward and grabbed a chair next to the bed and pulled it closer to Will before sitting down. Will glanced at Frederick, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Listen, Will, I know we've had our differences, but I'm sorry, I'm immensely sorry for what happened to you, for what he did." Will flinched ever so slightly.

He leaned his cane against the chair, and before he could give it any thought, pulled up the hem of his shirt, to bare his own scars.

Will's eyes dropped to his stomach, his expression unreadable.

"I know I can't understand everything you went through but…" Frederick faltered, his mind finally catching up to his actions and uncertainty began to cloud his thoughts. "But…"

Will's expression softened. "Thanks, Frederick."

Frederick gave him a small hopeful smile. "You're welcome. I… I mean it."

Frederick lowered his shirt, but couldn't help tracing his scar through it as he gazed at Will.

"You being released?" Will asked after another short silence.

Frederick nodded, and some of his apprehensive must have shown on his face.

"You're not going home, are you?" Will guessed.

"No, I think I'm going to be avoiding it for the foreseeable future. I have a room booked at a hotel which I think I will prefer much more."

Will winced suddenly, and Frederick started in alarm.

"Are you okay? Should I get a nurse…?"

Will shook his head. "I'm, I'm okay. Just not used to this I think."

Frederick watched worryingly, but nodded.

"It's a bit to get used to," he agreed.

"Is it possible…" Will started hesitantly, his brow creased with concern.

"What?"

Will looked at Frederick apologetically. "Is it possible you could check on my dogs at Wolf Trap? I've been told it's been 3 days since…" Will stopped, frozen, before barreling on. "Since everything happened, and I don't know if anyone has been by."

Frederick smiled. "That I can do. What do they need?"

"Food. It will be in the kitchen closet. To be taken outside."

"I'll do my best."

"Thanks, Frederick." Will reached out and squeezed his hand, smiling back at him.

And for one brief second, Frederick's mind was free of the thoughts that had been plaguing him and it was bliss.