Hannibal, being so preoccupied with Will, had not had a proper appointment in at least a week. Still he spent time in his office; there was something delightfully nostalgic about reclining in his old leaner chair, fireplace crackling to his left, the low, sweet tones of Chopin drifting in and out of his ears. He would imagine Will across from him, and usually the thoughts from his imagination would spur him into some kind of action; but not today. It was the night after the judge had been found murdered in the courthouse. Alana Bloom knocked and entered before Hannibal could come to the door.

"Do you have an appointment?" he said with a small smile.

"Hannibal, I'm not in the mood." She sat across from him, stiffly, in Will's seat. "I'm sorry." She sighed. "Will isn't doing well. I think he's worse."

"Oh dear." He sat erect.

"He told me he's having trouble sleeping, but he absolutely refuses a soporific." Her voice heightened and quivered. "He's so afraid."

"I worry for him."

Her head shot up, her dark ringlets shifting past her shoulders and her eyes gleaming. "Why did you take my place at the stand?"

He licked his lips and unfolded his legs. "I was convinced we had a perfect opportunity."

"We had a perfect opportunity," she rejoined, "which you and Will threw away!"

"At the discretion of his counsel."

"Hannibal." Her voice trembled. "You get these ideas in your head and don't stop pursuing them until they're real, whether there's consensus or not. And if there's not you circumvent it-without even attempting to convince the people involved." She paused and narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't be right all the time."

He lowered his eyes. "I know."

"Just because you're convinced a course of action is the right one doesn't mean there isn't a better one."

He frowned. "In our case it was the better option. This unconsciousness defense could have taken months to prove at the hands of a sympathetic jury. It was as much a gamble as anything."

"You don't know that," she said. "We were still planning my testimony. And others'. Jack's struck a chord with everyone in the room."

"I know." Hannibal sighed. "I did not expect the judge to be so dismissive-or the prosecutor to be so driven by a guilty verdict."

"We were all surprised," Alana said. The fire in her voice was gone.

"It goes without saying that I deeply regret the decision," Hannibal murmured, eyes lowered. "It was incredibly foolish."

"It's not your fault," Alana said. "None of us had any idea what was going to happen." She grinned sadly. "At least we don't have to worry about the death penalty for a while."

"Fortunately or unfortunately."

"But the mistrial will take months to sort out." Her voice was low and sad.

"I'm convinced of his innocence."

"You are?"

He nodded. "And in him. He'll make it out of this, Alana."

"But not unscathed."

"No," he said. "None one of us are."

Tears were dangerously close to spilling out her cloudy eyes. Her despair was palpable and overwhelming. Hannibal rose and took her hands and embraced her. The smell of salt overpowered her scent, which very faintly smelled of Will Graham. He stroked her hair, relishing the feeling of satin on his fingertips.

"Don't go see Will tomorrow," he said softly.

"But he's so lonely."

"Your wellbeing is also important, Alana. You can't forget to look after yourself."