Why did you come alone, Jack?

Where is he, Will?

Answer the question

Get out of my way

Jack…he's got a gun

Good

*The most wintery day of the season, snow and bare trees everywhere, the wilderness was vulnerable and Chilton even more so as he tried to run but could not, surrendering to Jack as he took aim. But Jack could not pull the trigger.*

Miriam, do you know who is before you? Through that window?

I – I…

It's alright if you don't know

It's him

Are you sure?

It's him!

*Miriam suddenly whipped around in a full 360 and took Jack's gun from his belt and took clumsy aim. The window shattered and Alana Bloom launched from her chair as the bullet streamlined through the air and collided with Chilton's face, his body jolting back and then forward again as his hands were chained to the table; blood seeping out of a small round wound in his cheek. Chilton was still, slumped face down on the table as Jack peered through the windowless pane and Miriam stood shaking.*

It was one hell of a morning. Three cops found dead – mutilated in Chilton's home, Chilton, himself, gone. Having taken refuge at Will's cabin in the woods, taken refuge with the man he knew would understand having been in the same situation once.

When Jack had got the call, due to small pieces of evidence that pointed in Chilton's direction, Jack had no choice but to arrest him, though his gut told him, distinctly, that this was wrong, that he had it wrong, again.

Jack sat at his desk, the papers Gurling had given him containing the bulk of his and Dr Artz's conversations lying undisturbed in front of him in a neat pile. He was reluctant to read the words, reluctant to find the truth much to his annoyance for the truth was, ultimately, what he craved. These papers were quite possibly a means to an end and yet he could not bring himself to start just then. The world had fallen from beneath his feet and he was up in the air.

A constant stream of thoughts kept circling in his head and each time he came full circle, he found himself where he started, knowing that he already knew the truth, but the problem was that finding the evidence would hurt.

Just then, in stepped Will Graham, his eyes darkened from a sleepless night and his feet heavy as he dragged them across the ground, behind him, much to Jack's surprise, Freddie Lounds. Jack leaped up from his chair and marched straight past them without saying a word, slamming the door and spinning around, his hands on his hips, gazing at Will expectantly.

But Will did not say anything; Freddie did, her face smug,

"Hello!"

Jack narrowed his eyes at her and returned his attention to Will,

"What the hell is this?"

"I killed Freddie to gain Hannibal's trust in hopes that he might open up,"

"Is it working?" Jack asked incredulously,

"Not yet, he doesn't give me anything and technically we haven't found her body yet,"

"What if there's nothing to give,"

"Jack, listen. We need to show Hannibal that Freddie is dead. Artz said that I should let him know because…of…I'm not sure why, actually but I'm not going to do that. I think Freddie actually needs to well and truly die; I've implied that Hannibal and I were eating her when we had dinner together,"

"Oh how romantic," Jack fumed sarcastically,

"This is serious, Jack, don't be like that, I need you to trust me on this. I also need you to make a decision. I will bring you what evidence I can if you decide against me but it would help if you chose to be on my side too. Freddie's with me, Artz's with me –"

"Artz is in prison and you're going against her advice,"

"For a crime she didn't commit and I'm ignoring her advice because she's in prison. It won't work from inside there,"

"Why is that always the case?" Jack turned to the window and caught the eye of his own angry reflection, "I don't know who's who anymore or whose luck is who's but someone's luck is ridiculously bad,"

"Trust me, Jack, like you did once before,"

Jack's gaze drifted from his own reflection to that of the papers' sitting on his desk. If there was any way to make the frustration over the circular journey end, it was to read the damn papers and let the truth have its day. He turned and motioned for both of them to sit down while he pulled up his own seat and readied himself for the reading,

"These are papers given to me by Dr Artz's psychiatrist. He's resigned so this is no longer confidential before you ask but the way he gave them to me makes me think this is it. This is the evidence or was…Artz is in prison but with this and your little plan, we could catch him,"

So Jack began to read…and read…and read handing each paper he had finished with onto the person opposite him regardless of whether that was Freddie or Will. By the end of it, a good two and a half hours later, Jack sat back in his chair and handed the last paper onto the next.

He thought he'd be devastated, he thought he'd be in inner turmoil, the confusion worse than ever but he was wrong. What was in his head was an infinite amount of space, where the clutter had been cleared and the water was fresh and blue as the sky, finally, a place to breath.

When Will put down the paper, he looked up in surprise,

"What do you want to do?"

"Catch him,"

"Then we have to find Freddie's body,"

"Easy enough, I'll get the boys to do a DNA test, grab a body from the morgue, burn it that way nobody will recognise her and the only ID will be her DNA,"

"That's a little inhumane and or disrespectful, isn't it?" Freddie sounded exasperated, horrified but Jack paid no heed, standing up with Will matching his pace,

"Quite frankly, Ms Lounds, considering what I've been through, I don't care," he turned to Will, "You have to do it,"

Will only nodded.

The next day, the story made front page news; a body found in a wheel chair on fire, the only witness being a security guard from a car-park. The body was identified later that day as Freddie Lounds, journalist for the infamous internet newspaper, Tattle-crime.

OoOoOoO

Hannibal had read the story three times by the time Will finally arrived, his coat hanging neatly off his forearm, hair combed equally as neatly and a lovely smelling after-shave. Hannibal's spirits had been soaring the whole morning and for the better part of the afternoon. They had had their therapy session which was more of a killer conversation over Will's decision to kill her and why. It was riveting. Hannibal was proud of him, proud of himself for persuading Will to just try out the deeper, darker, more carnal instincts of human nature.

He was proud because he had defeated Dr Artz, she was locked away, denied parole, and had nothing more to mildly annoy him with. Jack and Alana would remain on a dead-end path and would continue to do so until such a time when another Will Graham came around and the two originals would have to disappear into the night. Perhaps, given the circumstances of Lounds' death, that might have to be sooner.

Just as Will was readying himself to leave, Hannibal caught sight of his dinner table, empty, unexciting, alone and yet the night somewhat called for a celebration,

"Why don't you stay for dinner, Will? I've got some meat in the fridge that needs to be used up,"

Will gazed at him without a reaction for a moment, gauging Hannibal's facial expression to which Hannibal relented, allowing a small smile to play upon his thin lips and a cock of his head, almost but not quite playful. Will frowned,

"Are you celebrating something, Dr Lecter?"

"Of course, what is life for if not for celebration?" he made his way towards his kitchen and dug into his fridge, pulling out two fresh fish from its innards,

"I hope you like trout," he announced as he removed his Jacket and replaced it with an apron. Will only looked on, his face portraying nothing of his thoughts. Hannibal stole a glance at him, still awaiting a decent response. Will eventually nodded submissively and put down his coat,

"What can I do?"

"Cut the ginger," Hannibal handed him a knife and saw his clever little pun register in Will's dark eyes when he looked up. Hannibal smiled, "Nice and thin,"

OoOoOoO

Slice the ginger…

Will began to do just that though his stomach was reeling. Twisted up in the overwhelming feeling of disgust and admiration for his plan was working, Hannibal had taken the bait and this could quite possibly be the night that he give himself away then again…Will found himself fascinated by the good doctor, bad puns and all.

Nice and thin…I set her on fire

His thoughts drifted from that to Artz sitting cooped up in a prison cell. She never did tell him why he should give himself way…

Maybe she wanted to abort the mission and start over once she was out for it was inevitable, Jack was going to let her out. Illegally if need be for Jack was morally in the right place all the time but it was the confusion that threw him off. Will regretted letting Jack feel so lost for so long but it was a risk, letting Jack in even now, was a risk for word could spread, Jack could miscalculate his timing and come heroically in to meet his own demise.

Things might have been different if Artz was still in play although, Hannibal appeared to have let his guard down but a little since her departure.

Will dropped the knife, the sound of its clanging on the tiled floor resounding all over the kitchen replicating that which was always in his head. Warning bells – telling himself he was leaning in the wrong direction, rooting for the wrong man.

"Will, are you alright?"

"Will looked up to find Hannibal looking at him with concern; he had stopped marinating the fish mid lemon squeeze. Will shook his head and smiled,

"I hope so,"

OoOoOoO

Freddie Lounds' funeral was nothing too spectacular, nor was it ordinary. Alana read and reread the small slice of memory from the obituary dedicated to Freddie. It didn't feel right; she hated what was happening inside of her. Lounds' funeral was that day, on a cold, white day. They would flock down in their black garments to circle her coffin like crows. Alana felt her skin crawl for that was what she felt like, she wouldn't miss Freddie, she wasn't even that surprised by her death given the way the woman constantly put herself in dangerous situations. No, Alana was going simply to get closure, too make sure this wasn't some trick she found herself on the wrong end of. No doubt Hannibal and Will would be there, their ridiculous relationship in full view, emotionally destructive.

For them and for her.

Stepping out of her car and walking towards the small gathering surrounding a squeaky, clean coffin, Alana felt like her thoughts of crows were apt and not only because the funeral gathering looked exactly the way she imagined it. Freddie Lounds was dead.

Standing a little distance away from them all, just close enough to hear the prayers and words of farewell, Alana hugged herself, keeping the cold out but the cold was in her bones. She'd been ignoring calls from Hannibal and rejected her friends, so she felt alone.

"Hello Alana,"

She turned to see Will gazing out over the funeral, his coat wrapped tight and his hands tucked deeply into his pockets,

"Hello Will," she answered without warmth,

"I'm glad I'm not the only one looking in from the outside,"

"But you aren't, are you?"

He glanced at her,

"What do you mean?"

"You and Hannibal are such an incredibly twisted duo, according to you he tried to frame you, you tried to kill him and here you are acting like nothing happened,"

"Well…"

"Everything happened,"

"Hannibal and I understand each other, and you will too, soon,"

"Your relationship is destructive and you're so different compared to when I first met you,"

"How so?"

She looked him in the eye, a hard stare, a fearless stare,

"Darker, dark enough to be worried about your involvement in a great many things,"

"Alana, I understand fear, I know what it's like to feel like you can't trust anyone. Here,"

Alana looked down, Will was holding a tightly wrapped up piece of bag, she took it and immediately realised what it was,

"What's this for?"

She looked up, shocked,

"It's for your safety, when you're afraid most, no matter who it is; me, Hannibal, Artz…don't be afraid to use it,"

Alana looked at him as he looked at her, an even look of faith,

"Goodbye, Will," and she started forward, the need to be surrounded by people creeping up like a ghost, disappearing into the black crowd. Will did not follow her.

Engulfed by crows she was, insidious black things that floated about her even as the priest gave his words of blessing and the coffin lowered into the earth. She needed to see Artz.

The woman had clarity, even if she did murder someone, she was not insane. Alana found herself at the prison window with the phone to her ear quicker than she could have blinked. She watched as Artz was directed in and told to be seated and hold still while they removed her handcuffs,

"Dr Bloom," she smiled weakly, "How are you?"

Alana felt a small smile tugging at her own lip corners,

"Hi, Guido,"

"Have we resorted to familiarities so soon?"

Alana watched as her eyes filled up with amusement and once again Alana found conflict. She found another place where she felt safe; here on the other side of a window of a convicted killer deep in the heart of the Baltimore State Prison. A friend in a killer who she was beginning to believe was not a killer. She seemed genuinely shocked (and let down) when Jack had arrested her, no killer was that good at acting…her thoughts flickered briefly to Hannibal and Will but she snuffed them out before suspicion could brew.

"I'd like to think we're friends,"

"That…makes me happier than I would have expected," Artz made a face upon her thoughts, but Alana only nodded before she continued,

"Will gave me a gun,"

"He did,"

"Yes, at Freddie Lounds' funeral. Were you aware of her death?"

"Yes, only her death, not the funeral,"

"Well it wasn't for the public, to be fair,"

Artz appeared to be unnerved by something, almost offended by the idea of not having been invited to Freddie's funeral.

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm? Nothing," Artz shook her head free of whatever it was that was bothering her and smiled, "How was it?"

"Uneventful, I felt like I was surrounded by sinister things, like I was in some sort of trap,"

"You don't know how to get out…"

"Yeah, mainly because I'm still questioning it, is that…normal?"

"Given the circumstances, yes,"

"Well, Will gave me a gun – there's your cherry on top – and said that no matter who I was afraid of; you, him or Hannibal –"

"Specific…" Artz mused,

Alana frowned,

"…I shouldn't be afraid to use it,"

"Wise,"

"Really?" Alana gazed at her sceptically, "Do you still believe that Hannibal is someone to suspect,"

"I think you will find that out in due course,"

"I've heard that a lot, what do you people know that I don't?"

Just then, none other than Jack Crawford walked in and sat down, without invitation, next to Alana, who glared at him, repeating,

"What you people know that I don't?"

Jack grimaced at her briefly before turning to Artz,

"I've read some papers your therapist gave me with regards to your…history,"

Artz's eyes flashed, anger rising, brimming on the brink before sinking down again and the fire was put out with a terse,

"I hope he resigned,"

"Yes, he did. It'll help, hopefully,"

"Help what?" Alana interjected but she was now a shadow and she was angry because of it, she hated the dark,

"It won't but I presume you have been enlightened,"

"I have,"

"What of Hannibal?"

"What about Hannibal?" Alana asked sharply, but once again, she was only a shadow, a fly on the wall,

"Nothing yet, gaining trust, Freddie Lounds' funeral was a necessary precaution,"

"Alters a few things," Artz frowned but Jack asserted himself, bringing his authority to the table,

"For you, Doctor, but you're in here for the time being so now we're doing it our way, Will included,"

"What the fuck?!" Alana almost screamed but instead slammed a flat hand on the table, it stung, red but she was angry, she paid no heed to the pain. It did, however, finally draw their attention to her existence, Jack rose,

"Come with me, Alana, it's time you see the truth laid bare," he started out before pausing at the door, "Dr Artz, you'll be out soon enough, I just can't promise you that it will be soon enough."

Artz nodded, moving her head in manner that indicated annoyance, discarded from her own game by players that took over without fully understanding the rules or how to play it must have been frustrating, and above that, Alana, a player who was fresher than fresh was about to be added to it. Alana could see it in Artz's eyes, the disapproval, the fear that the particular end that she was hoping for was no longer an option, lost forever in the abundance of stupid mistakes and miscalculated solutions and so on. The FBI was not meant to be in on it, this was Alana's conclusion, the FBI was meant to be alerted when the stakes had been raised and…Hannibal was at his most vulnerable and could do nothing but confess and run for it.

With everyone involved, the chances of someone making a mistake and …Hannibal… switching the whole game around on them was greater. Alana got it now.

Leaving Artz behind her, the image of her glaring after Jack seared into her brain as Jack walked away without looking back. He drove in silence back towards the FBI headquarters into which he strode, he glanced down and briefly smirked at Alana, having caught the small disfigurement caused by the package (gun) in her pocket. She frowned, so Jack knew.

What exactly did this mean?

Well, Alana thought and thought and decided that this had to be it. Only…

It wasn't….

Will waited inside of Jack's office and got up as soon as Jack entered but he said nothing other than,

"Oh good," and turned and walked straight back out.

Following Jack back out of the building, Will on her trail, Alana saw the team packing their equipment into a car and nodding at Jack as he waved at them. Jack, Alana and Will all piled into one car. Jack drove without speaking to any of them all the way to their destination, a good hour out. It was dark by the time they got there, the headlights of the vehicles providing the only light until such a time when the team had gotten their own lights sorted out.

Jack stepped out of his car and opened the door lithely for Alana who pulled herself, gazing curiously at Jack as he watched her evenly. She turned from him and saw what they had come for.

A burnt corpse, mounted on antlers, pierced by arrows,

"The Ripper,"

Alana's stomach clenched, her heart stopped and the words slipped out as a whisper, the body reminiscent of Will's murder, of Freddie.

Jack and Will stood but a little way off behind her, awaiting her ideas,

"What is it, Alana?" Jack asked steadily.

She turned to him, objectively, she didn't know whether this was a time to thank him for the opportunity or to reject him for a badly thought out trick. Trick for what?

She turned back to the body and started towards it. The air was cold, her heart thumping, she hugged herself again, locking her eyes on every detail, scanning it for anything other than her initial thought…alas, she settled, for her initial thought was right,

"Courtship," she whispered again, her breath fogging out in front of her. She turned back to Jack and Will, her eyes resting on Will, her suspicion solidified as she gazed at Will's soft expression and yet her heart was slowly breaking. If it was courtship, there could only be one other person. But Will understood and uttered,

"Alana, Freddie's not dead,"

Alana wanted to throw something, anything at him,

"Then where is she?"

And out from the darkness of one of the vehicles, followed by Brain Zeller and Jimmy Price who both looked equally as sympathetic as well as terrified of what Alana might do to them, neither of them having Jack's authority or balls to shout back at her.

But Alana was silent, frozen as she watched Freddie approach, the same smug smile she always wore when she thought she'd done something smart dancing over her face, the expression that Alana hated and was relieved to see,

"I'm right here," she paused, "How was my funeral?"

Alana felt involuntary tears begin to leak down her face, her vision blurring and clearing every time she blinked. She hated every single one of them but above all, as she turned back to the body in front of her, she hated Hannibal.

OoOoOoO

The next morning, as the sun poked through the bars of Dr Artz's prison cell, Artz herself woke to the sound of her cell being unlocked and opened with a clang, her clothes placed neatly on a chair by her head.

She opened her eyes and looked at the guard,

"Cleared of all charges, Miss Artz, so put your clothes on, you gotta sign a few papers,"

"My release forms,"

"Yeah," the guard began to walk away,

Artz swung her legs over the side of her bed,

"Who's here to get me?"

"No one, but Agent Crawford phoned and ordered your immediate release. C'mone, hurry up,"

Artz smiled as she slipped her clothes over her head to replace her undergarments with a new bra and panties and furthermore, though three weeks old clothes, cleaner ones than that of which she had on.

Half an hour later, Artz took a step outside into the cold winter air, free of bars and foul smelling women. She smiled into the sun, taking a deep breath and started to walk home. She would walk all the way.