Chapter Two
I'm Looking at You (There's a Reason Why)

The drive to Wolf Trap took far too long, in Frederick's opinion. Granted, he'd fallen asleep less than five miles into the drive, but he had managed to awaken with a crick in his neck, and a cramp in his side, both of which spoke volumes about why you should cut your driving time in half, Mister Graham. He blinked his eyes several times, and glanced out the window, dismayed to discover that, no, they were not yet back to Will's home. Reaching up a hand, Frederick rubbed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"Did you move further out, while I was incapacitated?" he grumbled, shifting in his seat until he was leaning off to one side. It took a bit of the pressure away from his abdomen, and he sighed in relief. "I don't remember it taking this long when..." He paused, and swallowed back the words he didn't want there, in the first place. "When I visited you, last."

Beside him, Will raised an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between Frederick and the road ahead, a couple of times. "Same distance. I'm sure it was panic that made it seem shorter."

Frederick shook his head. "It still felt like it took forever, but... No, you know what? Nevermind." Leaning back, he fought back another sigh. It was still far to soon to be thinking about his last memories as a man on the lam. "How much further is it, exactly?"

"Four-point-two-six-nine and a quarter miles." It was Frederick's turn to raise an eyebrow, looking at Will with a dull expression that was immediately returned to him. "How the hell should I know? What do I look like, a human odometer?"

For a long moment, Frederick was silent, before he shrugged a shoulder, with all due sarcasm. "Well, if anyone was to be, I'd peg you for the job, in a heartbeat."

He felt a tinge of smugness at the silence he received, until Will replied, "Better than a human pincushion."

Narrowing his eyes at the now-smirking driver, Frederick scowled.

. . .

"The second bedroom is upstairs, on the left," Will informed him, once they were both safely inside the man's home. It had taken a moment for the tour to begin, as they were bombarded by the house's inhabitants of the four-legged variety, the second that Will had opened the door. Two or three of them were still circling, following at Will's heels as the man stepped across the carpet. "It's not much to look at, really, but, I'd like to think it's better than the hospital walls you've been staring at for the last few weeks."

Frederick couldn't argue that. While a colour that he was admittedly accustomed to, white was... decidedly not an image that brought up the best of memories. Once pristine and unadulterated, it had been forever tainted. "I'm sure it's fine," he responded, at last. Feeling a nudge at his leg, Frederick glanced down, smiling at the happy-looking pooch staring back up at him. He reached down, rubbing his fingers over soft ears. Aside from his first encounter with Will's pack of hounds, it had been a very long time since he had last been in a home with pets. "What's this one's name, again?"

Without looking back, Will answered, "Winston."

"Ah." Frederick nodded. "He's a friendly little thing." Crouching down, as best he could manage, Frederick stroked Winston's coat, a couple of times. He had to admit, he liked this one. None of the other dogs had stuck around long after the initial meet-and-greet. He glanced around, not seeing hide nor hair of most of them, save the few still under Will's feet. "I think I scared the others off."

"You smell like the hospital," Will supplied, dropping his keys onto the coffee table settled in front of the couch. They fell with a clatter that had one of the smaller dogs skittering back a foot or so. "Once you shower and change your clothes, they'll warm up to you." He turned back to Frederick, and half-smiled. "Trust me."

Frederick nearly flinched. That was chancy, even he knew. His experience with most animals he'd encountered was nothing short of horrifying. He'd only had one pet as child, a cat that didn't seem to care for him, too much. (Okay, care for him, hell, he still had the scar on his left ankle where the little bastard had tried to turn Frederick into his own person chew toy). It was a shame, really, since he always liked animals, cats, especially, ironically enough. He would have owned one, himself, in a heartbeat, but... His schedule simply didn't allow for anyone or anything to be left under his care, outside of the hospital. Thinking back on the events of the last few months, he thought it a good thing that he hadn't given in to temptation.

"You hungry?"

Blinking, Frederick had to take a second to run the words back, not having been paying much attention the first time around. "Ah, sure." He nodded. "Thank you." He watched as Will nodded back, before disappearing into the kitchen. Honestly, he could have done without food. Stomach still in knots, dinner was the furthest from an appetizing thought that Frederick had managed, all day. However, Will was being hospitable, and he'd hate to be rude.

Frederick nearly laughed at himself. Him, rude? Stop the presses. As if that would be an earth-shattering turn of events.

Using the wall for support, he stood to his feet, wincing as the earlier cramp seemed to return to his side. So bothersome, every movement causing an ache here, a pain there. Will had been correct, on at least one account, no matter how disgraceful. He certainly did believe that he knew how a pincushion felt.

Winston followed him to the kitchen door, where he promptly maneuvered around Frederick's legs to pad his way over to Will. His tail swished, happily, back and forth. For a moment, he stopped beside Will's legs, glanced up at him... Then, trotted back out of the room. It amazed Frederick, somewhat. Even though Will was handling food at the counter, Winston never begged for a piece of anything. He had to hand it to the younger man. His dog was very well-behaved.

Taking a look around the room, Frederick held back a sigh. A small discomfort tugged at him, as he thought back to his own home, prior to Hannibal's unrequested redecorating. He loved his kitchen, all modern appliances and conveniences, pristine flooring and walls. By comparison, Will's kitchen was... decidedly lacking, but, he wasn't about to voice that opinion, sitting on the tip of his tongue, though it was.

Okay, now, they could stop the presses.

"I'd offer you a beer, but, you're not supposed to drink with those painkillers."

Frederick quirked an eyebrow. "If you haven't forgotten, I am a grown man." Will turned to look at him, blank and unblinking, and Frederick sighed. Good grief, when had he moved in with his mother? "Water is fine," he all but grumbled. "Thank you."

It might have been his imagination, but, he would have sworn he saw Graham smirk.

. . .

There was a certain level of amazement of self that Will felt following him around, perching on his shoulder, every now and then, to ask him just what the hell the big idea was? Dr. Lecter was finally behind bars, where he'd once put Will, himself, and the case was looking rather open-and-shut, at this point. Granted, he would have to testify at the trial, but, that would (he hoped and prayed) be it. He had his chance to go back to his life, to his teachings, his dogs, and his simple, genuine way of life. Unless a copycat decided to try and tango with the local police department, there was no reason for him to go diving back into the flashy world of serial killers. He could forget.

So, why, oh, why was there a constant reminder of that time of his life sitting across the kitchen table from him, sipping from a glass of water and staring out the window like a caged animal longing for freedom? Thankfully, that was an easy answer. He'd been that caged animal, once, that poor, pathetic creature left to answer for a mess that was not his own (and, yet, absolutely was). While they were both now off the hook, literally, it said nothing for how they were left to deal with the remains of the crimes that had been perpetrated against them.

Will had been through that, solo. He wouldn't dream of forcing someone else to do the same.

In the next room, the dogs were getting antsy. He'd been home less and less, the last few weeks, his time split between trying to nail Hannibal to his own cross, and keeping Frederick company at the hospital. The pack was restless, needing more time outside than they'd been getting, and he felt far more guilty than he could express. Winston had poked his head into the room at least half a dozen times in the last hour or so, before scampering back to the living room to re-join the others. Sighing, Will supposed it was time to stop lingering over his plate.

"You look like someone just told you LSU received a death sentence."

Jerking his head up, Will furrowed his brow at his companion. "I-... What?"

Frederick gave what appeared to be the start of a smile, but it was hard to tell. "You looked upset about something."

"Oh," he replied, blinking, several times. "I was just... I need to let the dogs outside, for a while. Excuse me." He stood from his chair, and made for the doorway when something stopped him in his tracks. "You watch football?" It seemed an odd thing to consider, Frederick Chilton kicking back with a cold brew to yell at his television screen every Saturday afternoon. That image, he just couldn't reconcile with the well-mannered, put-together appearance that he was used to. He glanced back at the other man, just in time to have a dismissive hand waved in his general direction.

"Your dogs, Mister Graham." The tone of Frederick's reminder was amused, dare he say, light. Will stared at the other man for a moment, before he shook his head, disbelieving, and continued toward the entrance.

. . .

"What happened to the little one?" Frederick inquired, that same evening, as they sat on the living room couch. A half-full bowl of popcorn rested atop the coffee table, two beer bottles and a can of ginger ale keeping it company from varying distances. In the background, the end credits to a terrible made-for-television movie had begun to roll. It was times like these, Will had to wonder just why he continued to pay for cable television.

Glancing over to the older man, Will glanced down to where Buster lay, curled up in Frederick's lap. He knew, instantly, what Frederick was referring to. The wounds left from the attack on his home, some while prior, where Buster had unknowingly run into the strike zone, had yet to fully heal. The adventurous little rascal was no longer in any pain, thank goodness, but the marks were a constant reminder of what had been done to one of those that Will loved, the deepest. He couldn't forgive it, and he didn't intend to try.

It was another moment of deep thought and frowning before Will recalled that Frederick had asked a question, one that required an answer in some form other than an internal monologue. "He, ah... You remember, I mentioned that Dr. Lecter had sent a would-be murderer to my door?" He saw Frederick nod, slow and hesitant, from the corner of his eye, and Will's lips twitched into a brief, regretful smile. "When I opened the door, Buster took off... He became a part of the attack."

"Y-?" Frederick paused, swallowing back the discomfort of the question he was about to ask. "You mean, he went that far, as to-?"

"I don't think that it was his intention, no, but... The fact remains..."

Frowning, deeply, Frederick glanced down to slumbering terrier. He reached up a hand, gently rubbing at the animal's ears. Poor thing, yet another victim of Lecter's senseless tactics. But, he was still breathing, still able to fight another day. They all were, and that was the important thing.

"Thank you," Frederick said, suddenly, drawing Will's attentions away from his dog. He glanced up, meeting the other man's eyes, surprised by the mix of sadness and sincerity he found in them.

"What, for?"

Frederick paused, glancing away, nervously, before returning his gaze to Will. "For catching him," he replied, at last. Will took in a sharp breath. "For ending the nightmare we all spent too long in."

They held one another's stare for a long moment, before Will's eyes darted back to the television. Reaching forward, he lifted the remote from the coffee table, before settling back against the couch.

"It was what needed to be done," Will responded, at long-last. Beside him, Frederick took a deep breath. He let it out. Will was mildly surprised to find himself consciously doing the same thing.

. . .

Frederick didn't have many bad habits, Will was both quick and honestly shocked to learn. At least, if he did, he had parked them at the door. Admittedly, the man was a bit of a neat freak, and Will was beginning to suspect a touch of the obsessive-compulsive, but, all-in-all, it was nothing that he couldn't live with. In three days time, he'd seen the man wash the dishes, take the dogs outside when Will, himself, was still sound asleep in bed, and Frederick had even managed to keep the bedroom tidy. The bed was made, the closet was orderly, and every surface in the room had been Pledged within an inch of it's life.

"Allergies," Frederick had claimed, when Will had walked into the room, brow raised in question. "This room doesn't look like anyone's slept here since Lincoln took office. The dust mites are probably big enough to reach up and choke me, in my sleep."

Okay, so, he had to say that Frederick was also a bit of a drama queen. Even then, it leaned closer toward 'sarcastic shit' than anything, so, Will was more than willing to over-look it. He'd only complained about dog hair half a dozen times, but, "so long as you don't consider it a condiment, Will", it had only ever been a passing thing. Did it irk him? Certainly. Again, though, they were adults, weren't they? It could be hashed out. They would adjust.

Speaking of adjusting, the votes were in amongst their colleagues, as well. Jack was clearly amused by the whole situation, but would never admit to it. He'd merely suggested that Will keep in mind the responsibilities that he was taking on, requested that he not let it interfere with his work, and left it at that. Alana thought (as usual) that Will had slipped a gear, and Price had labeled it 'a nice gesture'.

"The man doesn't seem to have anyone else," Price had explained. "You're doing a noble thing for him."

Zeller had just given Jimmy a strange look, before turning an identical one on Will, as if he had wanted to check them both for a fever. He could hardly blame the doubters, though. The last year or so of their professional relationship had been filled with sniping and disdain. Suddenly, they were housemates?

"Better than cell mates," Frederick commented, when Will had finally brought the opinions of others into conversation. The response he received had Will choking on his drink. "Well, I'm right, aren't I?" Frederick asked, trying not to laugh as Will swiped a napkin down the front of his shirt. "If Dr. Lecter had had his way, we'd both have been locked away, where we couldn't have done any more harm to his name."

Clearing his throat, Will leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning toward the window. The sun was beginning to set, the trees along the outskirts of his property casting shadows over the lawn, covering the remnants of snow that stubbornly refused to melt. The grass was beginning to liven up, though, taking on darker, greener shades, patch by victorious patch. The winter was nearly over, and it would be a refreshing change to see the signs of a warm spring rising in its wake.

"You're right," he murmured, eyes not straying from the view, outside. "We would have taken a fall for him, in one form or another. You... You would be locked away, put on trial, and likely stuck on death row, awaiting execution by the end of the year." He fought back a sigh, glancing down at the glass of water still in his hand. "I would have been dragged down with him, a murderer, and a disgrace, left as a blind follower to the divine."

Silence lingered for a moment, Will losing himself to thought. "The divine, what?" Frederick asked, when Will made no attempt to continue.

He shrugged, not knowing what else to add to it. "Whatever form of deity Dr. Lecter was working his way toward."

"You really think that was his intention?"

Will shook his head. "Not on the surface, perhaps..." he agreed, swirling the water around in his glass, absently. He had little doubt that Hannibal had enjoyed their little game, the feelings of power and pride that had surely come with watching Will morph into the same creature. He'd just been lucky enough to have pulled out of it, not going so far as instinct and manipulation had tried to string him. Otherwise, he would have become the product of his own short-sightedness and stupidity. He would have wound up right back where he had started, but, this time, he would have deserved it.

A warm weight pressed against his arm, suddenly, causing him to startle out of his thoughts. Will jerked his head up, eyes meeting Frederick concerned expression. He furrowed his brow, trying to collect himself.

"You looked like you went somewhere you didn't want to," Frederick explained, hand not leaving Will's arm. He didn't complain, or pull away, and Frederick lightly brushed his thumb back and forth, a couple of times. It was comforting. They sat in the familiarity of silence for several moments, before Frederick finally retracted his hold on the younger man. "It's such a nice evening," he remarked, his tone suggestive. "Would you care to take a walk, Mister Graham?"

Obvious, though it was, what Frederick was attempting to accomplish, Will found himself smiling, just a touch. It was, as Price had so rightly phrased it, a nice gesture. "Sure." Setting his glass on the table top, he pushed back his chair, and stood up. "I'm sure that the dogs would love to join us?" It was a question, and Will didn't know why. They were his dogs, on his property, they would go where they wanted, but, still... Something was weighing on him, awaiting the other's answer. There was an importance at stake. When he looked back to find a smile on Frederick's face, the nervousness immediately lifted.

"Of course," the older man replied, already heading for the entrance to collect his jacket. "Never thought of leaving them behind."

Once again, Will found himself staring after Frederick Chilton in no small amount of wonder. He'd anticipated this to go differently, he really had. He'd expected problems, and arguments, and the near-constant temptation to hog-tie Frederick and stuff him in the trunk of his car. What he'd received was an ear to listen when the mood to ramble struck, help with the day-to-day tasks around the house, and an honest form of companionship. Gratitude. As he watched from the kitchen doorway to where Frederick stood in the living room, ruffling his hands over the pack of dogs who, as he had promised, had taken to the man within a matter of hours, Will couldn't help the genuine feeling of warmth and amazement that settled over him. What he had feared to be out of place was beginning to settle in, to belong.

After a moment, Frederick turned to look up, happiness and amusement written across his features like Will had never seen, before. The warmth spread a little faster, leaving him with a contentment that he, himself, had considered a stranger for far too long.

Pulling himself away from the kitchen doorway, Will grabbed his coat, trying not to wonder how long the feeling would be allowed to last.