Ah! An update?! *grins sheepishly* I am so so so so sorry! School has been hell on earth and this month has been Satan's living room! Besides that, I had to take entrance tests to college. Who knew four subsequent days of grueling exams could sap people of their will to live! In fact, I have one scheduled for tomorrow. We've got a week of break coming up and I'll see if I can make another update by then (don't get your hopes up tho).

Anyway, here's a new chapter (after months) and I hope it doesn't end up too bad.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

The biting cold of the morning air misted their breaths. Will tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his thick jacket, grateful to have had the forethought to bring one with him. The sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon and already, they had to do their work.

Whatever they were expecting certainly wasn't this.

Will was thankful he hadn't eaten anything on their way to the scene. Zeller and Beverly seemed to be having trouble with their take-out breakfast of empty calories (they were the only things they could eat while driving).

The response team had been there before them, having had a head start in setting up. They worked fast, faster than Will could ever recall. It might have something to do with the pile of blood, flesh, and bone on the dirt.

"God," Beverly whispered, uncharacteristically skittish and ashen. "How did they even manage to ID this?"

"Pure luck, probably," Price responded, voice slightly faint. He seems to be fairing the best between the three of them. "Or, ah, you know, an identification card. Nifty little things they are, especially when you die a gruesome death of being turned inside out."

"Why would we even find an ID card?"

No one was able to answer.

They didn't seem eager to get close to the pile. With his limbs locked in place and hair rising at something that is pungent in the air, Will could say that even he wouldn't want to. He could even see the hurried hesitance in the other agents' movements as they skirted around it.

"Where are those normal, stab-in-the-back killers when you need them?" Zeller whined, running on sheer bravado even as he rapidly turned paler. "Even those run on the mill pickpockets gone wrong would be better than this."

"We're in charge of serial killers. That's why."

Jack stood beside Will and sighed, perhaps understanding of his co-workers' hesitance. "Just do your jobs."

Will took a moment to watch, to swallow the grimace that wanted to pull at his muscles. He didn't need to—didn't want to—let the pendulum swing. The air practically stank of fear and pain—and anger and hateandpleasureandguilt please stop it, I'll doitjuststopstopstop

Breathing through his mouth at the sharp pain that pierced his head, Will desperately wished for anything to wash his tongue with. Anything to get the awful taste the air left in his mouth. There was just too much and Will wasn't sure he could stomach what he would see. He wasn't sure he could stomach what he could feel.

"Will?"

Blinking through the haze, Will spared a glance at Jack.

"I don't think I can do it. Not here." Jack opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Will shook his head despite the throbbing pain. "No. I can't. It's- it's too vivid. I can't do it." Please.

It must have been the sheer desperation in Will's voice, or maybe the unspoken plea, but Jack, for once, chose to back off. Will was grateful—grateful enough to let Jack put a hand on his shoulder without shrugging it off. There was a silent moment of comfort between them, something that Jack had never given him before, and Will felt the rolling on his stomach settle a little, although; it didn't alleviate the heaviness in the air or the ugliness that Will felt clinging onto him.

"I'll ring Doctor Lecter." Jack informed him before excusing himself to make the call.

The pain turned into a dull ache. He remained there, standing, puzzling over the scene before him without getting too close. Odd, really, that it is now that Will used Alana's words for himself.

Don't get too close.

He'd been close. Close to Hobbs, to Abigail, to Boyle… to Hannibal and his dangerous games. Nothing from this scene—at dusk, a body of a child reduced into a pile of flesh and bone, dried blood mixing in with the dirt on the ground of an out-of-the-way patch of grass in a very public park—should have connected all of those.

"This thing," Price's words barely registered in his tumultuous thoughts. "I don't think there's any outward damage. I feel like we can hang it and it would look like a bodysuit."

Will grimaced along with everyone within hearing distance. But then he blinked. "No outward damage?"

"Nope," The forensic scientist piped up, engrossed but slightly disturbed by his work. "No, none at all."

"It's like…" Zeller coined in. "Something right out of a fantasy novel. Given, a gothic one, probably. It stands that this should be impossible."

"Is it worth it to quote Sherlock Holmes?"

"No. It's definitely impossible, not improbable. Physically, logically, anything-related-ly impossible."

Despite the levity of the words and lightness of their tone, they remained somber as they worked around the pile. And Will might be seeing the side of the forensics team that made them one of the best even without him there. After all, he hadn't been a consultant for their team for a long time. It was astounding how they could glean all of this in such a short time.

"Lesions should have appeared, at the very least," Beverly continued their verbal reports even as she wrote it down. "It's all clean cut. Nothing's damaged, not even one tendon out of place. The way they're arranged, it's like the body spontaneously twisted itself and turned inside-out. Which is impossible."

Suddenly, Will felt their eyes on him, expectant. He stiffened and sighed, "What did the juvie say? How did Chris escape?"

"They're going through surveillance now," Apparently, Jack finished his call and had heard his question. "A couple of teenagers coming home from a nearby pub found the…body and took some photos. The technical team is working on taking those photos down before they spread further."

Will nodded and stared, arms crossed as his mind worked over what he knew. For all intents and purposes, everything about this didn't add up. Chris O'Halloran was supposed to be all the way in Fairfax Juvenile Detention Center, locked up and supposedly safe. He couldn't have escaped. Unless he was kidnapped.

"Where was Geneva Walter last seen?"

"In her cell," was Jack's curt reply. "Then she vanished."

"We're not going to find anything here," Will said with finality even as he cast an uneasy glance around him. "There's nothing but dead-ends. It's not even a serial murder case." Because it isn't. Will couldn't draw upon patterns that didn't exist.

It is then a surprise that Jack's reply was not the one he expected. "It is."

Will blinked even as his mind worked rapidly, sifting through his memories to search for a case that was similar to this. In all his years of teaching at the academy, and the years in and before training to become an officer, Will had studied various criminals, comparing them to each other, creating a middle for him to be able to better handle himself.

He had vast knowledge of them but nothing was ringing any bells.

His thoughts must have shown on his face because Jack chose that moment to clarify.

"You probably wouldn't know of it," Jack's lips thinned. "Even I was not aware of it until now."

Will's brows furrowed but he remained silent even as he was presented with an opportunity to needle at Jack. There was very little amount of cases that they—between him and Jack—wouldn't know of. As it were, working in the bureau and being active agents meant that they had information in spades. Anything remotely like this would have stood out.

"Price, search through the body and try to find this," Jack handed over his phone after Price removed a bloodied glove.

Price made a face as he stared at the device. "What's this? Illuminati?"

"Hey," Beverly cut off even as she continued to focus on her work of piecing the body up as much as she can; at least enough to have it properly transported, "Angels and Demons was a good movie and you know it."

"No, it wasn't. It was disappointing." Price frowned. He tapped at the image and examined it for a few moments before holding it up to face the rest of them. "Does this look familiar to you?"

Curious, Will stepped closer and squinted at it. It was quite obviously zoomed in but it was fairly easy to tell that whatever he was looking at was a body. Carved on what appeared to be human skin was a circle bisected by a line encased in a triangle. The lines were red and bleeding, making Will wonder rather morbidly whether it was drawn while the person was alive or if the person was still alive. Given their line of work, Will didn't really have to ponder too much.

"It kind of… does?"

Will blinked and everyone's attention was on Zeller who was frowning at the picture. The curly haired man skittered around the pile and took the phone from Price's hand. "I feel like I've seen this before but I can't remember where. But I did."

Will stared into Jack's direction. He didn't voice out the vague sense of déjà vu when his eyes landed on the image. "Are there possible suspects?"

Jack shook his head and let out an aggravated sigh. "This case came all the way from across the pond. We'll have to deal with bureaucratic bullshit later on."

Will grimaced, "Where?"

"The UK."

Then realization hit him and Will felt as if doused with freezing water as it simply made complete sense. "The murders eight years ago," He had to bite back an inappropriate laugh. "There was no method, no pattern. Violence for the sake of violence. Of course."

"You know?" was Jack's surprised response.

Will, too wrapped up in his own thoughts, was unable to reply. There was something itching at the back of his mind and it wasn't the sense of smugness in finding out he was right that those brutal murders had some sort of significance. But it still cast the question.

Why here, why now?

For the first time in quite a while, this kind of revelation was not accompanied by the looming—comforting, reassuring, stifling—presence of the Stag. Instead, a chill settled deep inside his bones. For a moment, it reminded him of his dreams.

:::…~~~-0-~~~~…:::

He was no stranger to pain. No stranger to torment and sorrow and grief. His life, now, is a waking nightmare; his sleep filled with anguish and mocking laughter. He'd changed because of this. There's no telling when it started, how much he had. He just knew because the laughter does not stop telling him this.

The lines blurred.

Even now, the screams won't stop echoing in his mind. The pungent scent of blood never left. The fear and pleasure never became separable.

Was it his actions?

It was. He was sure it was. And this surety made his moves less mechanical. There was no room for doubt, no room to allow the fear and regret and pain to muddle his mind.

He was no stranger to pain. No stranger to torment and sorrow and grief. His life, now, is a nightmare.

Why do you allow yourself to suffer so? You know how to end it.

He does.

Then why?

He can't answer that.

Everything is in your hands and yet you choose to let—

No! He couldn't, he wouldn't!

Not yet. The time will come that you would do it, Master. No one escapes Death.

A chill that would have frozen the hearts of men swept through his body, only the heavy weight of arms locked him into place. His breath remained level even as his heart pounded harshly. Nails dug into flesh and he hardly reacted to the wound it created.

A harsh pressure in his mind made itself known and he resigned himself to a thorough scrutiny that left him feel violated. It wasn't as if anything would be found.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

"I seem to remember giving instructions of rest."

Will blinked and turned away from the wall he had been staring at for the last few… however long it was. Amidst the busy walls of the FBI, Hannibal Lecter stood out with his unhurried and regal bearing. People automatically veered away from their path when they are close to him. It irked Will to a great degree.

"Thank you for your concern, Doctor Lecter," Will answered, arms crossed. "Would it come as a surprise that I have followed those instructions?"

A frown marred the pristine mask the doctor wears. "Then I have to wonder at the dark bags under your eyes. Let me rephrase my concern; have you been sleeping well?"

Will snorted and started to walk, satisfied to see that Hannibal followed without fuss. "I've been sleeping."

Truly, he had. He'd slept a full eight hours the past few days except for this morning. Hannibal was exaggerating a bit if Will was to be honest. The bags weren't as pronounced as the doctor made it sound like; he'd checked it just a few minutes ago in the bathroom mirrors.

"And yet your appearance betrays you." The doctor's tone was tinged with reproach. "Why have you not told me?"

"I don't need to report everything I do to you." Oddly enough, there was hardly any amount of scorn in his voice. Will wonders at this. The walk to Jack's office was a short one and Will finished his words just as they arrived. "You aren't my keeper."

Whatever Hannibal might have said—if he had one—was cut off by Will opening the door to the office.

"Gentlemen." Jack greeted without warmth. There was a deep-set frown etched on his face that told anyone of his less than stellar mood and warned them to proceed with caution. "Have a seat."

It must have been worse than Will thought because Jack was hardly this formal towards his co-workers. Without voicing his thoughts, Will sat down on one of the chairs. Hannibal took his place beside Will and both looked on expectantly at Jack.

The head of the BAU only sat behind his desk with an aggravated sigh. "We'll wait for the others."

Minutes later, the rest of the forensic team entered. Beverly came in first followed by the arguing Price and Zeller. Going by the twitch of the only female's eye, they've been at it for quite a bit of time.

"The neural transmitters wouldn't be so staggeringly low in number if they hadn't somehow been fried!"

"And I keep on saying that there are no marks of torture!"

"Well, a zap wouldn't make visible marks if done in different parts of the body!"

"No! You've got it wrong! Electrical burns would show on the body—"

"The nerve endings are still—"

Jack cleared his throat and the arguing immediately died down. Both men had the decency to mutter an apology. Beverly's groan of relief was audible in the nearly silent room.

"Thanks." Beverly said, throwing herself on one of the chairs a bit of ways away from Jack's desk. "They've been at it since some of the tests came out."

Will spied the disapproving twitch in Hannibal's lip and had to put effort in keeping his face straight. Had Hannibal always reacted that strongly at the blatant show of coarse behavior? If then, Will wonders how he had missed it when he, himself, had been rather awkward in most things he does.

"So what's up?"

The question had everyone's attention on the man behind the desk. Will already knew, of course, and he had to wonder why Hannibal was there.

It must have been because of Will's earlier reluctance. He didn't know if it annoyed him or not. Just the same, Hannibal was there and Will still had mixed feelings about the doctor; he'd just have to deal with it. And maybe, just maybe, having the doctor around would be better. The bitterness at the back of his throat reminded him of the intense air from before. He'd been lucky that Jack had been amicable.

"We're expecting a new arrival in a few days' time," Jack was informing them, "I'm hoping that you would do your best to work with them."

"Them?" Zeller questioned, proving to be the most courageous of the lot; at least, at the current time. "What them? Why would we need a them?"

Jack sighed, "Not a them, them. Just one person for now."

"Why?"

The longer Jack remained silent, the higher the tension rose. Will and Hannibal remained silent, preferring to wait.

"A few hours ago, we received information about this case—"

Zeller cut off impatiently, "Which case?"

Jack's glare shut up Zeller. "As I was saying, the bureau received information that the M.O. of Chris O'Halloran's death was due to a serial killer and not, in fact, an individual murder."

"Well," Price filled the silence before it became stifling again, "we thought as much. Graham here won't have been with us if it was only a homicide."

Beverly voiced her musings, eyebrows furrowed in thought, "Why do I feel as if it isn't just because of that?"

"Because it's not?" Zeller added helpfully.

Jack let the comment pass. "Eight years ago, a series of murders occurred in Europe. The first victims were a couple in Surrey, England. Their bodies were mauled beyond recognition. The cause of death could have been anything from losing too much blood to a stroke; they simply couldn't perform a proper autopsy."

Jack took a file from his desk and passed it to Hannibal. It was thick, about two inches, but it was incredibly neat. The doctor held it with practiced hands and leafed through it, tilting it at an angle that the forensics team, who had migrated over to peer at the files, could see it clearly.

The interest lighting Hannibal's eyes told Will that the doctor knew of this particular murders. For a second, Will thought that he was tied to it somehow but then completely squashed the thought. It was simply too… messy for the Chesapeake Ripper. Even the thought of a young, inexperienced Hannibal merrily picking at a body with abandon and leaving it like that for the world to see was absurd.

Hannibal turned his victims into art. It is his craft, his passion; transforming the tarnishes of the world into something entirely different and beautiful. It was not violence for the sake of violence.

"The next victims were the Riddles from a tiny village in Yorkshire. If they hadn't been the rich sort, no one would be able to tell who they were. Then an old couple, both identifiably male, somewhere in the West Country of England."

"I remember these killings," Hannibal finally offered his opinion. "I had been in the process of preparation for migrating in the US when it happened. I confess I hadn't paid much attention due to other pressing matters but I doubt if no one knew of it at the time. The news spread like wildfire in Europe."

Will frowns because it became obvious to him that Hannibal knows more than he lets on.

"How did they know that about Chris O' Halloran?" There was no doubt in Will's mind that the chain started again. It was rather common for serial murders to happen again after a few years, especially if there wasn't anyone caught. "Even if they did see it from the leaked photos, they couldn't have easily linked it with those murders."

Beverly suddenly moved to put a hand on the file, stopping Hannibal's hands form moving it. She picked it up, ignoring the affronted look on Hannibal's face, and scanned the report. She made a sound at the back of her throat and muttered to herself.

"It's hard to imitate this effect of turning a person inside out," Beverly was saying, "Not to this degree. No lesions, no cuts, no burst vein… it's all basically the same from our body."

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, "Have you found the mark?"

"It was carved on the cranial bone," Will answered without missing a beat.

"So what do we do now?" Price asked, "You say it's been going on for eight years and now it's reached the states."

"Not eight years, Jimmy," Jack sighed, "It ended six years ago. The killer suddenly vanished. At first they thought he had left for another country but when years went by and nothing came out again, they shelved the case. It wasn't closed and investigations still came up here and there. That's why the file is so thick."

"We'll have to wait for whoever it is they're going to send?" Zeller seemed completely annoyed.

"Unfortunately, yes." Jack sighed again and rubbed at his forehead in aggravation. "O'Halloran's case would have to be put on hold until whoever they're going to send arrives here and they better be damn here soon. In the meantime, you work on Budish. I want something to come out of that."

When silence met his words, Jack nearly roared, having risen up a temper. "Go!"

The forensics team nearly scrabbled out of the office. The door shut without a sound and the tension in the room rose once more.

"You want me to continue the investigation." It wasn't a question. There was no response or acknowledgement over what he said, not that Will was expecting any.

"Doctor Lecter expressed his concern over your health." Jack said instead, giving a meaningful glance at the other two people in the room with him. "It wouldn't be against any rules for you to accompany him given that he is your psychiatrist."

Will felt the urge to throw something at Jack but curbed it as he cast a glance at the suspiciously amused twitch of Hannibal. "…yes." He really had no choice but to bow his head.

"Then I'll leave you to it, gentlemen."

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Beverly eyed the half-assembled body lying innocently on a gurney. They've decided that they can't really turn the skin and muscles the right side up without damaging anything and had instead laid it out and carefully assembled the bones and organs on another surface beside it. It felt like she was staring at a masterfully done prosthetics instead of a real body.

She turned her eyes away and instead focused on what she should be focusing on. Elliot Budish.

The cut on his back was skillfully done. Whoever did it was experienced in slicing people up, Budish's knifing skills wasn't up to par and was just a disgrace to compare it to. And, well, comparing it to Budish's kills was like comparing night and day.

If Will hadn't noticed anything, the autopsy would have still turned up with something. It was that obvious. Budish did the cuts post-mortem, this one didn't. Budish was clumsy, this one did it without shaking fingers.

Budish also didn't carve out a piece and kept them. The muscles just above the thoracolumbar spine were cut off. It wasn't too large a chunk, presumably cut off to create the shape of the wings, but there all the same. Budish didn't do that.

Now, they are looking at a person who had some sort of background in skillfully using knives. It could range from a butcher to a sculpting artist. She was leaning more to the butcher side but animal and human anatomies aren't that similar. Butchers tend to use their strength and focus more on cutting than absolute precision.

A surgeon, then? They'd have the control and knowledge to do it as precisely as it was done with Budish.

And, hey, doesn't that sound familiar?

"That Copycat Killer," Beverly spoke up, "Didn't he have a medical background too?"

"No," Brian answered her, fingers clacking away at one of the scanners. "Nicholas Boyle doesn't have one. He just seems to be good at it. Probably practiced on animals, that one."

"Huh."

She almost forgot about Boyle. The boy doesn't seem to fit in her idea of the Copycat Killer. Nor does it Will's, and he's good at what he does. They hadn't caught Boyle yet either.

Then a thought came to her.

Miriam Lass.

Hadn't they found her hair lodged on a nail?

"Why do you think Miriam Lass' hair would be there?" She asked Jimmy.

Jimmy looked up from his dusting and shrugged. "Probably when she took a stroll there? I don't know."

"Don't you think it's odd that even if she did go there because of one thing or the other, we'd find it years after?"

"You know," Price put down the brush and a wallet—Budish's wallet. "This thing with Miriam Lass is seriously putting some weirdness in the case. Not to mention we still have to worry about snooty Brits coming down here in our lab because their killer migrated over here."

"Oh, stop complaining," Beverly rolled her eyes, "What happened with her anyway? I can't recall any 'Miriam Lass' during my stay here. Well, nothing beyond the basic of basics."

"Well…" Jimmy rubbed his chin and even Brian stopped what he is doing to listen in. "She was kind of Jack's progeny- apprentice? Anyway, she was a trainee and helped Jack in hunting down the Chesapeake Ripper. I'm going with what I heard from whispers, okay. Apparently, she found a lead and went to whatever it was. Next thing she's gone."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah," Jimmy nodded at his own words, "No note, no body. She simply vanished."

"The last victim of the Ripper," Brian commented, "Maybe she did find the Ripper. Got too close and all that."

"And, what, got killed?" Jimmy snorted, "The Ripper hardly stays silent of his kills. Maybe they eloped."

"Or maybe she was captured."

That made sense. But it still didn't, at the same time. Why would her hair be at the barn with Budish? She scribbled a note on a paper. Miriam Lass had added a new variable in this case. As if it wasn't complicated enough. But she did know that the Chesapeake Ripper, and maybe even the Copycat Killer, is connected to this somehow.

She'd really have to drag Will into that café soon. Her head was spinning from all of this crap.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

It was odd.

The atmosphere wasn't stifling nor was it awkward. In fact it was… comfortable. They had been stewing in this silence for the majority of the drive now and, well, Will was puzzled over it. It was something to get used to, certainly, because it was just so odd.

This was the first time Will drove a car with Hannibal as his companion. And Hannibal seemed quite content in the silence.

Will's attention remained on the road. The sky was slowly darkening and he estimated that they would arrive right before sundown; enough time for what he intended.

They arrived at the Fairfax Juvenile Center without fanfare.

And now here they were, once again sitting on plastic chairs and awaiting the Hobbs's. They could have called for the other children involved with Geneva Walter but then they didn't really have a reason why they had to meet with them. The Hobbs's were the safer and more discreet option.

Soon enough, the boys arrived.

"Doctor Lecter!"

The tilt of Hannibal's lips was unmistakable, more so the softness in his eyes. Will blinked and shrugged. Honestly, he was wondering at his own blasé approach.

"Hello Hadrian," Hannibal greeted, "Marvolo."

"Oh, hello to you too Mr. Graham!"

Will smiled at them, finding it easier at the light atmosphere of the room. He didn't dare look at any of their eyes. "It's nice to see the two of you again."

"So why are we here?" Marvolo cut to the chase, an eyebrow raised. "I don't see Abigail anywhere."

Unconsciously, Will's lip twitched but he covered it up by licking his lips. These boys are unnerving and different, yes, but they are children all the same. "We're here about Chris O' Halloran."

"Oh?" Marvolo's voice was pitched high in demand but didn't elaborate.

"Why?" Hadrian cut in with a little frown. "Chris hadn't done anything bad, did he?"

"No." Will answered. He stared at the boys for a moment, debating with himself on whether he should tell them or not. But then Abigail's words echoed in his mind. He wasn't trained to interact with children so it's not as if he knew what not to do. "Well, no, he hadn't done anything bad. But he was killed."

"Oh."

Hadrian was tense in his sit but Marvolo remained relaxed in his seat. It wouldn't have been the way normal children would react to that kind of news but Will discreetly let out a breath of relief. No tears, no tantrums. He should have expected this with their oddity.

"Can you tell us where you saw Chris last?"

Both tilted their heads at the same time, unnerving Will.

Hadrian started, crossing his arms "Well…"

"He was in isolation the last time we saw him." Marvolo crossed his legs and leaned back, managing to remain smooth. "The other children weren't being… nice."

"Yeah, they weren't." Hadrian's smile contradicted the meaning of his words. "They said mean things to him." Then his face darkened. "But he pushed me and it hurt."

Marvolo hummed and let Hadrian scoot closer to him.

"Nobody hurts us without consequences."

It was said with such a dark promise that Will was convinced he'd go through with whatever is in his mind. It raised suspicion and alarm. Then he thought of Hannibal and Abigail and sighed. This was going to be another thing he'd ignore, isn't it?

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

LOL. I decided to speed up the plot a bit so it—ah. Yes, so there. That's what happened. Thank you for waiting for this. I am so grateful of all your support even though I am proving to be a crappy writer.

It's revealed a lot, ne?

Also, lots of love and compassion for the Malaysian peeps.