"What happened that night, Jack?" a voice asked from the doorway to his office. Jack didn't bother looking up. He didn't need to, to know which doctor darkened his doorway this time. "It's been nearly a week and the kid won't talk to me. He stays so close to Morgan that Morgan might as well be a stuffed teddy bear."

"How is Morgan doing?" Jack asked softly.

"Better. Has checkups once a week for the time being to make sure his mental state is stable enough. What happened to Walter, Jack? What did you do?"

"I should have guessed the boy would be with you," Jack muttered, finally raising his head from the file on his desk to find Alana leaning in his doorway. The woman somehow looked stronger with her firm expression and pantsuit that she had taken to wearing after their fateful night in Hannibal's kitchen. Her arms were crossed and her lipstick a bright and frightful red that seemed to pull her look of distaste together. She pushed herself from the doorway and closed the door behind her, before coming to stand by his desk. "Have they made contact?"

"They're not stupid Jack," Alana grumbled, arms once more folded over her chest. "Of course they haven't reached back out."

"What are you going to do with the kid?" Jack gave a sigh, rubbing at his chin that scratched against his fingers with the need to be shaved that he had been ignoring. "We can let the state collect him."

"No," Alana said sternly. "You are not going to let him be shoved into the system. He does not deserve that after what you did to him."

Jack frowned. "What I did to him," Jack pondered, making it sound nearly like a question.

"I know you were what happened, Jack. I'm not believing the news. I'm not thick."

"Did the boy tell you?"

"He mentioned it in passing. He doesn't seem to like me much." Alana gave a sharp sigh and took a seat in the chair across from Jack's desk. "Do you have any lead on them? Any ideas where they are at all?"

"I know they're in Vermont," Jack answered, rubbing at his tired eyes. He hadn't slept nearly the whole week, unable to get his guilt to be bitten back. "I don't have anything else. They're too careful and even with how small Vermont is, that doesn't mean I can go knocking door to door until I find them."

"Do they know that the two of them are in Vermont?" Alana questioned, a hand giving a flurry around the room and Jack took that to mean the FBI.

"No," Jack answered softy, leaning back in his chair. "I gave them the story that Hannibal wanted."

"And what exactly was that?"

"They didn't tell you?" Jack asked back, head tipped to the side in question.

"They did not. Said that they needed someone to watch the boy and they would come back for him when the time permitted. So far..." Alana gave a loud exhale. "Time has not been very permitting."

"And you just took the boy?"

"I do not find the idea of owing Dr. Hannibal Lecter anything pleasing in any sense of the word. I do not need him to come and collect." Alana picked at some fuzz at the knee of her pants before her eyes met Jack's for the first time in the conversation. "I take it that you do owe Dr. Lecter something for using his story?"

"We will see if he comes to collect." Jack gave a small nod. "He claimed Molly as his own kill and kidnapped Will and Walter. He's hiding them and everyone is searching for them. But since the 48 hours have come and gone, no one has much hope of finding them alive anymore."

Alana seemed to straighten at this. "They don't?" Jack gave a curious look at the hopeful tint to her voice. "The Ripper kept Miriam Lass alive for two years. They think that he would kill them off that quickly? No bodies have been recovered, nothing horrifically displayed. Not to mention, the world over knows of the doctor's obsession with Special Agent Will Graham. He wouldn't kill Will."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked in honest curiosity, wanting to know where Alana was basing her assurance.

Alana gave a firm nod. "He's promised before not to let any harm come to Will. He doesn't take broken promises lightly."

"That's not good enough for you though," Jack observed aloud, leaning forward in his chair, arms folded on the desk. "What convinced you?"

"Have you seen them around each other? The way Hannibal acts around Will?"

"I didn't notice much more than the kitchen knife that was coming at me," Jack grumbled, thinking back on that night in the kitchen, waving his bandaged hand at Alana. "And the way Hannibal acts around Will? You mean the way he's always acted around Will?"

Alana shook her head slowly. "Are you that blind?" she asked incredulously and Jack frowned at the accusation. "Hannibal has done everything in his power to make sure that Will has no one else but him and Will is very content to allow Hannibal to manipulate the world around him so that becomes his truth. They, despite how utterly sick and twisted it is, love each other. They have for years and have just never been able to admit it to each other before. They tried before we were all left for dead. Randall Tier and Freddie Lounds were their silent confessions."

"I was trying not to see it," Jack muttered out, hand covering his mouth. "Trying to believe that Will knew better. Could see clearer."

"He can see just fine now," Alana said with a small shrug. "And Hannibal Lecter is the one who helped him see, who opened that door. And Will walked through that door. It might not be the outcome that any of us wanted for him, but all of us saw it and kept pushing him towards it just so we could put Hannibal behind bars."

Jack scoffed out, breath harsh through his nose.

"You're never going to catch him Jack. He'll never be back behind bars unless Will rejects him again. And Will is done rejecting, done fighting. He has let himself be swallowed by the beast to save the rest of us and I don't think he really cares."

"You think he did it to save us?" Jack asked, brows furrowed at the suggestion.

"Saving people is why he did everything he did for you," Alana reminded lightly. "And maybe we can save them."

"You want to help them?" Jack nearly roared, disbelieving of what was being told to him. Alana shot him a stern look and he huffed angrily. "I am not helping them. They have moved beyond the realm of help. And if we do help them, they will continue to kill. We might not be able to label them as psychopaths, but that doesn't change that all killers have a need to kill. A cool down period and an urge. They will kill again."

"Killing or not, you owe him, Jack. And you know him. He will come back to collect. Whether it's tomorrow or a hundred years from now, you will be paying your debt." Alana got to her feet and fixed her perfectly placed curls, before turning towards the door.

There was an aggravated sigh. "What exactly did you have in mind?" Jack watched as Alana stopped and turned back to Jack who cocked his head to the side. "And since when have you and Dr. Lecter been buddy buddy?"

"It's in the name of self-preservation and the safety of my family Jack. If getting them out of here protects me, then I am for it, others be damned. No one is taking my family from me. Not you, not Will Graham and definitely not Hannibal Lecter."

Jack gave an understanding nod, though the thoughts were bitter in his mind and on his tongue, but he held them back, instead asking once more. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"What?" Zeller's surprised voice asked, body frozen in its work, leaning over a body that had been shot in the face with a shotgun, nothing left to visually identify the body save for some strange tattoos that they were trying to take pictures of to try to find the artists. Zeller slowly looked up and turned to where Jack stood, arms folded over his chest, with a frown on his face, clearly not at all comfortable with what he had just suggested. "What do you mean?"

"We're..." Price trailed off, meeting Zeller's face. "Faking their deaths?"

"You do not have to do anything," Jack stated with a clear voice. "I would like your help, but I understand the complications this creates by even having this extremely hypothetical conversation."

"Hypothetical," Zeller muttered with a disbelieving nod. He pulled the camera from around his neck and set it aside.

"We already took his dogs, I'm not sure how much more you want from us, Jack," Price stated, leaving where he was at his computer to stand beside Zeller, covering Zeller's hand with his own.

"I don't like this anymore than you do," Jack said. "But I really don't have anyone else to turn to that can help fudge the facts. Alana has offered-"

"We don't want her money, Jack," Zeller bit out harshly. "You do understand what will happen to all of us if anyone figures this out?"

"I do," Jack replied with a firm nod.

Zeller sighed and looked over Price for a moment with a frown. Price's face wasn't as upset as Zeller had thought it would be and he shook his head in disbelief.

"He was our friend," Price said in a rushed explanation. "They were both our friends."

"No," Zeller said, still shaking his head and pulling his hand from Price's. "Jimmy, he killed Beverly. He killed her and ate her."

"I know." Price's voice was small.

"We had to perform the autopsy on her, Jimmy."

"I know."

Zeller sighed and closed his eyes, head leaning back. "They will keep killing. That girl in the mall wasn't his last. It will be nowhere near his last if we do this."

"What made you and Alana come up with this?" Price finally asked, turning back to face Jack whose large shoulders rose and fell with each of his deep and steadying breaths. "Why on earth do you need to help him?"

"I made a mistake and Lecter took the heat for it," Jack replied, watching the two men carefully as realization came to their features.

"Molly," Zeller supplied out loud with a deep exhale. "And you're worried that he's going to..." The man trailed off and Price quickly picked up the thought.

"Hold you accountable for it."

Jack gave a nod.

"So, this is you being selfish," Zeller grumbled, arms folding over his chest. "I have work to do, Jack. I don't have time for hypotheticals." Zeller snatched back up his camera and turned away from the conversation, putting the strap over his neck once more, jaw tight.

"Beverly would have helped." Zeller growled and raised the camera back to his eye, trying to focus in on the tattoo on the girl's shoulder, but at a hand on his, the camera was slowly lowered. He glanced to the side to see Price with a tight lipped, sad sort of smile. "Beverly would have helped them," Price repeated softly.

"Why do you want to help?" Zeller asked, chewing on his cheek that was feeling more raw with how often he had been doing it as of late. "Why do you want to do anything for that man?"

Price was silent for a moment, searching for the answer, glancing back at a silent Jack who still stood with arms folded, waiting for a firm reply to his proposal that was anything but hypothetical.

"Because it's the right thing to do," Price said, calling horrified eyes to his face. "Because this is going to protect our friends and families. Because despite all of the wrong that both of them have committed, they have done numerous good things and I think the good far outweighs the bad."

"You're both crazy," Zeller hissed, palms digging into his eyes until he could see dancing shapes. "We're going to be locked up for the rest of our lives, Jimmy."

"I think our resources should be unlimited enough to keep us from behind bars for the foreseeable future," Price teased back in a pained sort of voice and Zeller knew that Price was fighting his moral compass just as much as Zeller was.

"Is that a yes?" Jack asked hesitantly. He let out a deep breath at two nods.

"How do you expect to reach out to them if you have no idea where they are? They would have ditched their phones and anything else tying them to their life here," Price said with a small shrug. "With both of them working together again, we're never going to find them unless they want to be found."

"We could try to use Freddie Lounds," Zeller muttered, though he wasn't sold on the idea. "Call out to them through an article."

"There's no guarantee they will read it." Price shrugged. "And involving Freddie Lounds-"

"-is a bad idea," Zeller agreed.

"Molly's phone was missing from the crime scene, wasn't it?" Jack asked curiously. "It's possible they could have it."

"They wouldn't be that stupid to hold onto a phone like that," Zeller shot back with a huff. "No way."

"We can still try. It's a step," Price said with a small smile.

"Let's give it a few more days before we go about calling. Don't want to scare them off," Jack said, turning away from the room.

"What happened to Walter, Jack?" Price asked quickly.

"They didn't hurt him, did they?" Zeller pressed.

"He's living with Alana," Jack replied with a small smile. "He is perfectly fine. See if you can track Molly's and Will's phones, but don't let anyone know."

"Right," both men said in determination.

"Mom?" Morgan asked as Alana stepped into the dining room where both Margot and Morgan sat, silently eating dinner. "Where were you today?" Morgan dropped down from his chair and rushed to Alana, hugging around her legs. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Alana muttered, ruffling her son's hair that probably needed a good trim. She glanced around the room once more and met Margot's eyes with a question. "Where's Walter?"

"He wanted to stay in his room," Margot replied. "I thought it best not to disturb him."

"Yeah. He said he wasn't feeling very well," Morgan added, pulling from Alana's grip and going back to the table to sit beside Margot to keep eating.

"I'm going to go check on him," Alana announced, causing Margot to look over Alana with disbelief on her face.

"They agreed?" Margot asked in shock.

"They agreed," Alana answered with a small nod. "We have the passports and all the other paperwork in order?"

"Yes," Margot replied, licking at her lips. "We can leave the moment the coast is clear."

"Perfect."

Morgan glanced between the two women with a confused look, but neither gave him much notice as Alana left the room to go find Walter's. She knocked on the door and waited for an answer, but none came. With a small sigh, Alana pushed open the door and glanced in to find Walter fast asleep with a book in his hands, the lamp on beside him.

She slowly stepped into the room and walked over to the bed. She pulled the book carefully from his grip and set it aside on the bedside table, before reaching out to try to position the boy into something more comfortable. She frowned as the boy stirred and sat up with a yawn, rubbing at his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked as Alana came into focus.

Alana gave a tight lipped smile and sat on the edge of the bed. "I have something that I need to tell you," she said firmly and Walter was silent, attention on her. "We are trying to find out a way to make it so your dad can come and get you."

"Trying?" Walter questioned, hands gripping the blanket in his lap.

"We still don't know where they are," Alana explained. "But when we find them, we are going to make sure that you can't be found again. You can go with them."

Walter was quiet, his head tipping back and forth in thought. He looked as if he were swishing water in his mouth and Alana wondered what was going through his mind, eyes flickering about the room, unable to settle on anything.

"You're going to let them take me," he finally settled on.

"Why would I not let your parents come and get you?" Alana questioned back.

"They're both killers. You think it's safe to leave a little kid in the hands of the likes of those two?" Walter challenged, not fighting against the fact that Alana had called Hannibal one of his parents as if the kid knew he didn't have a choice.

"Are you saying that you don't want to go back to Will?" Alana asked carefully, unsure what can of worms she had opened by telling the boy the hints of a plan.

Walter slowly shook his head. "I want to go back to my dad. I just don't understand why you're trying to help them." Before Alana could reply, Walter continued. "And by we, am I safe to assume that you are referring to Jack Crawford?" Walter's head tipped lazily to the side to meet Alana's gaze and she didn't have to say a word for the recognition to be clear on the boy's face. "I would rather not have him anywhere near my father. The last time he shot my mother. I would hate to lose my dad too."

Alana gave a small nod in understanding. "Regardless of what he did, and this does not discount how you feel, Jack is who we need to have help us. He's the only one who will bend the rules for us."

"You won't be able to find them," Walter shot back, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Jack Crawford was searching for them for months after Hannibal escaped. I know that they were only found because Hannibal wanted them to be. If you look at everything he's ever done, no one can find him unless he wants them to."

"You sound like you know a lot about Hannibal," Alana remarked, eyebrows rose in interest. "Why did you learn Lithuanian?"

Walter gave a shrug. "I was bored."

"Walter," Alana said firmly, but not unkindly. She reached out and patted his knee, which Walter quickly pulled from her grip, shifting further away from her. "Please tell me why you learned to speak in the native tongue of a serial killer."

"I told you," Walter grumbled, looking put out. Alana tipped her head to the side, listening carefully to the boy's words, reading into the rigidness of his body. "I knew he would be coming after us. I knew I would meet him one day. I needed something to endear myself to him, make me indispensable. That's what dad taught me, so that's what I did."

"You're a smart boy, Walter."

Walter looked over at Alana with an agitated huff. "Are you saying that as a compliment or pointing it out so that I will take to your plan a little easier?"

Alana blinked a few times, trying to come up with an answer to supply, caught off guard by the child's strong words. "A bit of both, I suppose," she finally settled on. "Do you like Hannibal Lecter?"

Walter's face scrunched up at that. "He was nice, I suppose. As nice as a killer could be."

"Nice?" Alana prompted with a deep breath, curious if she could get the kid to finally open up a bit more.

"Other than tying me up, he didn't hurt me or my mom." Walter closed his eyes with a sigh, lost back in the memory. "No. He didn't even tie me up. He didn't so much as touch me. He looked a little... can killers feel sad?"

"Anyone has the capacity for any emotion they feel," Alana supplied simply. "Even a killer can feel sadness, anger or love. And Hannibal has more emotions than he wants the world to see. He is just as complex, if not more so, as the rest of the world and I think he likes it that way."

"I don't know if he was sad exactly," Walter muttered. "He got mad at my mom. Never raised his voice though. Just slammed his glass of wine on the table. Nothing else."

"Wally, would you like to come have dinner with us?" Alana asked kindly, grateful for even the smallest glimpse into what this boy had gone through and not wanting to out stay her welcome.

"No."

"Alright." Alana gave him a warm smile and stood, receiving a confused look. She didn't often let things slip and she was curious over how Walter noticed how easily she gave up the fight. The boy was smart, not surprising considering how brilliant Will was, but she hadn't expected him to pick up on her so quickly, especially with how he tried to fight against her. "If you get hungry, you know where the kitchen is."

Alana straightened her shirt and went for the door, stopping at her name. She turned back to where the boy had moved to the side of the bed. "Jack's going to stop by tonight, isn't he?"

"Yes," Alana answered with a nod.

Walter gave a sigh and rubbed at his head. "I'd prefer not to run into him. Can I take dinner here?"

"I'm sorry. We've had to deter Morgan from eating anywhere else. He makes messes and then we get ants. It would be unfair if-"

"Yeah, I get it," Walter grumbled out his interruption, pushing himself to the edge of the bed. "I eat now or I don't eat because I absolutely do not want to see that man."

There was a knock on the door and Alana glanced towards it curiously. The door opened and Walter watched as Alana's young boy pushed into the room, a plate in his hand, and came over to the bed, holding the plate out in offering. Walter's brows furrowed in confusion and he glanced from the plate of food to Alana and back again before slowly taking the plate from Morgan's hands.

"Thanks, kid," Walter whispered, unsure of what else to exactly say.

"Mom, your work friend is here," Morgan said, eyes not leaving Walter and Walter shifted uncomfortably at the thought that the man who had taken his mother from him was in the other room. "I can stay with Wally." Alana looked hesitant, but slowly rose from where she sat on the edge of the bed and went for the door, keeping it open behind her. "I thought that maybe you would want company," Morgan continued innocently as Walter set his plate aside on the bedside table, not really hungry. "I can leave though."

"Um..." Water's hand dipped into his hair and he shook his head. "No. You can stay, I guess."

Morgan smiled at that and climbed up onto the bed, settling himself beside Walter, hands folded in his lap and feet swinging over the edge of the bed from the height of it. They were quiet and Walter felt content in the silence. Maybe the kid wasn't so bad. He could be annoying beyond belief, but that was probably due to the kid's age. He was decent enough company and Walter supposed that if he was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, then he probably needed to make the best of it.

There was a booming voice in the hall and Morgan watched as Walter flinched. Morgan's head tipped to the side curiously and he dropped from the bed, heading for the still open door. Morgan followed the sound down the hall until he could see a large black man in a long black coat shaking Alana's hand with a sour expression on his face.

Morgan looked over the man for a moment longer, the image of Walter's discomfort sharp in his mind. This was the man who had killed his mom, Morgan was sure of it. It didn't take much to put the pieces together. And Morgan supposed that the man did look the time. He looked large and brutal, controlling. Morgan didn't like the sight of him much.

Morgan left the hall and wandered back to where Walter's room was, closing the door to block out that man's uncommonly loud voice. Morgan's eyes found Walter curled up on the bed, head hidden under his pillow and Morgan frowned.

"I don't like him," Morgan announced and Walter tensed. "I'm sorry he's here."

Walter's muffled voice asked and Morgan moved curiously to the bed. "Aren't the bad guys supposed to be bad and the good guys good? Why is it all topsy turvy now?" There was a weak laugh and Morgan pushed himself back up onto the bed. He reached out slowly and rested his hand on Walter's ankle and looked out of the window at the snow and ice that was finally starting to slowly melt away. When Walter didn't fight against the touch, Morgan looked back over to see Walter staring at him. "Why are you so nice to me? You know I hate you, right?"

"Because," Morgan replied with a shrug, though he didn't remove his hand from Walter. "You need someone right now. You can shove all of us away and I know that eventually my mom will give up, but I won't."