Thank you guys for all of the reviews, favorites and follows; it's what keeps me going when my muse is on a leave, and what pushed me to finish this chapter.
Since I trust you have already noticed my apparent inability to give you guys regular updates, I won't promise the next one will be quick, but I will promise I will work as hard as I can on it, to make it quicker than the last one.
If you're curious and just can't wait, leave a review and I might send you a little sneak peak of the next chapter.
Now, enjoy!
Beta: NemiNightingale
"…Ash-… Ashland?" she choked out, her eyes wide in disbelief at the person standing right in front of her; a person she still wasn't quite sure wasn't a figment of her imagination.
"Hi mom, what's going on?" Ashland asked, her previously good mood melting away like snow in the sun at the dumbstruck look on her mom's face. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she continued, straightening her back as she grew uncomfortable with the strange stare she was receiving.
"Darling? Who is it?" Ashland heard a familiar voice call in the background, and just as she focused her gaze on her father, who was now visible over her mother's shoulder, the woman in front of her crumpled, suddenly falling to the floor, seemingly unconscious.
"MOM!" Ashland shrieked, immediately dropping her bag in panic in order to reach for her motionless mother.
Ashland looked up to meet the eyes of an equally shocked man whose shock wasn't directed at his immobile wife, but towards his daughter. The guests started piling into the foyer, escalating her panic as they pushed and shoved forward in order to see what all the commotion was about. A wave of disbelief cloaked the crowd as her friends and family, one by one, noticed her; their limbs stiffened and whatever movement they were carrying out before spotting her was halted abruptly, their mouths opened unattractively in awe. Had it been any other situation, Ashland would have cracked a zombie joke, but nothing seemed funny to her at the moment; it was all overshadowed by the woman lying frozen on the ground.
The few seconds it took for her to react felt like hours, but she was quick to regain her composure.
"Well, don't just stand there! Help me get her inside!" she barked, horrified at their lack of movement; no one stepped forward to help her.
Their apathy had her stumped, until the voice of her father commanded her attention.
"But Ashland. I thought… We thought… You were dead."
The damp soil squelched beneath his boots as he trudged forwards, trying to keep up with his rambunctious dogs who were enjoying the bleak February weather. Christmas had come and gone, and after the spirit of the holidays had evaporated, Will found himself longing for the coming of spring with something akin to girlish anticipation.
The sound of a second pair of boots stepping down the mud alerted him to her presence. He had a feeling she would be coming to see him.
"I thought you would be looking for Hannibal right about now," a voice spoke from behind him, confirming his suspicion.
"Alana." The greeting was neutral and free from any emotion.
"Will." Alana stepped forward, sparing a glance towards the man beside her, noticing his stiff posture and fixed gaze. Her eyes followed his, allowing an amused smile to grace her lips at the sight of the boisterous dogs enjoying themselves in the muddy field.
"So why aren't you?" she questioned, looking away from Buster as he did a particularly impressive rolling maneuver to catch Will's gaze. She was not successful.
"Contrary to popular belief, Hannibal can be… Hard to find, when he doesn't want to be found."
"What makes you think he doesn't want to be found?"
"My inability to find him."
Alana couldn't hold back a small twitch of her lips as Will finally decided to look at her. It seemed the two of them had very different experiences with Hannibal Lecter.
"Did Jack put you up to this?" Will, finally finding it within himself to turn towards her, questioned, his arms crossing over his chest as he observed her reaction.
It was only after a small silence when it became obvious that Will was patiently awaiting her response, no other words to say to her than those he had already said, that Alana felt inclined to answer: "I could ask you the same thing."
She couldn't help thinking that after this conversation, he would without a doubt have an abundance of words to say to her or - perhaps more likely - about her.
His gaze was locked on her as he softened up a bit, allowing a dry comment to pass his chapped lips: "I think Jack would rather have me in a straight jacket than on the field."
The remark was accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a sarcastic tone that Alana immediately recognized as Will's way of joking.
She didn't laugh.
"You're wrong about that, you know."
She mirrored Will, crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms to soothe her chilly limbs.
"I'm fairly certain I'm not."
He turned away again, whistling sharply to get the attention of his dogs. Calling for them, Will turned back towards his house, his great band of canines right on his heels as he headed for his warm abode.
"And to answer your question: No, Jack didn't put me up to anything. Other than staying out of your business," Alana spoke, hastily extracting her boots from the mud in order to catch up with Will.
"That going well for you?"
A small laugh escaped her.
"Evidently not," she spoke, the humor in her voice clear as day.
"Evidently not," Will confirmed, his tone dry but lacking the bitterness of a remark meant for mocking; he couldn't exactly blame her for questioning his motivations.
They walked in silence for a couple of minutes before they reached the house, a short but arduous trek that had given him sufficient time to think.
"Why did you come here, Alana?"
He stopped before the steps to his porch, turning around to face her with a straight back and his head held high. Will had decided. He knew he couldn't entirely trust her, and would not be letting her inside again. Not in his house, not in his head and definitely not in his heart. Sensing his resolve, Alana knew she had to tread carefully if she were to lead this conversation where she wanted it to go.
"Why does there need to be a 'why'? Am I not allowed to visit my friend on Valentine's Day?" she asked, a slight smile on her face that had Will scoffing at the obvious attempt to distract him from the real issue.
"What, were you expecting a date?"
The idea of a date with Alana Bloom, which might have been an appealing thought to him once, now seemed to be an unrealistic dream fabricated by a naive mind; a dream he found himself very disinclined to realize. Not that his thoughts on the matter would make much of a difference. Alana Bloom had made herself very clear on the topic of their romantic relations, or perhaps rather lack thereof.
"Were you?"
It really shouldn't have surprised him that she was challenging him in a way entirely inappropriate for two work colleagues who had almost crossed the line from professionalism into the deep waters of unsuitable office romances and disapproving workplace slander.
"I'm not in a very… Romantic mood lately."
His tone left no doubts in her mind that her comment had not had the intended effect of soothing Will's bleak mood, and instead seemed to have had the opposite effect on his already sour disposition.
Realizing her mistake, Alana inwardly winced. So much for treading carefully. Will had obviously been much more than just friendly with Ashland Vodall.
"Right, I'm sorry," Alana mumbled, her gaze respectfully settling on his to convey a look of sympathy.
But it was an apology he didn't find himself quite ready to accept, so he remained silent. Alana, knowing she had blown all chances of making this a pleasant visit, steeled herself and asked the dreaded question they had both been waiting for.
"Are you sure it's a good idea you're helping out with the investigation?"
Will looked away and shook his head, not in answer to her question, but to the fact that she still had the gall to mention the case of Ashland Vodall, after having so rudely made allusions to their romantic attachment.
"So that's why you're here, I... almost mistook your visit for one with friendly intentions."
The sharpness of his sarcastic tone would have pierced through the armor of lesser women than Alana Bloom, but she wasn't deterred in the slightest.
"It is. And don't tell me you weren't expecting me."
The atmosphere had - with the help of a few treacherous words - turned from buoyant to reminiscent of the chilly February weather and could easily turn from bad to worse, were the two colleagues not to watch their words.
"That doesn't stop me from hoping I'm wrong."
"No, I can see that."
Her words were laced with an underlying accusation, one he easily recognized.
"I'm not wrong about her, Alana," he calmly refuted.
"You are wrong about me, Will."
Her words were quiet and accompanied by an imposing gaze, one that bored itself deep into his eyes as if she were looking straight into his soul.
'Knowing her,' Will thought, 'she probably is'.
"Jury's still out on that one," he disagreed, turning around to join his dogs that were patiently waiting for him by the door to his house. "Go home, Alana," he finished, opening the screen door before turning the knob to enter the living room.
"And what are you going to do then, Will?"
He paused.
"I'm going to find her"
When Linda's eyes opened, she was at a loss as to where she was. She blinked and focused her gaze on the ceiling above her, trying to clear her groggy mind.
'Was it a dream?' she thought, relaxing into the soft cushion beneath her with closed eyes for a couple of seconds to gather the courage to find out.
"Mom, are you awake?"
The sound of Ashland's voice could not have sounded any more beautiful to her ears; had she been deaf all her life and was granted the gift of hearing to first be presented with an exquisite symphony, it still would not have come close to the sound of her daughter's concerned and very much alive voice.
Linda's body reacted before she could register what she was doing, her arms going around her daughter's neck, clutching onto her, like her life depended on it.
"Ashland… You're here. You're really here," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, instantly wetting the fabric of Ashland's shirt.
Ashland returned her mother's embrace, although reluctantly as she shot a confused look over her shoulder to her still bewildered father.
"Of course mom. I'm here, don't cry," she mumbled softly into Linda's ear, rubbing her back in a soothing gesture.
It took a couple of minutes before her sobs receded and the desperate wails turned into sniffles, and only then was she able to speak coherently again.
"For how long was I out?" she croaked, drying her eyes before trying to straighten out her hair and clothes; she needed to get a hold on herself.
"Only for a minute or two," Ashland's father spoke suddenly, making his startled daughter jump. He had been quiet for so long, she had almost expected him to go into chock. And apparently for a very good reason. He seemed to be having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she was alive. She just didn't understand what made them think she was dead. Ashland wasn't stupid; she knew a wake when she saw one, and given the presence of a beautifully framed high school yearbook picture starring her it seemed given who the ceremony was for. Why she seemed to be playing the leading role in this one was a question she would love to have answered.
"Why did you faint, mom?"
The silence following the seemingly simple question felt suffocating. Sensing his spouse was unable to answer, John took a deep breath and spoke the words Ashland had been dreading: "We thought you were dead."
Having her suspicions proven valid did nothing to calm the hurricane of confusion inside of her.
"Why?"
Her desperate tone triggered the return of Linda's tears, which prompted a concerned John to take Ashland's place in order to comfort his distraught wife. Linda waved him away, taking a deep breath before drying her tears.
"A man from the police department, or, honey, was it the FBI? I-I can't remember. They called and told us that your apartment building had been burned down, and that they had found your ID on…" Linda's voice choked up, but she managed to continue, calmed by her husband's comforting hand on her lower back. "…on a body and… Well, of course we insisted on going down there to Washington, you know, to identify the…" she stopped again, her voice quivering at the thought. "…the body, but we were told… That there wasn't much to identify anymore," she finished, looking as confused and defeated as Ashland was feeling.
It was hard for Ashland to keep track as Linda muddled her way through the proceedings, but she got the gist of it. Somehow, someone had faked her death.
"But I don't understand, why are you here? Haven't you talked to Bess?"
The statement startled Ashland out of her short contemplating reverie, and added to the millions of things that had her stumped.
"Bess? Why would I have heard from Bess?" she questioned, mentally absent as she - with great disdain - eyed a rude guest, who was peeking her head out of the kitchen while clearly eavesdropping. Why those people hadn't left by now was a mystery to her.
Her parents shared a look before settling their gazes on her.
"Well, she called us and told us you she had gotten a call from someone you know who had told her that you were in trouble somehow and that you needed her there," her mother spoke cautiously. They didn't understand Ashland's confusion.
"What do you mean? What kind of trouble?" Ashland demanded, her brows scrunching together in bewilderment.
"I don't know sweetie, she didn't tell us much. Told us she was going to miss her flight. She was… She sounded very distraught," Linda started, turning towards her husband for aid. "What was his name, darling? The man who called Bess?"
The contemplative look on John's face had Ashland tapping her foot in impatience, and she was almost ready to burst by the time he exhaled heavily and was ready to answer the question.
"I think it was Will, or William or something like that," his reply came.
The answer was as shocking and baffling as the rest of this conversation had been.
Why was nothing making sense?
"Will? I don't understand. Why would he call Bess? He doesn't even know her," Ashland questioned, her voice in a much higher pitch than usual. Somehow Ashland couldn't blame her mother for fainting.
"I suppose you'll have to ask him."
Will was watching Alana's car driving down the dirt driveway to his house, towards the equally worn, paved surface of the road leading away from Wolf Trap and into Washington, as he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. He reached for it with a sluggish hand, reluctant to be forced into another conversation that could very well lead to another troublesome argument.
His brows scrunched together at the unknown number causing his phone to stir in his hand, but within a short few seconds he found himself pushing the button to accept the call. Cautiously bringing the device to his ear, he mumbled a quiet "Hello?", while shoving his other hand into his pocket to shield it from the cold wind.
"Will?" it came, from a familiar voice on the other end of the line.
'It can't be', Will thought, coming close to dropping the phone at the sound of the voice that rapidly melted the cold away inside him and left him feeling flushed and heated in the cold winter weather, like a heating blanket had been dropped onto his shoulders.
"Ashland?" he questioned hesitantly, carefully disregarding the firework of emotions that was erupting inside of him, distancing himself from the ambivalent range of both resentment and affection he felt welling up inside, before he was absolutely certain it was her.
He didn't want to go through losing her. Again.
"Will," she said, her voice no louder than the whisper she had heard from her abandoned lover. "I'm sorry," she continued, not entirely knowing how to go about apologizing for this entire mess. "I shouldn't have left you like that," it came from her, knowing her actions had been rushed and very badly thought out.
"I would have appreciated if you hadn't left me with nothing but an unidentifiable dead body," Will replied, his tone tense but with a teasing edge to it. "A note would have done the trick."
She hesitated, not entirely knowing what to say.
"I…I called as soon as I heard," she offered weakly, knowing very well it was an extremely poor attempt to make nice. And even though she should have anticipated his reaction, the silence on the other end of the line left a spark of irritation, as she knew half of this mess wasn't entirely her fault. After all, she hadn't been the one to kill whoever was now dead instead of her.
"Look, I went back to my parents because I needed to think and-, and…" she continued, her voice having gained some volume and confidence from her frustration. But her growing desperation had no influence on the man on the other end of the line, and he remained silent.
Ashland deflated a bit.
"I'm sorry… I'm a bit… Uh," she choked out, uncertain of how to proceed from here. This was turning out to be terribly awkward; the type of situation she prided herself on being able to avoid.
With a sigh, Will finally gave up trying to come off as unaffected and hesitantly answered Ashland.
"Yeah, I know, me too... I don't understand what's happening. Why would anyone…?" he trailed off, looking out towards the setting sun, creating a contemplative lull in the conversation.
"I'm not entirely sure," Ashland replied, knowing the sentence 'not entirely sure' was exaggerating how much she knew. She had no clue why anyone would be out to get her, and even less why someone would kill for her. It was all very confusing and terrifying.
"Have you contacted the police?" Will asked, changing the topic to pull the conversation towards a more comfortable subject for him.
"No, I didn't know who to call, so I figured…" Ashland trailed off.
"That you'd call me," he finished for her. "I suspect Jack Crawford will want to talk to you. I'll call him and get him to contact you," he finished, his voice distanced and clearly taking on a more business-like approach that sent a stab of hurt through Ashland.
Knowing it was her own doing she took a breath to speak, but closed her mouth before she could say anything. Staying silent for a couple of seconds she quietly asked: "Do you think I should go back?" before quickly continuing: "Not that I wasn't planning to, I just…"
"I think you'll have to. Jack will want to confirm your identity."
"And you don't?"
This time the hurt in her voice was clear as day, and he easily picked up on it, feeling the guilt wash over him like a tidal wave.
"I don't need to," his voice warmed slightly, reassuring her, before changing back to his business-like composure.
"I'll talk to you soon," he quickly finished, taking the phone from his ear to end the call before Ashland could manage more than a short: "Will-" before the phone disconnected.
He looked down to his phone and checked his contacts, looking for one person in particular.
"Jack, where can I find you?"
For the second time this day, he needed to speak to Jack Crawford.
Ashland looked down on her phone in frustration; Will had hung up on her. He had hung up on her. Before she had gotten the chance to ask him about the mysterious phone call to her best friend.
She had been so struck by the sound of his voice that she had completely forgotten about it until the last second of the call, where he decided to hang up on her. Bastard.
Looks like she would just have to ask him in person.
"Dad, can you drive me to the airport?"
After an exhaustingly frustrating conversation with Jack about Ashland, Will found himself outside the B.A.U., walking with heavy steps towards the parking lot. The day had been so full of surprises and revelations, that waking up this morning felt like months ago. He could hardly believe it had been no more than 10 hours since he was stepping out of bed, unknowing of the fact that his not quite girlfriend was still alive.
This was way too much drama in one day for his taste.
"Are you working on the Ashland Vodall case?"
'Out of the frying pan, and into the fire,' Will thought to himself. He was just about ready to hit someone, preferably the specific someone behind him. He could not seem to get a single moment to himself to process all of the new information he had so abruptly been introduced to today.
"I thought you were banned from B.A.U. property, Miss Lounds?" Will questioned, continuing his walk towards his car in the hopes she wouldn't follow him.
He knew he shouldn't have dared to hope.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she replied shrewdly.
He heard the clicks of her heels increase in frequency, signaling her determination in keeping up with him, and, furthermore, her determination in getting her hands on whatever gossip she was trying to dig up.
"Take it as a 'stay out of my business'."
He quickened his pace, adamant in reaching his car before doing something drastic; getting arrested for punching a journalist wouldn't look too good on his resumé, assuming he'd have to find a new job if he couldn't control his urges to plant his fist in Freddie Lounds' face, an impulse which was becoming dangerously difficult to resist.
"I shouldn't be surprised, really. With Ashland Vodall being your girlfriend, who could really blame you for wanting to find her killer?"
Her voice was much too earnest, alerting him to the fact that her intentions were most likely all but. Knowing he wasn't likely to get out of this situation, he stopped and took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm while waiting for her to catch up to him. The longer he ignored her, the more likely she was to stalk him until he conceded; he might as well get it over with.
"I hope you know stalking is a felony," he stated casually, skipping the conventional greetings as he turned around to face the shifty redhead chasing him.
The smile he gained in return was forced and accentuated her sharp features, making her look more than anything like a rodent, ready to sink her teeth into every single piece of information she could get her filthy paws on.
"Only if you have a restraining order."
The implications in her casual comment were clear.
"It shouldn't be too hard to get," he warned, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
"I don't need to be around you to get the information I need," her answer came, rising to his challenge, as he had hoped she wouldn't.
"Who do you have spying for you this time?" he mumbled, turning around to continue the short walk to his car; he saw no need to further encourage her ramblings.
"I have my sources."
Will hesitated, knowing she was doing it to purposely rile him up, but started walking away from her, speaking over his shoulder to - hopefully - get the last word in this conversation.
"Of course you do; it has happened before, it will happen again. I wouldn't put it past you to hire snakes to do your bidding - you're halfway there to having scales yourself," he threw over his shoulder before he could hear her semi-jogging in her high heels, catching up to him faster than he would have liked her to.
"I'm no Medusa," she spoke, her demeanor suggesting she was strangely flattered by her own comparison.
"Your journalistic horrors have the ability to petrify people, you don't need to be a Gorgon to do that," he scoffed, finally reaching his car.
He unlocked it, opened the door and got in, shutting the door in her face.
A tapping on the window alerted him to the fact that she was still standing there, even though his door-slamming tendencies had been a very clear 'fuck off'.
Suppressing the savage urge to slam the door open into her face, he rolled down the window a few inches, just enough for him to hear what she was saying.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You shouldn't."
"The person you are calling is temporarily unavailable, please try again later," the automated phone message informed, for the fifth time in a row. Ashland looked down on the phone, a frown etched onto her face. Elizabeth practically lived through her smartphone, and now it was suddenly unavailable? Ashland couldn't even recall the last time Bess had been unavailable to take her calls.
Ashland's gut clenched with worry, but she pushed it down, rationalizing the situation. She shouldn't be worried yet; after all, Ashland herself had been unavailable for the entire duration of her road trip, having unfortunately lost her phone in all the confusion when she had hurriedly left for Montana. That hadn't meant anything bad; it was just an unlucky occurrence. Hopefully she would be able to say the same for her good friend.
About to call up Elizabeth's number yet again to soothe her frazzled nerves, she looked up towards the departure screen, stopping her thumb half an inch from touching the green button on the screen of her borrowed phone. She was supposed to be boarding now.
"Crap," she muttered, pocketing her phone while hurriedly walking towards gate Z-6 to the plane that would take her back home to Washington.
Through her rush, she didn't feel her phone vibrating in her pocket; a respond to her many calls that was now left unanswered.
