It was just supposed to be another normal week. Wake, let the dogs out. Shower, dress, make the dogs breakfast. Call the dogs in, eat a bland piece of toast and down a cup or two of burnt coffee while the dogs ate. Let the dogs back out. Grab his bag, papers, laptop. Put his boots on, call the dogs in. Rub behind little doggie ears, kiss wet noses and hug each sweet member of his pack. Grab his keys and jacket, say a soft "See you guys latter", lock up his little farm house and head off to work in his old and beat up vehicle.
Arrive at work, find a parking space far enough away from others. "Was that Beverly's car?" Spend the next few morning hours talking at supposedly bright FBI trainees. Eat an uninspiring, tasteless lunch – if he remembered to stop by the cafeteria to grab said lunch. Prepare for his afternoon classes then waste his afternoon hours teaching said classes. With the school day over, it was pack his things up, head to his car and return home. Making sure to stop by the local Wolf Trap grocery store for that night's frozen dinner.
Arrive home, great each dog by name. Let the dogs out, make their dinner and pop his own meal into the microwave oven. Call the dogs in, eat dinner together. Stare at the liquor cabinet, shake his head and settle for his homemade southern sweet tea instead as he graded his students' work. Let the dogs out one more time for the night. Strip, call the dogs in and then crawl into bed to await sleep. Curl around his pack as they began to join him in his bed and finally fall into a peaceful, dream filled slumber.
Rinse. Repeat.
Fate however, decided that she had other plans for Will Graham.