I know, My Dear Will was supposed to be a one-shot, but it started so good that I just had to keep going! Couldn't stop myself, hahahaha
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it :)
As always, critics and reviews are much much much appreciated!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and blablabla
Enjoy :D
"I got a call yesterday. Do you know what I've been told, Will?"
Sitting in the armchair, Will eyed him curiously, not really knowing what Jack could have possibly been told so important that he had to be summoned in his office. "I have no clue"
"You visited Doctor Lecter in prison a week ago."
Will avoided his gaze and kept staring at his knees, not really surprised that Jack had been informed about it. Actually, he was surprised Dr. Chilton hadn't called him earlier.
"Why did you go there?"
"What do you think?" he asked.
"I think you were looking for some justification from him" said Jack calmly, staring at him "but couldn't find any."
Will let out a sad laugh, being found out so easily. He rubbed his bearded chin, reviewing their meeting in his head, being it imprinted there ever since.
"How do you feel, Will?"
"I'm fine" he said sighing, looking tired.
But Jack knew better, he had known him for too much time to be fooled by those words. Whatever he was really feeling, being it pain, delusion, rage or else, he was hiding it behind a blank expression, the same he had been carrying for the last few months, ever since Hannibal got caught. Jack knew why he wouldn't confine in him, and he couldn't blame him: the only person Will ever entrusted had turned out to be a cannibalistic sociopath.
"I forbid you to ever step inside that prison again" he said, his tone accepting no replies.
"I didn't have the intention" Will closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "Can I go back to my classes?"
Jack eyed him for a second, before replying. "Sure."
He stood up, grabbed his case and nodded in his direction, before heading to the door. Once out, Jack let out an exhausted sigh, hoping Will was really ok.
Time passed, week after week, season after season, almost a year went by since their last meeting, and Will's life had kept on following its usual pattern. He had been carrying on his routine, teaching classes, caring for his dogs and picking up strays, talking to Alana and the others, helping profiling some new psychopath that came along the way. Jack was concerned about his mental wellness and suggested a few times that Will meet another psychiatrist, but the look he got as a reply discouraged him to continue. Someone who didn't know him would say he was coping well with all that happened, for he looked serene and far more stable than he was in the past. Even Alana, worried sick at first, was now feeling a little relieved, starting to believe that his calm appearance wasn't totally an act.
But if on the surface he appeared to be alright, underneath he was deadly still. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Everything passed right through him, without him even caring. He could smile, even laugh, but his eyes wouldn't show anything. He had become so good at faking expressions and emotions that nobody could tell truth and lies apart. At close inspection maybe someone would notice, but no one did.
He would. The thought stroke him, a dull pain right in the middle of his chest, but lasted less than a second before flowing away. He tried his best not to think about him, and most of the time he succeeded. But every now and then he found himself remembering his voice, his features, the way he spoke to him, the feeling of his hands touching him with concern, the warmth in his eyes. He felt it pierce his heart every time, leaving him emptier and lonelier than before.
He did all he could to appear normal, so nobody would bother him with worry or sympathy. He needed no one, he just wanted to be left alone. He was fine on his own.
It was a day like any other, when Will found Jack waiting for him at the entrance of his lecture hall. He walked up to him, hoping he wouldn't start again with his are-you-alright-you-need-help tantrum.
"Good morning, Jack. Ambushing me again?" he said with a half-smile, only partially joking.
"You won't be teaching today, Alana agreed to replace you."
"Oh God, Jack, I'm fine. For the millionth time, I'm fin-"
"He escaped, Will."
He froze in pace, soaking up those words.
"Who, who did?" he asked, trembling a little, his mind refusing to accept the obvious.
"Doctor Lecter."
Will felt cold, like the temperature suddenly dropped, a light veil of sweat covering his forehead. His mind was blank, he couldn't think straight. Trying to focus, he shook his head a little, only to feel dizzy.
"You're going home, I already have a couple agents ready to follow your car and to guard your house."
"When?"
"They'll be taking turns, so you'll be covered 24/7-"
"I said, when?" he said raising his voice, demanding an answer, not looking at him in the eyes.
"Yesterday night" Jack finally answered, after a moment of hesitation. Will stared at him in disbelief, wide-eyed.
"Yesterday night? He escaped yesterday night and you didn't tell me? WHAT THE HELL, JACK!" He was shouting, trembling, a weight in his stomach.
"I understand that you're angry, but I need you to be safe, to go home. NOW." He pointed towards the parking lot, where a police car was waiting next to his. Staring at him angrily for a moment, Will started moving back, away from Jack and the lecture hall.
A couple of hours later, he was sitting on the carpet with his back to the sofa, his dogs lying all around him. He just stood there, absent-minded, staring at nothing. His mind had shut down, refusing to think, knowing it would only hurt him more. He had already said his goodbye to Hannibal, and as his attitude had suggested last time, he too was done with him. Jack probably thought he might show up, otherwise what was the point in guarding his house? But he knew Hannibal better than that, he wasn't stupid, he wouldn't risk getting caught the day after his escape just to visit him. What a waste of public resources.
Hours passed, days passed, and Doctor Lecter was nowhere to be found. Will couldn't go anywhere, Jack had made it statutory that he was not to leave his house, where he was under constant surveillance. Will started recognizing the faces of the cops that would take turns to guard his house, he even waved at them the few times he stepped outside. But that was as far as his social interactions would go, not knowing them well enough to be comfortable in their presence.
Every day was the same as before Lecter's escape, the only difference was that he didn't have to put on his everyday mask to fake normality, which he found very liberating. He lost track of time, all he ever did these days was wander around the house trying to find something to keep him busy. One night, after letting the dogs out (even them had grown used to the constant presence of the police car) and having waved at the cops, he sat on the sofa, grabbing the nearest book and continuing to read from where he let off. After a few pages, Will started feeling uneasy. Something felt wrong, it was too quiet, the ticking of the clock echoing in the dull silence. Shaking off the feeling, he tried to focus on the book, but the sound of parquet creaking made him freeze.
Slowly standing up, he reached quickly for his gun and pointed it in front of him. All his senses were on alert while he slowly paced towards the noise he had heard earlier, barefooted, trying to be as silent as possible. He turned around the corner, breathing heavily, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. That uncomfortable feeling was still lingering. He checked the kitchen, all the windows' and door's locks, but found nothing. Feeling a bit paranoid, he finally lowered the gun, his arms aching from the tension, and headed back to the living room rubbing his face, blaming Jack for making him feel so tense.
"Good evening, Will."
