Hellcat Fever
Gen had gotten the call at about 1:33 in the morning.
It was Alana Bloom, calling with an urgency in her voice.
Will was very sick.
He was in the Hospital.
Fever of 105.
Seizures.
The carmel haired woman only caught bits of the psychologist's words. She was too busy fighting tears, struggling into clothing and sprinting to the old volkswagen in the driveway to pay much attention to Alana. Gen had stumbled across the gravel, thrown herself into the car, started the engine and swallowed.
Trying to level her tone, she found it difficult. "I'll be there soon."
Sure enough, in an hour and a half, Gen was ditching the car and sprinting through the parking lot of the Baltimore hospital, pushing past FBI agents in the waiting room and even barging past Jack Crawford and Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
The two had been engaged in a discussion over Will's health, hands tucked into pockets and tones mild mannered. Almost every agent in the waiting room held a look of worry and discontent, especially Beverly, Brian and Jimmy. It was, however, the stark contrast of movement that caught Jack Crawford's eye as he spotted Genevieve Forde - she was wearing a look of fear and exhaustion, clothed in a slapdash manner, and with a face red from the snow bearing down outside.
The FBI agent did a double take, blinking before reaching out to her as she darted to the elevator. A strong hand wrapped around Gen's wrist, jerking her back around. "Ms. Forde, visiting hours are—"
Shaking his grip from her arm in one violent movement, the woman snarled. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Crawford. I just drove through a fucking blizzard at two o' clock in the fucking morning because you dragged my fiancéout on a goose chase with a fever of one hundred and fucking five, landing him in the damn hospital!"
Her shriek pierced the conversations of agents all about the waiting area, every single pair of eyes landing on her. Beverly moved forward, to console or contain, Jack didn't know, but it became apparent the reaction stifling the waiting room was from that word.
Fiancé.
It was left rattling against the walls, a soft shock rolling across the sea of officers and rocking the Behavioral Science Unit. Hannibal Lecter, however, stood as stoic as ever; shark-like eyes were fleeting between Jack and Gen, gauging the tension.
Jack Crawford snapped his mouth shut, dropping his hand in a sign of retreat.
Hannibal Lecter eyed Gen, the spitfire, dark eyes dancing as he watched her grow more furious by the second. It was uncharacteristic for her to become so angry. Dr. Lecter had met the woman on multiple occasions, noting her relaxed demeanour. Something, however, had clicked the moment she heard of Will being hospitalized. A primal anger tore itself from her chest the moment she was kept from her ill fiancé. Lecter let a small smile of indifference fleet across his lips.
How cute.
While Lecter was impressed with Gen's anger, it chilled Jack Crawford to the bone.
The gentle spoken woman had turned into a vicious hellcat, fighting her way to the one she held so dear to her. He supposed this was something written in her coding, much like a mother and child. Yet, this bond was stronger. It was a desperate love of a fiancé.
"I am going to see Will."
"... Of course, Gen," Jack's voice was low, "I'm sorry."
She stepped into the elevator and pressed the floor button before shaking her head his way. A laugh, mocking in nature, fell from her lips. Light eyes fell dark, an anger clutching at her throat.
"No. No, you're not."
Will awoke to a warm weight on his hand and the sweet smell of a familiar perfume.
Bleary eyes rolled beneath his eyes lids and he opened them slowly. Inhaling, the man could feel the sick heaviness of dread and insanity deep in his chest, aching each time he breathed. He was crazy. He was dying.
He could feel it.
Peering down, he spotted a precious crown of curls coiled around his arm, a pale face resting against the hospital sheets. Her eyes, closed with exhaustion, were stained with worry and sadness. Genevieve was in no state of calm like she normally was when she slept. Her nose was red, eyelids swollen; she had been crying.
Will's heart lurched.
He hated it when she cried. He felt hopeless. He felt lost. He could only hold her and whisper things until the streams of depression rid themselves from her eyes and a smile was placed on her mouth.
She was wearing his shirt, a flannel that drooped to mid-thigh. The sleeves, carelessly rolled up, displayed slender fingers intertwined with his own. She was wearing the engagement ring he had given her only a few weeks earlier before he had returned to work. Will knew that someone was bound to have noticed last night when she arrived.
He hadn't told anyone. Not even Hannibal or Beverly or Alana.
A weak smile danced across his face as Will thought of Gen at the altar. Part of him shattered at that moment, the thought of losing his mind and missing seeing her stalk up the aisle in white. Will swallowed, fingers twitching.
Gen, meanwhile, sniffed and blinked her eyes open.
For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then, sitting up straight and rolling her back, she remembered. Will was watching her intently, heavy circles beneath his eyes. Gen rubbed her knees, the black leggings bearing patches where her tears had dried.
"Hey," her voice was hoarse as Will squeezed her hand.
"Hey."
Gen, giving a smile, fought back a sudden rush of tears. "You look horrible, sweetheart. No offense."
Will's chest shook with weak laughter as he nodded. "None taken. You don't look too good, either."
"Shut up," she smiled with swollen eyes, leaning in to kiss his stubbled cheek, "I barely even had pants on before I was out the door. Alana called. I got here as quick as I could."
One hand was in his hair now, smoothing the sweat matted strands from his forehead. Gen sighed the second she felt how hot he was. Gently playing with one of his curls, she inhaled. Will hummed contentedly, fingers squeezing hers. "How do you feel?"
He paused, swallowing. Gen watched his adam's apple bob, a rush of affection coming to her chest. She missed kissing him there. The woman resisted the urge to do so in that moment.
"Like a sinking ship, heavy with the burden of bloodied cargo."
She nodded. "Still poetic as ever, though."
Will, eyes closing, smiled. He knew she loved that. It was a moment before he spoke again, his expression sober.
"I feel crazy, Gen."
"... Have you told Jack that?"
Silence.
"I am going to kill that man."
"Gen—"
"This is his fucking fault!"
Will's eyes snapped to her. He had never heard Gen yell before. Not at him, or the dogs or... Or anyone. Her voice had risen in that moment, like the sharpened point of a broken glass shard, biting into his skin and making him hurt. Watching her, he suddenly realized how tattered she was. She was broken and weary and tired.
She was so much like him, it made his heart ache.
Gen inhaled through her nose, fingers dancing to her brow, smoothing it down; it was a nervous habit of hers — she did it whenever she was scared or stressed or worried. She knew she shouldn't have yelled. She regretted it.
"Will, he pushed you. He pushed you too far," Gen's bright eyes were pleading, "I know you can do amazing things, but he pushed you. You're so damn smart. You're the smartest man I've ever met, you know that? I love you more than anything, Will, and I'm going to marry you. I will not let Jack Crawford rob me of a house on the coast with you, three kids and the puppies."
Will felt his chest swell before he blinked, nodding weakly. His voice was broken. This was him. He couldn't handle a few cases. "I'm so sorry, Gen."
"No, Will," she shushed him, kissing his knuckles in repetition, "No. This isn't your fault. Don't think that, please. We will get you better, okay? I plan on weaseling vacation time from this, you know..."
His smile was bleary.
"You're going to get better. We need to plan the wedding, remember? W-We need to pick what kind of cake and we need to argue over what kind of flowers and scout the venue and—..."
Her voice cracked, the salty beads of fear rolling from her eyes.
"We need to get married. Because I love you so much, Will. Y-You're not crazy and you're going to be okay... You've got to be."
Her face fell into her hands, a breathy sob breaking her composure and posture.
Will moved then, re-positioning himself, fighting through the ache of his fever. The hairs on his body hurt, waning a moan of protest from his throat as he moved to pull the woman closer to his chest. She melted against him, falling into shakes of fear and anguish and exhaustion.
"Gen, I'm okay."
—A lie.
"Gen, I'm not crazy."
He almost wanted to believe it.
A/N:
Okay, so LONG TIME NO WRITE? Hannibal is coming back soon, so Will and Gen's story must continue!
This was something I wrote this past summer for Episode 11, a little oneshot. And, for those who are wondering, I HAVE NO WRITTEN THE PROPOSAL YET. This, however is a little bit of a sneak peak and soon you will all see how will popped the question. This story isn't really in any exact order or chronological sequence... So, yeah, this one may seem a bit odd thrown into the mess of things.
Anywho, why don't you tell me...
How do you think Will proposed to Gen?
