A/N: this is my first Hannibal fanfiction. It's Will x Oc and had a short Jack Crawford appearance. Mostly mourning and hurt. I hope you like it!
Her eyes rested on the black casket as they lowered it into the grave. The whirring of the atomized ropes that leveled it was the only thing that pierced through her fogged mind; like a hoard of buzzing bees that left the grave and raced away. Away from the madness that had descended upon his once so brilliant mind. She closed her eyes for a second, mourning not only his death but also the way he had passed away. Gutted by the man who he had distrusted, trusted and then discovered not to be trustworthy after all in the end. The man with the sloppy mop of curls had been used and dismissed by so many more than just Hannibal Lector. After she opened her eyes they lowered to the stuffed animal in her hand and the actual animal sitting beside her; it's nose tipped down and whimpering ever so quietly in a last farewell to his companion. The stuffed animal resembled the dog, Winston, with its creamy golden fur and dark eyes. Without a second thought she tossed the teddy into the grave, ignoring the startled looks the other in black wrapped people gave her. When everything seemed done and said the people began trickling away, floating to the restaurant not too far away for coffee and thee. She could feel a pair of eyes poking at her shoulder, trying to get her attention. Knowing all too well who it was that approached, her hand tightened around the black leash that held Winston by her side.
"Laura." The older man called, his voice sounded weary and was laced with grief. She thought that to be a good thing. He stopped next to her and when she didn't react he placed his hands in his long grey coat. He studied her for a second. He hadn't had met the blonde very often, but he knew the woman had tried to be the anchor Will had such need for when he became an officer. The woman was plain but had hair that seemed like finely spun gold. Her round and make-up-less face was pale and dark bags hung heavy beneath her eyes, tempting her to fall asleep where she stood. He turned to the grave, the diggers had started to fill it up.
"I'm sorry, I can't help but feel responsible." He excused with a soft tone. Jack Crawford, the man who had forced Will back into the field despite the many protests and his own common sense. The one who had shoved him into the ready and eager arms of Hannibal, so that he wouldn't have to take too much responsibility and thus be able to point his finger at everybody except himself. He was looking for redemption, as he should. A mirthful smirk threatened to break her lips.
"Although I am very sorry about your wife, Jack; I'd rather you not speak to me." Her tone was distant with a trace of harshness. Her condescendence was obvious and her cold yet polite words reminded him of solidified honey. With a curt nod and a held back sigh he stepped back and left her to stare at the hole at her feet. She felt a tug in her chest, beckoning her to nestle herself in the cold dirt and hold onto the polished wood as if it was the last thing lshe had eft. In a way it was. Winston suddenly barked and tugged at the leash, making her glance at him with mild irritation. The blonde sighed and patted his head. Throwing a last glance at the grave before she spun around and left he graveyard reluctantly. During the autopsy they had discovered his illness, he'd been burning up, literally. He would have died anyway, so there was no reason to mourn endlessly. A while before it all started they had agreed that things weren't working out anymore. Well…that's what they had told themselves. He had pushed her away, knowing that there was something on its way -something big- and he didn't want her involved any more than she already was. She had accepted, simply because she knew that if the outcome would be good, he'd return to her, or that if he did die; he would die without anything keeping him attached to his life. Winston jumped into the car and she stepped around to the driver's seat. His dogs had been scattered, adopted by his colleagues and her. His house would be sold with its furniture, for the new owner to do with them as they pleased. There would be nothing left and that left her with a void in the very depths of her being that slowly swelled against the edges of her mind. Her eyes slid to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of what had remained of his fishing equipment. Her eyes landed on the rod, her skin numbing with dread. She didn't know how to fish, the few times he had asked her to join him, to teach her the only thing that calmed him so deeply that he could escape his mind without any consequences, she had refused. The blonde had always rolled her eyes at that question, waving him off with a grin and telling him to enjoy himself between his fish. She didn't know if she truly had any reason to regret her dismissals. Slowly she took a deep breath and redirected her gaze to the road. Hannibal was still out there. She turned on the engine and put the car in first. Winston whined quietly at her sudden mood change, feeling her menace rise. Her eyes were cold and dead, as they always were when she pushed her emotions aside. Now she didn't have any reasons left to switch her emotions back on. There was nothing left to keep her from this hunt.