Marshaling Enough Empathy – Chapter Twenty-One

Will was on his third scotch by the time Tim got away from the triumvirate – Jack Crawford, Dr. Chilton and Dr. Bloom – and found the bar.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Alana Bloom hissed, cornering Tim before he could leave the command center. "Hannibal Lecter came this close," she squeezed her thumb and a finger together, tight, "this close to destroying Will's life. And you've just agreed to open the door and let him in to try again." She was angry, turned on her heel and headed out to the street before Tim could answer.

So she knew. Tim thought about everything embedded in that bit of information. Who else knew? This wasn't how he wanted things. He didn't do this.

"We should get Rachel and Dr. Bloom together," he said, sat in the chair across from Will and waved impatiently at the waiter. "They'd get on like a jackhammer and a sledge."

Will kept his eyes down on his hands, on the glass in his hands.

"What kind of bourbon you got?" Tim demanded when the waiter arrived. The hesitation in the reply irritated him. "Whatever. Just bring me a double of whatever you have."

He waited for Will to speak, waited for his drink.

"I accept your terms," Will said finally. "You don't have to do this to show that…to prove that you don't do this."

"I don't do that, either."

"Do what?"

"Play games. Drink up and let's go."

Will whispered, shouted, "Then why talk to him? You're not going to get anything from him."

"I want to show you that you don't have to be afraid of Hannibal Lecter. He's still controlling your life. Stop letting him."

"How?"

"By not being afraid."

"Not being afraid of him is…it's insane."

"Fight fire with fire. He's crazy so you be crazy. Know your enemy and all that. Let's go home. I'm bagged. And I'm tired of being two feet from you."

Tim's drink arrived. "Gimme the bill," he snapped at the poor waiter, stood up, downed the bourbon in one go, pulling money out of his pocket and sliding it under the glass as he set it down. He was out the door before Will finished his drink.

A late summer mist hovered over the dew-damp fields surrounding Will's house. The air was chilled, a cold front chasing the rain and heat out of the state. Will woke, half-woke, woke, blinked, stared childlike back at his house, dark and still. His feet were cold. The sky was lightening at the edges to the east. It was beautiful and calm.

"What the fuck?" he murmured.

"Well, hallelujah. Can we go back to bed now?"

Tim was standing behind him, bleary-eyed and sleep-tousled and yawning widely, holding out a pair of boots, boxers and a heavy plaid shirt, the one Will kept hanging by the front door.

"Uh, yeah." Will accepted the clothes sheepishly, gratefully, awakening now to the cold air, the hour. He shivered while he put on the boxers, slipped his feet into the boots. "I guess the heat wave broke."

"Yep."

"I guess I was…sleepwalking?"

"Yep. Naked."

An embarrassed nod, a smile to acknowledge the inconvenience.

"That's pretty rare in adults, isn't it?"

Will chuckled, wide awake now. "Sleepwalking or…being naked?"

Tim chuckled with him.

"Should've chosen your bedfellow more carefully," said Will, he searched Tim's face for something and found humor and acceptance and was happy with that. He let his eyes travel down the rest of him. "Nice outfit."

Tim was wearing boxers too, one of Will's sweaters, runners, no socks. "I was in a hurry, wondering where the hell you were going at 4:30 in the fucking morning. Didn't realize there was a dress code for chasing sleepwalking idiots."

"Sorry."

Tim draped an arm around Will's shoulders and nudged him toward the house. "I think I get now why you don't keep a gun under your pillow."

They crawled back into bed and up close for warmth. Will lay on his back, thinking, worrying. Tim scrunched in beside him and breathed into Will's neck.

"We have to get up in half an hour," said Will.

"Just let me warm up."

"You're not going to get anything useful out of Hannibal."

A murmured response. "Nothing useful to Jack."

"What do you mean?"

"He's threatening me, isn't he – Lecter?"

"Yes."

"Well then, it'd be helpful for me to know what I'm dealing with. I want to see his face."

"He won't come after you himself. He can't. But he's the grand maestro of manipulation. He'll find a way, someone to do the work for him. I need to get back to work. I need to catch the Chess Master."

"I still want to see his face."

"Wait. It'll be all over the papers in a few weeks."

"I'm impatient."

"You are not impatient. You're just keeping up the military tough guy tradition. It's sexy, by the way, but you don't need to impress me."

"I've never had pillow talk quite like this," Tim grumbled.

"Serial killers and psychopaths?"

"It's kind of a mood killer."

"I'll go make coffee."

"Just let me warm up first."

Will thought Tim had drifted back to sleep, his breathing even and slow.

"Boxers and boots are sexy." His voice was drowsy, lost in the pillow, but still a faint drawl got through, and he still managed to tease.

Will snorted.

"Don't do this." Will stood with Tim outside the room set up for the interview. "Don't do this."

"The guy's locked up tighter than the National Treasury. What can he do to me?"

"I don't know. I can imagine quite a few things though and…none of them are pretty. You don't know him. He's smart, Tim, way smarter than you or me."

"Maybe, but I got something on him."

"What's that?"

"I don't give a fuck."

"Still trying to be the tough guy."

"Oh yeah, that's me – tough guy, waking up in the middle of the night crying for his mommy."

Will chuckled, a bit desperate. "When have you ever cried for your mommy?"

Tim made the face; Will moved to close the distance between them but Jack Crawford opened the door. Will stopped, his smile flickering and dying out.

"Here's a list of questions we'd like answers to, if he'll cooperate. Am I correct in assuming that you can read, Deputy?"

"I'd say 'fuck you' but that's probably not appropriate considering you're the Head of the Behavioral Sciences Unit for the FBI."

Jack blinked. "Probably not appropriate, no, but rather what I'd expect from a hillbilly US Marshal with no schooling and a complete lack of knowledge of how to play chess…or politics."

That got a grin. "I got a bite, you know."

"A what?"

"A bite, on an online chess site. I set up your game on a couple of sites and started fishing. I got two bites actually. One fizzled out quickly, didn't know jack about the game – excuse the choice of phrase."

"I'll allow it. The other?"

"The other is following it to a move, keeps trying to start a conversation."

"Could be a coincidence."

"Could be. Could be Agent Graham's right and your killer's still out there."

"Then who did you shoot, Deputy Gutterson?"

"A man threatening a federal law enforcement officer."

"Indeed."

"Indeed."

"We'll talk about it later."

Will took a deep breath. "Tim, don't tell Hannibal anything."

"I don't think I need to. He's got his own source and it's pretty good."

Tim stepped just inside the door and surveyed the room, his eyes coming to rest eventually on Hannibal Lecter.

Tim made the face, imagined Will in the next room gritting his teeth. "Dr. Lecter."

"Deputy Marshal Gutterson." He dipped his head a fraction. "A pleasure." Hannibal made a small but elegant gesture with his hand, managing it while cuffed through a bar on the metal table, managing to look like he was the gracious host of this meeting. "I am surprised you agreed to accept the invitation to talk with me."

"No, you're not." Tim sat, tipped his head toward the two-way mirror. "You might want to say hi to your friends."

"Friends." Lecter turned to look, his eyes carelessly drifting across the mirror. "Is it possible to be in my position and have friends?"

"I think Will would still be your friend if you let him. I think he pities you."

Hannibal straightened slightly, lifted his chin, testing the air, considering. "I suspect you are right. He would imagine being me and thus pity me. But would he turn the other cheek now?"

"I wouldn't let him – not without me standing beside him with a gun to your head."

"You don't pity me then, do you, Deputy?"

"Call me Tim. And no, I don't. I don't have much pity left in me. So I'll save it for someone more worthy."

"Like the civilians in that village in Afghanistan, the one your patrol shot its way through?"

"Nice try, but I guess your source isn't that good, is it?" Tim grinned. "That was an educated shot in the dark though. Which village exactly are you referring to? There were a few. And let me tell you, those folks, they don't need pity – shit, there's enough of that floating around already for them. Fat lot of good it does them. What they need is peace. What do you need, Dr. Lecter, from me?"

"I need nothing from you."

"Alright then. Nice meeting you. I got a drink waiting."

Tim stood up, signaled that he was done with the interview, deliberately took a roundabout route to the door, the long way around the table and behind Hannibal Lecter. He leaned over quickly, whispered something. Hannibal's right eye twitched subtly and he watched the Marshal leave the room, both men expressionless.

Jack was waiting. "You didn't ask him one question from our list."

"There was no point."

Jack didn't argue. "What did you say to him before you left?"

"I told him he might want to consider finding a new tailor. His cuffs are too short."

"Tim."

The use of his first name stopped him. He gave Jack Crawford his attention.

"I am concerned for Will. I think he is the only person Dr. Lecter has ever met who truly challenges him. You asked what Dr. Lecter needs from you. I'll tell you – he needs a conduit to Will's emotions. He needs to come out of this the victor."

"The victor? The man's going to prison for life."

"The victor in his own eyes, in his game with Will."

"Then why did you push to have me meet with him?"

"Because if I know the path he'll take, then I can cut him off."

"You hope."

"It's all I have."

Tim opened the door and walked out.

Will was waiting at the far end of the hall, leaning, arms crossed, head down, distracted.

Seeing him, Tim hesitated, wet his lips. He could easily turn and walk the other way.

"Hey," he called out, strolled casually down the hall to meet him.

"I…really didn't enjoy that."

"I'm sorry. I tried to make it interesting." Tim tried to make light of it.

"What did you say to him…at the end?"

"I told him that I know what you taste like."

The roguish grin that followed the confession doused Will's annoyance. He pushed off the wall and followed Tim out of the building. "You didn't."

"In fact, I did."

"You shouldn't be rude to Hannibal. He…doesn't take it well."

"Is that an understatement?"

"You have no idea. It's how I believe he chose most of his victims – a lack of manners."

"He doesn't scare me, Will."

"You've said that before and the only thing I can attribute it to is ignorance."

Tim stopped Will and faced him. "Let me explain something. I'm not afraid of him. I'm more afraid of you."

"Me? Why?"

Tim ignored him, talked over the question. "And it's not ignorance, it's experience. I've seen people do stuff as bad as anything he's done and they didn't have the excuse of faulty wiring. At least he's predictable. You can't ever trust him. That makes him less scary to me. Knowing I can't ever let my guard down, I won't. Do you understand?"

"No."

"Fuck. You're annoying."

"No. You're annoying."

"Are we going to Virginia for the weekend?"

"Yes."

"Good. I fucking hate Baltimore."

"Why?"

"'Cause Hannibal Lecter's in Baltimore and I can't let my guard down."

Will felt himself relaxing a little around Tim's 'come what may' attitude. He let go his fears for now, joined the teasing, "Speaking of guards – could you work with my dogs this weekend, train them to be better watch dogs? You're certainly experienced."

"Fuck off. Train dogs." Tim dismissed the idea with his tone. "You've spoiled them rotten. The best I could do is teach them to back into a threat, beat it to death with their wagging tails. God, I miss Kentucky. Even Harlan's looking good."

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