Notes: Takes place just before Will and Hannibal's first session as it plays out in Amuse-Bouche.

This fic would not be possible without the help of my beta, Tat_Tat, who I can't thank enough.

Will opened the door to Dr. Lecter's waiting room and took a seat. He was early, and wondered if he should have arrived later. He wasn't an impatient man - years of training a pack of strays of varying temperaments saw to that - but if he had nothing to do, time would slow to a crawl with only his thoughts to keep him company. Anyone who'd been around him knew he needed that like he needed a hole in the head.

This wasn't going to be an evaluation, he reminded himself. Just a talk, just as Alana proposed. Just a little chat with the doctor and he'd be out the door, giving Jack a call notifying him that he could sleep tightly now, because Will Graham was certifiably sane. That's how it should have been, anyway. He knew this talk wasn't - couldn't be just a talk.

Ever since the Hobbs case, his forts had been undergoing renovations. Sturdy enough to remain standing, but not sturdy enough to hide the fissuring that threatened to crumble them apart. Every waking moment he was reminded of the case, a new crack would form. Every memory from before he pulled the trigger on Hobbs became increasingly distant and blurred.

As he sat in the doctor's waiting room, Will remembered the last time he'd seen Dr. Lecter. It was at the hospital; Lecter was seated at the bedside of Hobbs's daughter, Abigail, holding her hand as she slept. All Will could do was sit and watch, letting another deep crevice form right beside the one made when he killed Hobbs.

A memory of intimacy inescapably linked to a memory of violence.

The thrum of a headache was already fast approaching his skull. His fingers itched to take out another aspirin, just in case, but settled on one of the temples of his glasses instead. He took them off and massaged at his own temples with one hand while fiddling with his glasses in the other. Just the thing he needed to keep himself busy, he supposed. On the other hand, he was looking forward to the session even less now knowing there may be further prodding from the doctor about the frequency of his headaches. Needless questioning was going to exacerbate it further. Maybe it was time for another aspirin after all.

He reached into his jacket pocket for a bottle, only to turn up empty - his other pockets were the same. Right, he remembered, he'd absentmindedly left it in the pocket of the blazer jacket he saved for lectures. Just swell.

He brought his glasses up to his face, examining them. The lenses had seen better days, especially before his (increasingly looking to be temporary) return to the field. They'd been given a good cleaning after the Hobbs case, but sometimes he swore they gave his vision a brown - yellowish tint.

His eyes fell to a speck in the corner of one of the lenses. He squinted at it and managed to make out the shape of a blot. Black - no, red, in coloration. There was another speck. And another. Another. Another. Another -

He looked up and there was Dr. Lecter holding the door open for him. The man looked as sharp - dressed and clean - cut as he'd been on their previous encounters, making Will aware of how shabby he looked in comparison. It didn't bother him, though; if his mind was going to be probed at incessantly, it was going to be done in comfortable clothes.

"Good evening," Lecter said, extending out an inviting hand and bowing his head slightly. "Please come in."

Will nodded in reply, put his glasses back on, and stepped into his office.

The place was less an office and more of a grand library for one, Will thought as he surveyed his surroundings. His eyes landed on a ladder that led to the room's second floor, consisting of fully - stocked bookshelves and a door tucked away at the end.

"Go on and make yourself comfortable." Lecter eyed where Will was looking and smiled at him. "That includes sitting atop the second story, if you wish."

Will bristled and pushed his glasses up. "No, I wasn't - " He cleared his throat and pocketed his hands. "A chair would be just fine."

Lecter's smile didn't waver. "Whatever suits you."

Will looked at his seating options and took the light teal sofa at the end of the room, underneath the second story, while Lecter seated himself across in an armchair. He appreciated the distance it put between them; everyone always felt too close or too far for Will's comfort. The doctor himself had already crossed Will's "too close" threshold one too many times. His head throbbed as he realized it would only be a matter of time before this session would slice that close - enough - to - comfortable distance in half.

"How are you feeling tonight?"

Will scoffed. "Do I look that terrible?"

"Just a simple inquiry. Not an observation, much less a judgment."

"Yeah, you're saving that for later." Will sighed. "I'm...well, I'm here, I can say that much."

"'Here' being?"

Will drummed his fingers impatiently against the wooden arm of the sofa. "Here, at your office, ready for that evaluation, diagnosis, chat - whatever Jack put you up to."

Lecter nodded. "You know where you are in the present moment - that's a good start." As though Lecter could sense his growing agitation, he added, "The Hobbs case wasn't like anything you'd experienced before. That sort of experience can leave a man to feel disoriented, unable to ground himself in the present."

"And you want to know what that does to a man who disorients himself for a living." Will paused to take in a sharp breath. So much for this being just a talk. "Am I correct, Doctor?"

Lecter smiled again. "Your gift truly is unmatched."

"It…" He was about to answer with It's taking its time to sink in before realizing that would only put him further under the microscope. "It hasn't affected my performance in any way, if that's what you're asking."

"It is. And how have you been sleeping?"

Will laughed a little. "If there's such a thing as a good night's sleep, I haven't experienced it since I was ten."

"Were your teenage years also difficult?"

"Whose teenage years weren't."

"Does that include your sleeping patterns?"

Will looked off to the side, hoping to appear thoughtful and not avoiding the doctor's eyes that he swore were making his head hurt worse. "Yeah," he answered. "Those years marked when sleep became more of a challenge than a luxury."

He gave a pause to rub at his eyelids beneath his glasses. He sighed exasperatedly and decided it was time to just bite the damn bullet. "Do you have any aspirin? I've...got a headache."

"Of course. Do you need something to wash it down with?"

"No, just the aspirin would be fine."

"I'll get it right away." Lecter got up and added, with a wry grin, "And don't worry, Will. I won't ask you about your headache."

Hearing that took an enormous load off his shoulders. Or just made them even heavier, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about anything when it came to Lecter yet. Lecter seemed very sure of him, however. What exactly he was sure of - the sky seemed to be the limit in that regard. He wasn't sure why he even bothered questioning Will, if he knew all the answers. It gave Will a sensation that drifted listlessly between comforting and disquieting.

He took off his glasses to examine again as he did in the waiting room, even though he knew the doctor wouldn't be long. The lenses were spotless, no traces of blood to be found. Not that he'd expected there to be; he knew what he'd seen earlier was another case of his imagination camouflaging itself as the fabric of reality. Nothing new for him, he just wished it wasn't taking place on his eyewear, the very lifeboat of his reality. He could keep them off - he really only needed them for driving - just as he didn't really need a lifeboat, he could swim just as well. But that would mean wading into the sea that made up others' realities, and he would never be sure what would touch his mind then. He needed something bigger than a lifeboat, or a means of building one. Then maybe he could brave that sea.

"Will?"

Lecter was in front of him with an aspirin in hand. Will hadn't noticed him at all - he must have gotten lost in thought again. He fumbled his glasses back on and took the aspirin from the doctor's hand.

"Thanks," Will said before popping it into his mouth and swallowing.

"My pleasure." Lecter returned to his seat. "Shall we pick up where we left off?"

Will pinched at the bridge of his nose, still feeling the aspirin sliding down his throat. "I've already forgotten where we left off."

"We were discussing the history of your sleeping patterns."

"Ah," Will breathed, clicking his tongue. "Of course."

"You were telling me that sleep became more difficult as you entered adolescence. How so?"

"Homework. Hormones. What I was going to do the rest of my life."

"The things that normally ail a teenager."

Will swallowed, as though he were swallowing down all the memories that could be of use to the doctor, then nodded.

His eyes remained out of contact from Lecter's and wandered down to the doctor's hands folded in his lap. It occurred to Will he hadn't seen any notes taken - in fact, he didn't see any writing utensils stationed where he sat at all, for that matter. Did he have an impeccable photographic memory, or was he just wasting Will's time? Maybe this was a "talk" after all - or the doctor's idea of one, anyway.

"Do you dream much, Will?" asked Lecter, disrupting his thoughts.

Will gripped at the arm of the sofa, sliding his blunt nails against the wood's sleek finish. He wasn't sure which irritated him more: Lecter's pop psychology questions, or that they were working on him.

He gave a strained, "Yes." Then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "Very often." An understatement, but an uncomplicated one. He pushed his glasses up as another important addition occurred to him: "Don't ask me about them. Please."

"I won't. How's your vision?"

"Are you also an ophthalmologist?"

Lecter's lips quirked up in the corners of his mouth. "No, merely a curious man."

The doctor's choice of words struck Will as peculiar. "And...a psychiatrist, second?"

"For just this moment, yes. You're, of course, free to refuse to divulge on the subject."

Will took a moment to weigh out his options. Answering would lead him down another rabbit hole of questioning, that much was for certain, but he preferred it to the topic of sleep. He didn't have any real secrets about his vision to hold back on, and it could fill up their time enough to give the doctor his needed fill of information.

"My vision's alright," he said. He gave the rim of his glasses a tap. "Still need these, but these days they're mostly for driving."

"How long have you been wearing them?"

"Since the beginning of grade school, I think."

"Before you became burdened by sleep."

"I - " Will nearly snapped and said Again with the damn sleep? but knew it'd make his headache worse and closed his mouth to conjure up a less reactive answer. "Yes, long before Mr. Sandman quit paying visits."

"Were your glasses ever a burden to you the way sleep was?"

"I'm not sure how those are related, Doctor."

"One exists as a window into the conscious world; the other exists as a window into the subconscious. You have a gift many would consider to be both emotionally and psychologically taxing: a conscious mind that can glimpse into the subconscious thoughts and feelings of others, notably criminals." Lecter cocked his head. "Are you ever compelled to remove your glasses as a means of escape, Will? Or do you feel safe behind them, as an observer on the outside looking in?"

Just like that, he was effectively a specimen placed under the doctor's microscope again. No, not that. The doctor had taken a scalpel and sliced him open, ready to gather up his entrails and spread them out like party streamers - God, this was a party for him, wasn't it? And all Will had to do was open his mouth, say something, anything, and Lecter was sure to go to town with it. Hell, he didn't have to say anything at this point; Will's silence would be worth its weight in gold to him.

He suddenly thought about the ladder he saw leading up to the library when he entered. He thought about that door, hiding away from danger and judgment yet doomed to be stuck in place. If he were more impulsive he'd climb up the ladder right now, open that door or force it open and escape from or get lost in the building's architecture.

"I don't have anything to shield me from my dreams," Will said, voice shaking slightly.

"A window with no curtains."

"No 'on' or 'off' switch."

"Do you prefer what you see in your conscious world, looking in on the subconscious, to the dreams you experience?"

Will hesitated. The doctor may as well have asked, Do you prefer reliving a killer's thoughts to experiencing dreams?

"I don't...prefer one to the other," he answered defensively. "One I have control of, the other I have none - which would you prefer, Doctor?"

"Before I answer, I must clarify: you have control of your empathy?"

Will opened his mouth and closed it. He needed to be careful of his phrasing around Lecter. "I have...control of my physical actions when I experience it. In my dreams I have none of that."

"No lucid dreaming."

"Never."

"I have lucid dreams every so often; I imagine having your gift would be akin to having them. But, to answer your question, I think I'd prefer the varied uncertainty dreams give me in the end."

"Never took you for a dreamer."

"I like living in the present moment the most, of course - but that's speaking of my own conscious world, not yours."

Will surveyed Lecter's office again; his obviously expensive tastes gave the impression of a man who lived comfortably, even if only financially speaking. "Makes sense," Will said.

"Let's return to the subject of your glasses. Is there any reason you should be wearing them at precisely this moment?"

Will recalled the feeling of being cut open again.

"Is...there any reason I shouldn't be?"

"A little exercise. I'd like you to remove your glasses."

Hands were now gathering inside the cut and cupping his innards.

"Can you do that for me, Will?" Lecter prodded.

Will stiffened. "You've seen me without them."

"It's not a matter of appearance. It's a matter of action."

"You've seen me do that, too. I just did, moments ago, as a matter of fact."

"Indeed, you've already sampled a taste of this exercise. Now all you must do is repeat it."

The hands lingered inside him. The searing sting of the cut wasn't to be dulled anytime soon but the fingers holding his insides were steady, gentle, even.

Will stared at the floor. He wanted to demand an explanation from Lecter, but knew Lecter would want an explanation in return for why he was so resistant. And he'd be in the right to inquire because why was he so reluctant to perform such a mundane action?

"A break in routine," Will explained, eyeing the ladder at his side. "Like removing clothes in front of a stranger."

"What makes someone a stranger, in your eyes?"

Will had to think on that. A stranger - an unfamiliar person. That summed up most everyone in his life, including the people he personally knew. Almost funny, considering his hobby of collecting strays. Familiarity was a sensation he could only experience in his own home. One that this stranger, sitting in front of him, had stepped into. Could he still be called a stranger? They had breakfast together in that very home of his, that sanctuary of familiarity. But someone inviting themself over was also a very different matter from welcoming someone into his home of his own accord.

"Someone you'd not remove your glasses in front of," Lecter said, puncturing Will's line of thought. "Am I correct?"

"Yes."

"If you were to remove your glasses in front of someone you saw as a stranger, would they cease to be a stranger in your eyes?"

"Maybe not a stranger. But not a friend, either."

"A step up in familiarity from a stranger." Will's eyes hadn't moved from the ladder, but he could detect a smile in the doctor's voice. "My offer of visiting the second story still stands, by the way, if that'd make it easier."

The back of Will's neck prickled, like a spider crawled across it. "How…would that make it easier?"

"Gives you some distance and space, which you seem to respond well to."

"Listen, I don't want…don't need to be given any special treatment." Will winced at himself. It sounded so whiny, the opposite of a trusted agent in the field. More like a child stamping his feet, refusing to take his medicine. "It's...appreciated," he said, amending his statement, "But I'm taking up enough of your time as is."

"I can't disclose any names, but you wouldn't be the first client I've offered this to, if that's any consolation."

Will let out a short, bitter chuckle. "Depends on how badly they were in need of a visit to the funny farm."

"Do you see yourself there?"

Without realizing it, his innards had been splayed out.

"I'd rather not think about it." I'd rather be climbing your damn ladder.

Will sighed resignedly as he lifted himself from the sofa and proceeded to the ladder. He felt Lecter's gaze glued to his back as he climbed up, making his body temperature rise with discomfort.

The ceaseless eye contact, the barrage of inquiries, the "exercises'' - this whole appointment was making another great case for why he refused therapy. And if it wasn't officially therapy, it was making a great case for why he refused to chat with others in general.

He did feel some sense of relief when he reached the top and stood up, overlooking Lecter's office. No longer a specimen in the process of being dissected, though he didn't need to look at Lecter to know his eyes hadn't left him.

"How does it feel?" asked Lecter.

"Higher," Will dryly replied.

"And your glasses?"

Will brought a trembling hand to one of the temples of his glasses, hoping he was far away enough that Lecter didn't take notice, but nothing of his seemed to escape the man's attention. Slowly, with eyes closed, he took them off.

When he opened his eyes he half - expected to wake up in another setting - another crime scene, likely, because that's how the procedure usually went, wasn't it? For a moment he even thought he saw bodies littered around where Lecter now stood. He didn't want to entertain the thought that he might even have preferred looking at a dead body to being here, where he felt like a dead man walking.

He blinked a few times to gather his bearings, but his head was swimming. From the headache, from performing a calculated action in front of someone - not a stranger, but not a friend, either - and from allowing that someone's space and presence to flood into him, becoming almost a shared consciousness with his own, among the many other past consciousnesses that paid visits here. It was so overwhelming his legs threatened to buckle from beneath him, but he took a breath and stood his ground, not wanting the obvious effects to show on him.

"Very good," Lecter said, clearly pleased that his efforts bore fruit. Will supposed he couldn't blame him there - he wasn't an easy man to get to comply.

"Can you do something else for me, Will?" Lecter continued.

Will shut his eyes again, bracing himself.

"I'd like you to look me in the eye."

Will sighed through his nostrils. He saw this one coming, and sensed Lecter knew that too.

There was no reason not to bring it up, not after he seemingly overcame his discomfort in making eye contact with Lecter the last time they met. Though, as he recalled, he wasn't given much of a choice - Lecter had more or less cornered him that morning first, equipped with edible favors, and Will, having just woken up, with nothing to defend himself with.

"What for, Doctor?" Will inquired, with no trace of curiosity and plenty more of irritability.

"Since setting foot in my office, your eyes have been wandering to different places. Despite demonstrating awareness of your surroundings in the present moment, you still appear to be lost."

"Easy to get lost in new places."

"That won't do for an investigation."

"No, it won't."

"As Garret Jacob Hobbs lay dying before you, what can you recall of his face?"

He wanted to laugh. And here he thought he might have finally smashed that broken record - leave it to Lecter to deliver him a new one out of the generosity of his heart.

Will opened his eyes; there was no need for him to comb through that scene yet again. Hobbs's parting words echoed ironically in his head.

"His eyes," Will said. "They were locked onto mine."

Lecter went quiet for a moment. "But it wasn't just that, was it?"

Will blinked before furrowing his brows. "I'm sorry?"

"You thought your eyes and, therefore, your mind, had been guarded - but Hobbs saw through it. Broke through the illusion meant to protect you."

Will looked at the glasses in his hand he'd yet to pocket away. Had things gone differently, had he had a chance to take them off before he arrived on scene, he may have still been ambushed by Hobbs's mind, but he'd have a chance of wiping the slate clean after when he put his glasses back on, reorienting himself. A silly thing, he knew, but it assisted tremendously in the building of his forts.

"Maybe," Will said simply as he rubbed at one of his eyes. "Maybe I just need a new pair of glasses."

"Maybe," Lecter said with a chuckle. "But why not try a method that won't guzzle your money away first?"

"You still want me to look you in the eye."

"You don't have to, of course. As I recall, you're not one for eye contact, and that hasn't impaired your skill before."

This was it, his Get out of Jail Free card, courtesy of Dr. Lecter himself. He could say, "You're right, I'd rather not", finish up the session - maybe even turn it into an ordinary conversation as intended - get written proof of the doctor's approval, and go home to a gang of wagging tails and bed that awaited him, even if he wasn't looking forward to the dreams that also awaited. It was time to punch that card.

But it wasn't that simple. It was never that simple. He had immersed himself in a new environment without properly acquainting himself with the environment's present owner. If he walked out the door now a piece of it would cling to him, throwing off his sense of reality as it diffused into his own. He'd be lost; a boat in the middle of a fog - engulfed sea with no lighthouse to guide him back.

He'd already abandoned his lifeboat. He had to venture into unknown waters, uncertain of what abyss - lurking creatures his warm blood might summon.

Will slowly lowered his eyes to where Lecter stood, settling his vision just short of meeting Lecter's eyes. The distance between them was greater than ever, but it felt like it only sharpened the doctor's gaze more. If he wasn't careful enough, he'd be sliced open again, this time with the memories and thoughts of others flooding into the open wound. He had to tread lightly along the razor's edge.

His head throbbed again. Or just do the stupid exercise already.

His eyes were finally on Lecter's. The creases of a smile edged into his vision.

"Well done."

Leave it to a headache to push him into action for once, Will thought as he approached his vehicle. He'd have a good laugh over that later - that, and learning the doctor already had him rubber stamped long before he entered the building. Or that's what he would do if he lived anywhere near the realm of normalcy, if their conversation hadn't turned to the subject of Hobbs and the fate of his daughter. More cracks in need of mending.

He put on his glasses - eased himself back into his lifeboat - and looked back at the building where the doctor resided. He would be seeing him again soon, a thought that made his skin prickle - out of dread or anticipation, he wasn't sure. He still wasn't sure about Dr. Lecter. What he was sure of was he would no longer be able to put his glasses on when he was there.