Alana's eyes were gentle on him. Too much like a mother, and too much like a would-be lover. Will didn't look back, not directly, couldn't stand the abrasiveness of her naked emotion, let his eyes lodge on the top of her left ear instead.

"So, I fainted, then. How strong of me." Will fought to a sitting position, then scrubbed his hands over his face.

"You haven't eaten, have you?" Alana asked. "How long has it been?"

Will heard the rustling of bags in the kitchen, knew Hannibal was clearing the refuse away.

"Since Friday," Will answered.

Hannibal strode into the room. "Meaning you ate a meal on Friday or on Thursday night?"

Will smiled grimly at his therapist's insight. "Thursday night."

Hannibal took off his heavy coat and began to fold it fastidiously. "And then the night terrors changed. And you were no longer able to eat."

Will's voice was tight. "Yes."

"Three days. Three days without food?" Alana glanced back at Hannibal, who nodded slightly as he carefully draped his coat over the stair bannister.

"Give or take a bite here and there," Will sighed. "I can't keep it down. It tastes like…."

Hannibal waited, knowing.

"Like Thrill Kill's scenes," Alana supplied, as Will shied away from the images in his mind.

"Yes," Will laughed, sourly. "Yes." A hand came up to his neck, unconsciously easing the lingering sting of Hannibal's slight scratch.

Hannibal made himself not respond.

"I guess this is it. First I can't sleep, or when I do its…" Will trailed off, letting his voice fade away. His hand waved a vague dismissal of his terrors and sleep walking. "And now I can't eat. I always thought my break down would be more spectacular. But it's not. It's pathetic. Ordinary. Eating disorders" He laughed.

Alana's eyes tightened in pain, and Will instantly felt her emotions: sorrow, anger, love or tenderness. It was at his admission that he'd expected a breakdown.

He'd have to choose his words better not to hurt her. Say what you want about Lecter's often abrasive, confrontational tactics, or how he was inscrutable, he was, blessedly, inscrutable. Will could say what he needed to say, usually without the slightest ripple of emotion feedback looping into him.

It was his favorite thing about Lecter, as both a therapist and colleague.

"My friend, our Uncle Jack has you working too hard. This is nervous exhaustion, nothing more. Nothing so spectacular as a breakdown, nor as mundane as an eating disorder, I assure you."

Hannibal walked to the green cooler. Unzipping the lid, he pulled the beveled porcelain bowls out, arranging three on the coffee table.

"I….won't be able to eat that." Will said, looking away from the lidded bowl. "I won't. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude."

Lecter made a tsking noise between through his teeth. He pulled immaculate cloth napkins from the cooler.

Will watched as Hannibal unpacked the cooler, arraying the white porcelain dishes on the coffee table.

Hannibal looked to Alana. "I brought enough lunch for us all. I'm certain you have only had coffee this morning."

Alana laughed and didn't deny the charge. She sat opposite Will , reaching for the closest dish.

Hannibal handed it to her, as well as a hollowware spoon and a cloth napkin. "It's a simple repast, as I anticipated Will's trouble. This is a bouillon of poulet, infused with carrot and homemade pasta.

Will felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. "Chicken noodle soup, then."

The skin around Hannibal's eyes creased as he smiled. "Yes. From a particularly well-nourished bird."

Will allowed Hannibal to place a small tray in his lap. His therapist had thought of everything, it seemed.

Hannibal shook out a cloth napkin and went to drape it over Will's stomach. Reaction beyond Will's control caused him to flinch.

"Apologies," Hannibal said smoothly, handing the napkin to Will.

"No, I'm sorry," Will stammered, chastising himself for flinching away from his friend. "I don't know why that happened."

"I suspect your mind is playing tricks on you," Hannibal assured. "Do not give it a second thought."

Yes, that's it, Will thought. But why is my brain tricking me into a fear reaction of Hannibal?

Hannibal didn't acknowledge Will's second apology. He simply picked up his own dish, and sat on the cushion next to Will, a surprising choice since the other armchair remained vacant.

Will shook his head. What did it matter where Hannibal chose to sit?

Taking a deep breath, Will dipped the spoon into the bowl. He lifted it to his mouth.

The first bite was delicious. The shredded chicken, the broth, a hint of spice, the noodle. Will sighed in relief and closed his eyes.

Blood. Salt and sweat. Gristle and offal.

Will started to cough. He lifted the napkin to his mouth. His shudders threatened to upend the bowl over his lap.

In a moment, Hannibal had lifted the tray away. Even as his stomach clenched uncontrollably, Will realized this was why Hannibal had sat too close.

"I'm sorry," Will coughed between spasms. "S-s-sorry."

Hannibal shook his head again, but there was no condemnation in his gaze.

"My dear fellow. You must stop apologizing."

Will stopped coughing, sat back depleted.

"Will, as your therapist, I must tell you there is nothing insurmountable here."

Will smiled. "Oh good. I feel much better."

Alana stood and walked over to Will. She sat next to him on the cushion formerly occupied by Lecter, reached out and touched his leg. "Will, we may need to hospitalization. You might need more controlled surroundings, guided care. An IV, for a start."

From Hannibal, Will felt a sudden blast of pure anger. Will glanced up at his therapist, but found only those same, inscrutable dark eyes watching.

"My dear Dr. Bloom," Hannibal said. "Let us not borrow trouble, and let us not alarm Will. I'm certain he is made more anxious by your talk of hospitals."

Alana frowned but nodded. She didn't leave Will's side, however.

"Will, I know you will not like this, but I need you to look into my eyes," Hannibal said.

Alana's eyes widened in surprise.

Will coughed, and glanced at Hannibal's singularly dark eyes. Will glanced away.

"No, I need you to keep looking. This is how we are going to get over this, Will."

Will felt his arms tighten, the skin on the back of his neck lifted.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

He felt ashamed of his inability to do as his doctor, hell, his friend had asked. After all their kindness.

"I can't."

Dr. Bloom, touched Will's knee gently. "It's okay, Will."

Again, Will imagined a bolt of rage from Dr. Lecter. With dawning comprehension, Will realized the rage was in response to Dr. Bloom's touch.

"Oh god, I'm losing it," Will said aloud, chiding himself internally for imagining that his friend was jealous.

"Never fear, good Will. I will not let you fall far," Dr. Lecter replied, strangely, and yet with the most warmth Will had ever heard in his voice. "Perhaps you may try some calming tea, and then sleep a bit, and then we will try again."

Will paused, and then nodded.

Hannibal went to prepare the tea.