A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that read and reviewed the first chapter. I am so sorry about the delay, but now I am a few chapters ahead so it shouldn't happen again anytime soon. I am going to post a chapter every Friday. This was really difficult, and I'm not quite satisfied with it, but I wanted to keep moving. It is really just a filler. I hope you enjoy reading it more than I did writing it. I promise it picks up in Chapter 3.
Will never thought he would miss working in the field. He didn't think he would long to feel the serial killers eating his mind form the inside out. There was no pressure here, nothing was rushed. Time meant nothing. It worried Will how easy it was to get lost in that; part of him wanted to let the monotony take over.
Then there was the part that was fighting. It was screaming at the top of its lungs: desperate for freedom. It needed the constant stream of problems to be solved and the mundane action of feeding his dogs that kept routine and sanity in his strange life. It reminded him what it was like not to eat when he was told. It begged to look at his house from a distance as he had done so many times. It ached for human contact–even simpler to see someone without steel bars splitting his vision.
He needed to solve his case. That would satisfy the nagging voice in his head. It was a distraction that would not allow him complacency. Complacency was dangerous.
"What the hell do you want pictures of the murder scenes for?" Jack Crawford demanded, breaking him from Will from his thoughts. It was no surprise he was here, it was the reason he sat at his table and chair, both bolted to the ground of course. He preferred sitting in the corner–his back on one wall and his shoulder pressed against the other, the cold keeping him grounded as he tried to recreate the murders without getting lost in the world of the Stag–but he figured it was better that visitors only saw him on the bed or the chair, places "stable" people sat.
"I knew you would be here today; there was no doubt Dr. Lecter would tell you about my request," Will commented, looking Jack in the eyes. He used to be distracted by them, but he was quickly learning to read them. He didn't want to get into the habit in case he ever returned as a special agent–dead bodies had dead eyes–but it was helpful now, to know people's thoughts, to see how guilty they believed he was. It added additional depth to his empathy.
"That isn't an answer."
"It's not breaking any rules. I'm allowed to have soft papers and these special pens. I don't see why there is a problem."
"It is a goddamn problem, Will. We can't give the murderer access to case files, especially without knowing the reason."
"I'm allowed books if I ask for them. I can receive mail. I can send letters and call my lawyer. I am not a criminal, and I cannot be tried as one until I am pronounced mentally stable. I am allowed certain luxuries, anything they think may help." Will replied, his voice calm. He was perfectly aware of his rules.
"Luxuries my ass. What do you want them for?" Jack demanded again.
"I am going to prove myself innocent."
"You have a lawyer for that," Jack objected.
"I have every right to try and help myself."
"I can't let you see those files."
"You and I both know you can give me whatever you want. Plus, I am a safe gamble. I won't talk to Lounds, or any skeezeball reporter for that matter. It won't be let out to the public through me, and with Chilton gone, it is unlikely anyone here will tell," Will answered. They sat in silence for a moment. "I don't need the full files. Just pictures of how the bodies were found. I need to treat myself like a serial killer. I need to recreate the scenes in my head as if I had done them."
"And you need pictures to do that?"
"You know how I work. It'll be hard enough to recreate it without being in the crime scene. At least give me this."
"I'll talk with Dr. Lecter. He has signed on your official psychiatrist. If he thinks you should have them, then I will allow it. He has done you good already. I heard you talked to Alana after his visit." It was a poor attempt at changing the subject, but Will took it.
"Briefly," he confirmed.
"Briefly is still something." Jack paused. "Something better come of this, Will, and I better not come out looking like a damn fool."
"You won't be disappointed."
Jack walked off nodding to himself. Will smiled and moved to his corner. Will put his head back, closed his eyes and retired for relief into the quiet of his memory palace, a place that is quite haunted but endlessly beautiful.
"I don't think this is wise, Jack," Alana said, crossing her legs. These meetings had become daily. Jack sitting behind his desk, slowly rotating back and forth behind his desk, Hannibal to her left-endlessly composed, and Alana fighting to have her opinions heard. Everyone here thought they knew what was best for Will; she was beginning to question if any of them even had a clue.
"We have to try something," Jack replied, swirling his glass of seltzer. The sound of ice cubes clinking made her head pound. It had been a long night of research, capping off a full week of sleep deprivation.
"We don't have to try anything! He has a lawyer to try those things. He will plead insanity, and stay in Baltimore. We need to try and help Will come to terms with these murders, regardless of whether or not he committed them. Giving him these files would allow him to sink deeper into the cases."
"What are your thoughts, Dr. Lecter?" Jack asked without even looking her way. Alana wanted to scream. She was trying to think of Will's health, and often felt like she was fighting against two men focusing on setting him free.
"I don't think Will trusts his lawyer," Hannibal remarked after a moment of thought.
"Why not?"
"He won't talk to anyone who thinks he is guilty," he responded, looking to Alana.
She stood up, slamming her hand onto the table.
"Damn it, Hannibal. I think he is sick and I think you are a liar," she yelled, finally reaching her breaking point.
"We have been through this, Dr. Bloom. Encephalitis is incredibly difficult to detect." He spoke in that infuriating, ever calm tone. She wanted to–she couldn't even place it. She didn't want to hit him, to yell, to turn to Jack. She just wanted out of this room. "Can you honestly tell me you would have seen such a pattern in Will?"
"Of course not! That's why we sent him to you. You were supposed to act as an impartial judge." This was it. She finally had her moment to speak her thoughts and exhaustion rendered her filter useless. "When we first discussed this matter, Jack, you asked me if Will could have forged the clock for me. I didn't lie when he said he could have, but it was unlikely he knew the disease. A former surgeon with extensive knowledge of Will's condition could have drawn a completely normal clock, however."
"Alana, think about this," Jack said, standing up. "You are accusing the man who you referred Will to of forging tests. Dr. Lecter is one of the most respected in your field."
Alana looked at the wall behind him.
"She is right, I could have forged the test. You must trust that I have not."
"Why do I have any reason to trust you over Will?" she quipped, the adrenaline leaving her.
"Maybe you should go home, get some rest. You can talk to Will in a few days. Dr. Lecter has signed onto his case, and a couple of months ago, you would have fully supported this." Jack walked to the back of the room. "We have all been working ourselves to the bone trying to help one of our own. Let's call it a day." He pulled open the door, and Alana walked towards it, exhaustion and anger coursing through her.
"You're right. It makes more sense to look at it tomorrow," she resigned, nodding at Jack.
"We can't afford to delay, Alana," Hannibal said behind her, making her jump a little. She needed to wind down. "If you don't mind, Jack, I'd like to visit Will first thing tomorrow and bring him the requested information."
"What is one more day?" she sighed, not turning to look at him.
"It is a lot of time in prison, especially when your court date ticks ever closer."
"I have to agree with Dr. Lecter here, Alana. We should give Will as much of a chance as possible, and if he thinks he can find something in the evidence, who are we to stop him? If this was any other killer, we would have Will on the case."
"This is different," Alana protested.
"It really isn't," Hannibal agreed with Jack. "Why should we treat Will any differently?"
"Because he is unstable. He could be a killer. These are the murders he might have committed," Alana said, exasperated. "I thought we were going to decide this together. I thought that was why we called this meeting. Not for a snap decision, but to discuss this situation from every angle. We've hardly even touched on what will happen if the public hears about this. What if TattleCrime catches wind?" she tried one last point to buy more time.
"We have been here two hours and have to try something. We can't delay, Alana, or we could run out of time."
"I can't believe you. I thought we respected each other, Hannibal, but apparently you don't have time for my opinion anymore."
"You said that to me when I took Abigail out of the hospital," Hannibal reminded her, meeting her eyes. "You said it was rude as she was your patient and it defied your actions as her doctor and the mutual respect we share as colleagues. While the three of us all care about Will, the fact remains he is my patient. How is this situation any different?"
Alana looked at him bewildered. His calmness and her exhaustion rendered her speechless, so she merely nodded to Jack, letting the door slam on her way out.
Several hours and a good meal later, Alana sat on her couch, idly flipping through channels. Her laptop was on the cushion next to her, its blank screen casting light on her face. About an hour earlier she had sent an email to Hannibal apologizing for her outburst and acting as in the manner that had infuriated her only weeks ago. She knew she should have called, but she didn't want to fight with him again and feared she would not be able to contain herself in a conversation, setting her back even further.
A new message appeared at the top of her screen and she put down the remote, news flashing across the television, to see who it was from. Upon seeing Hannibal's name, she pulled the computer onto her legs and clicked it open with a sigh.
It is quite alright, Dr. Bloom. You brought up several excellent points, and as time passes, it would be ideal if we could explore them together. I know this may seem to be a rash decision, but it is best not to delay. I hope you had a pleasant evening. Also, Jack and I ask you refrain from visiting Will for the next three days. I will drop off the files, but we think it is best he has no contact with anyone with extensive knowledge of his condition communicating with him until he finishes. It is a risk–one I wish we did not need to take. Until tomorrow.
Infuriating, condescending man. Alana still was pleased they were friends. It made the situation easier to write off. Now that she was away from the office, she could see how right Jack and Hannibal were about the short time. She was determined to win one battle, though, and quickly typed a reply.
I don't think it is wise to cut off all contact. We do not need Will feeling isolated, especially not now. I recommend sending Beverly Katz with the files and to visit every day. She knows about his case, but her knowledge of the encephalitis only stretches as far as knowing of its existence and what Will has told her as a friend. She will also be able to answer any questions he has.
With the message sent, she stood up and whistled through her teeth. Six dogs came bounding out of her bedroom and followed her into the kitchen. By the time she had fed and let them out, she had received a reply.
That is a wise course of action; we did not consider the repercussions of isolation. I will confirm this with Jack, and request the assistance of Ms. Katz tomorrow. Thank you, Alana. Good night.
A smug smile on her face, she flipped off the television and closed her screen. It was early for her to sleep, but she could use the extra rest. Maybe a few days without going to the Baltimore State Hospital would do her some good. She wouldn't stop thinking of Will, but she could make some progress on the reports and research she had dropped since his conviction.
It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. She just hoped bigger ones were in the future.
A/N: Yes, the last sentence from the first segment is alluding to The Silence of the Lambs (maybe Red Dragon. I can't remember and forgot to write down which book oops). Anyway. Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.