As Will drove, he tried to shut Frederick out of his mind, but it was incredibly difficult with his emotions as out of control as they were. He didn't quite know where he was going, but it was both away from Frederick and away from home. Ultimately, that direction led him straight to Hannibal, the only place he could think of to find help. He parked his car in front of Hannibal's home, rang the doorbell, and waited. The door creaked open a few minutes later and Hannibal stared at him with genuine surprise.
Will imagined he must've been quite a sight. Red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained cheeks, unable to keep himself from shaking even though he'd stopped crying.
"Will, what are you doing here?" Hannibal said as he looked Will over.
"I was so wrong. About everything," Will said, his voice thick from all the emotion he was keeping inside. "I need your help."
Hannibal paused for a moment, taking that in, before he stepped aside. "Please, come in. Tell me what happened."
Will walked past him into the house, relaxing a little to be indoors somewhere safe, a shelter from the storm in his mind. He moved through the foyer and the kitchen into a red-walled living area where he collapsed into an uncomfortable arm chair. Hannibal walked in a few moments later, carefully moving a matching chair so that he sat across from Will. He waited patiently until Will felt ready to speak.
"You were right all along about Frederick," Will said quietly, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You and Alana both."
"What transpired between you?" Hannibal said in a gentle tone.
"I found out that he's been manipulating me," Will said, feeling angry and betrayed and his hands started to shake again. "He's been in my head causing god knows what. Planting things, taking things, maybe the hallucinations and time loss were his fault too. I… don't know what to do. I don't…"
Will took a deep breath, pushing back the emotions that welled up again, building up pressure behind his eyes. He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands, trying to prevent Hannibal from seeing him break down. His shoulders trembled from the weight of everything he carried until he felt hands on them, holding him still.
He looked up to see Hannibal kneeling in front of him, holding him tightly to stabilize him. Will relaxed into his hold, wanting nothing more than to relinquish control of everything. He let Hannibal pull him into a hug, let himself be held as he felt nothing but hollowness as if all of his insides had been scooped out. All that remained was an anguished sadness from the other end of a bond that he couldn't remove no matter how much he wanted to.
Hannibal tried to comfort him but there wasn't anything left to comfort, so he just remained in his arms until he let go, holding him at arm's length instead. He felt examined as Hannibal looked him over. He appeared concerned but Will didn't feel his concern, like he was simply wearing a mask rather than experiencing the emotion.
"I'm sorry this happened to you, Will," Hannibal said, taking a step back into his chair, giving him space. "I knew Frederick was probably unethical and unorthodox, but I never thought he would do this. I feel responsible. I should have done more to keep you from him."
Will looked up into his eyes and, for a moment, he thought he saw the emptiness he felt inside reflected back at him. "It was my own fault for not listening," Will said monotonously.
"The way he was manipulating you, you couldn't have known, Will," Hannibal said reassuringly. "You are not at fault and I'm here to help you."
"Can you fix it? Everything he's done, can you put me back together?" Will said, his voice cracking.
Hannibal nodded. "I will do my best. You said you lost time? That's a new symptom."
"Yes, just today. Just before I found out…" He had to pause and recollect himself as he felt his eyes start to burn again. "I lost about an hour in the blink of an eye. What do you think is causing it?"
Hannibal appeared contemplative for a few moments. "It's hard to say. It could be Frederick's doing, as you said, or it could be a deeper problem. The best course of action would be to go through with my earlier suggestion. We'll meet twice a week and slowly work toward a solution."
Will considered this and, without any other option he could see, decided to agree to it. "Okay. I trust your judgment."
"Excellent. How does Tuesday and Thursday sound?" Hannibal said as he stood up and grabbed a black, leather book—his schedule—that had been sitting on a nearby table.
"Sounds good," Will said with a nod as he looked away from him.
He considered for a moment telling him about the brain scan appointment but thought better of it. He wasn't even sure if he was still going to go. Instead, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, feeling like he could have easily fallen asleep no matter how uncomfortable the chair was.
"If you'd like, you could spend the night here. My home is always open to friends," Hannibal said, breaking the silence.
Will opened his mouth to decline, thinking about how he should get back to his dogs, but then he realized there was every possibility Frederick could be there. "If it wouldn't be much trouble."
"None at all. I'll show you to the guest room," Hannibal said with a welcoming smile.
Will tried to smile back but it fell apart. Hannibal placed a hand on the small of Will's back and led him to a staircase where he then took the lead. Will followed him with the mindlessness of a zombie, matching his footsteps without much care as to where he was actually going. When Hannibal stopped, Will almost forgot to, stumbling in order to avoid running into him.
He watched as Hannibal opened the door, looking into the perfectly made, untouched bedroom. It was too dark in the room for him to see all of the details, but from the outlines of objects, he could tell it was just as needlessly decorated as the rest of his house. There were paintings on the walls, expensive trinkets on top on a short, unused dresser and a matching end table. Hannibal walked in and turned on a sculpted, dark red lamp sitting on the end table, illuminating a small part of the room.
"You're welcome to the room for as long as you need it," Hannibal said, inviting Will in.
Will stepped inside, his shoes sinking into the carpet. "I really appreciate it."
"If you'd like, I can tell you when dinner is ready," Hannibal offered.
Will shook his head. "I don't have much of an appetite today."
Hannibal nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Will exhaled, releasing some of the stress that had been building as he sat down on the bed. He slowly pulled off his shoes, leaving them close by in case he needed to leave, and laid out on his back, staring at the flat, white ceiling. The blank canvas of it stared back, able to reflect his memories and feelings on its empty surface, the silence of the room able to echo the thoughts in his head as if he were yelling them through a megaphone.
He could still hear Frederick's voice mixed in with everything, the calm tone on repeat that only served to set him on edge. Once he was sure Hannibal had gone back down the stairs, he felt alone enough to let go of everything he'd been holding in and his body shook with violent sobs as he thought of every moment he and Frederick had spent together since they were marked. Every moment of it a lie. Every piece of himself that he gave was lost. Will curled up on his side and hugged a pillow to his chest as he fitfully dropped off to sleep.
That night he dreamt of things that made his night hell, that caused him to toss and turn and wreck the perfectly made bed. He dreamt of the flashing lights, the background to set each scene, and he dreamt of when he and Frederick slept together, except he was tied to the bed and Frederick straddled his hips, a scalpel in his hand. He leaned over him and pressed the blade to his head, cutting a clean line across his forehead, opening him up. The whole time he kept calmly talking. You're waking up now. Waking in a pleasant room. Safe. His heart pounded hard as he knew what was happening but couldn't do anything to stop it. He tried to scream for help but no sound left him.
He was only given reprieve when a hand clamped on his shoulder, startling him awake. He jerked away from the grip, scrambling to the other side of the bed until he realized the hand belonged to Hannibal. Will pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat until it calmed down. He relaxed, shifting into a sitting position before looking up at Hannibal.
"I apologize, Will. I didn't mean to startle you," he said, sounding concerned.
Will wiped the sweat from his brow and felt his damp curls. "It's okay. I think… I needed to be woken up. I wasn't having a particularly good dream."
"I can tell by the state of the bed. You should come down for breakfast. Even if your appetite still eludes you, you might feel a little better with some food in your stomach," Hannibal said, looking Will over before he left the room, leaving the door open this time.
Will flopped over on the bed, breathing deeply to try and relax. As he did so, as he dispersed his own frantic emotions, he felt Frederick's creep in. Sadness, overwhelming and distraught, as well as worry and stress. He tried to push them away but he knew he couldn't. They would be there always, a constant reminder of the man who ruined his mind. He felt angry with no one to take it out on so he tried to let the anger go for the time being.
He rolled off the bed and tried to fix the covers as best as he could. A part of him felt guilty for crashing in Hannibal's home and leaving the room in disarray but the rest of him found it hard to care. He found it hard to care about anything. Once he was finished with that, he slipped on his shoes and walked downstairs, following the smell of food into the kitchen where Hannibal was working intently. Hannibal visibly brightened when he saw him, making Will feel a little more welcome.
"Will, breakfast is nearly ready. You can wait in the dining room if you'd like," he said brightly as he prepared what looked like gourmet omelettes.
He nodded, smiling a little before walking into the bright, sunny dining room and sitting down at one of the two place settings. He tried to keep himself collected as Hannibal brought the food in and set it down in front of him. A perfectly folded omelette with most likely homemade sausage and two triangles of toast. Hannibal explained exactly what it was as he set the plates down but Will wasn't listening. He just nodded once he noticed Hannibal was done talking and picked at it, eating some small bites and pushing around others.
"What is your plan for today, Will?" Hannibal asked, bringing Will out of his own mind.
"Um, I don't know," Will said honestly. "I would just like to go home."
"Are you sure that's the best course of action? Frederick could show up at any time," Hannibal said, sounding perfectly worried.
Will shook his head and dropped his fork. "I can't stay here, Hannibal. Not with the dogs at home. I'll lock the door and draw the shades and ignore him if he does show up. I just want to start getting my life back away from him."
Hannibal set down his own utensils and stood up from the table. "I understand, Will, and I can tell you'd like to leave as soon as possible."
Relief spread through him, happy to be given leave so he wouldn't have to awkwardly find a way out and away from Hannibal's scrutiny. He stood up from the table and Hannibal walked with him to the front door.
"My home is open at all times to you if you need a safe place to stay," Hannibal said as he opened the door.
"Thank you. I appreciate it," Will said, not looking at Hannibal before slipping out into the cool, morning air.
"I'll see you on Tuesday," Hannibal said, closing the door once Will reached his car.
Will was glad to be free of Hannibal's home but the thought of going back to his own made him more anxious. The home where he had spent the night before sleeping in Frederick's arms after he'd driven over an hour to help calm him down. The home contaminated by his presence. Still, he had nowhere else to go and his home was where he felt most comfortable.
When he arrived there, he found that he was alone, neither Frederick nor his car in sight. However, as he approached his front door, he found a note with his name on it in a familiar flowery script taped to it. He frowned at it before tearing it off the door and crumpling it in his hand. He tossed it in his kitchen trash can once inside without another thought. He didn't care what Frederick had to say, not anymore.
He cared for his dogs and started to clean up his house, eradicating every piece of Frederick's existence from it. He extensively cleaned the dishes he'd used, pulled away the sheets he'd slept in to wash them, and gathered the two shirts that once belonged to him to throw away. Each part of it both hurt and helped him, tearing off pieces of his affection for him and replacing them with clean, open wounds that could take time and heal. The last piece to take care of was the brand new fishing rod, but he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. Instead, he tucked it in the back of his bedroom closet until he figured out a better option.
All the while, he felt the dull throb of sadness at the back of his mind that he kept trying to ignore without success. The one remnant he couldn't throw out. He tried to calm down and bury the bond, succeeding in bringing it down to a mild pinprick to his emotions. From there, he could finally relax in his own home, sinking into an arm chair and opening his laptop to work on lesson plans and take his mind off of the rest of his life.
He tried to gather his life back together over the next few weeks. He tried to make it so everything was as normal as it used to be, but it didn't quite work out that way. His symptoms continued to worsen, even with Hannibal's extra therapy, and he was losing time at least twice a week, though no one had really noticed. Frederick tried to call him at least once a day and left voice mails that Will promptly deleted. When that first weekend arrived after the incident, the one with the brain scan appointment, he made the choice not to go.
He continued to work the current FBI case when he was needed, continued to go to his lectures, continued to live his life but he found all that was becoming more and more difficult. He started to believe he would never get better, made all the more apparent when a hallucination interrupted an investigation of Tobias Budge for the murder at the theater. Once it was all over, he couldn't tell if it had saved his life or cost the lives of the two officers with him and that ate away at him. Every time he brought up his concerns in therapy, he was shut down and told that it would take more time.
"I just don't understand," Will said, sounding a little hysterical and feeling more than a little angry. "You said you could help but it's been weeks with no improvement. Everything just keeps getting worse."
Hannibal shifted in his chair, managing to keep his cool in the face of Will's accusations. "Frederick had approximately a month to get inside your head and move the furniture around, as it were. Unfortunately, in regards to the mind, it will take a little longer to put everything back. I need your patience, Will."
"I've been patient, but I feel like if I'm any more patient I'm going to end up six feet under. I'll lose time and get myself killed in the process. Or… or kill someone else. God knows what I do," Will said, curling his hands into fists.
"I have the same worries, but I believe we can gain a control over it together," Hannibal replied calmly.
"You keep saying that and I believe it less and less each time," Will said, his voice at a low growl.
Hannibal frowned, looking uncomfortable. "I'm afraid our time today is up, but I will look into more aggressive tactics for our next session."
Will nodded, highly doubting whatever tactics he found would help him at all. He didn't even attempt to be polite as he stood up and left the room, eager to get home, preferably any without mental incidents. Just as he slid into the driver's side seat of his car, his phone rang. He fully expected it to be Frederick, as it usually was, but he always checked just in case. Alana's name appeared across the screen of his phone, prompting him to accept the call.
"Hello. I haven't heard from you in a while," Will said conversationally.
"I know, that's why I was calling," Alana said in a pleasant way that made Will smile. "I was hoping we could get together for lunch tomorrow."
"Absolutely. That sounds like… something I really need right now," Will said, happy to have something to look forward to.
"I'll meet you at the Academy around noon and we can go out somewhere," Alana suggested.
"Sounds great. See you then."
They hung up and Will relaxed into the seat of the car. It felt good to have plans with someone who wasn't trying to use him in one way or another, felt normal. He only hoped he wouldn't have an episode, because with his luck it seemed plausible. As he drove home, he felt Frederick at the back of his mind, a ball of stress and worry just as he had been for the past few weeks. The longer it persisted, the easier it became for him to ignore, but Will noticed a slight shift in emotion. He could tell that Frederick felt relieved and that made Will feel uncomfortable, though he couldn't place why.
Alana showed up at a quarter after noon as Will was working in his office. He didn't notice her at first, editing the pictures on a PowerPoint presentation, but he looked up as she sat down at a chair in front of his desk. She wore a kind smile and it definitely brightened both the room and his mood. He saved his work and closed the laptop, giving her his full attention.
"So, where would you like to go?" Alana said, her hands folded in her lap.
"It doesn't really matter where. Just happy to get out with a friend," Will said, giving the first genuine smile he could muster in the last several weeks.
"Well, I know of a good place or two," Alana said as they both stood up. Will grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair as Alana looked around. "How long have you had that?"
Will followed her eyes to the mini fridge in the corner and he frowned. "Not long. It was a gift. I'm looking to get rid of it, actually. You interested?"
Alana shook her head. "Just curious."
They left to a small café nearby that Alana swore made the best turkey club she'd ever eaten. Will agreed, not just because he was curious if she was right, but because he didn't care as long he was in pleasant company. They walked in and were seated immediately as it appeared the place wasn't busy just yet. They sat across from each other in small, red leather booths with a cream-colored, linoleum-topped table between them. They both ordered the turkey club and were soon met with the scent of bacon cooking, permeating the café.
"What do you think?" Alana said, breaking the silence that followed after the waitress left.
"It's very… quaint. I like it," he replied with a smile.
"How have you been lately? I haven't seen much of you since I found out about… well," she hesitated, glancing down at Will's right hand.
"Uh, I've been better," he admitted, clenching his right hand into a fist. "I've been… Let's talk about you. We don't need to sour the mood of a good lunch."
Alana looked at him, her brows knitted together, her mouth in a slight frown. He couldn't help but compare it to Hannibal's look of concern, noting how hers felt infinitely more real. "What's wrong, Will? I may not be your psychiatrist, but I'm here to talk about your problems as a friend."
Will frowned, picking at a knick he found in the linoleum. "I don't want to go into detail but I've been having a rough time. Hannibal is trying to help me through it but it feels like none of what we do in therapy helps at all. Whatever is wrong just keeps getting worse."
"I trust that Hannibal knows what he's doing," she said, though she looked a little doubtful. "But, if you give me some of your symptoms, I might be able to give you an alternative option you can slip in as a suggestion. Just to try something different."
Will looked up at her curiously, but she appeared earnest in her need to help. "Well, I think it started with sleepwalking about two months ago. Then the hallucinations, which you know about. And recently…"
Alana opened her mouth to question him further but the waitress returned, setting down two plates each with a large sandwich, cut in half, and a side of golden fries. Will felt grateful for the interruption, grabbing a fry to munch on, but Alana was undeterred.
"What's been happening recently, Will?"
"There might be some slight gaps in my memory as of late," Will said, a little reluctantly.
If Alana was shocked or worried, she did her best not to show it. Instead she nodded, grabbing one of her own fries and eating it as she thought about the symptoms. "What kind of therapy has Hannibal been employing?"
Will shrugged. "It all seems ridiculous and unhelpful. He keeps putting me in some kind of trance state because he says it both of us to access my mind, to find the memories I've been losing. But as far as I know, I haven't regained any of them yet. And he keeps making me draw a stupid clock. He says it grounds me in the present," Will scoffed. "As if that's helped at all."
At the mention of the clock, Will noticed Alana perk up a little, her brows furrowed. "A clock. That's interesting. You don't have to if you don't want to, but would you mind drawing a clock for me? I feel like I agree with you, that exercise wouldn't really help your condition, so I wonder what Hannibal gets out of it."
"Um, sure," Will said, feeling confused. "I don't have a pen on me, though."
Alana rifled through her purse and pulled out a small, metal pen. Will grabbed it from her as well as a napkin from a dispenser on the table. A few seconds later, he'd drawn a clock with the hands displaying the current time, twelve forty-seven. He flipped the napkin around, sliding it and the pen back over to Alana. She looked down at the drawing and paled noticeably.
Will laughed nervously. "I mean, I'm no artist but it's not that bad."
Alana looked up at Will, blood drained from her face. "Will, I think you need to see a doctor. A medical doctor. A neurologist."
Will's face fell and his anxiety rose. "Why? I don't get it. What did a drawing of a clock tell you?"
"It tells me that whatever problem you have won't be solved by therapy," she said seriously. "Will, do you trust me?"
He gaped at her, confused and terrified, but he nodded. Alana pulled out her cell phone and made a call to a local hospital but the sound of her voice and the general noise and chatter of the café faded away until he could only hear a loud buzzing in his own head. Both of their lunches sat practically untouched as Will felt sick to his stomach, unable to string a coherent thought together with the exception of one. What's wrong with me? Ten minutes later, Will was buckled into the passenger's seat of Alana's car as she drove him to the hospital for an immediate brain scan.