DISCLAIMER: I claim no ownership of Hannibal NBC or affiliated branding (sadly).

SUMMARY: Still shaken from Baltimore, Will is thrust into the midst of a horrific new case: a killer targeting close to home. He struggles between clinging to personal morality and fighting new influences. He reaches his breaking point and, horrified by the aftermath, becomes desperate for emotional stability. Solace is found in the only person he knows will understand. Set mid season two.

NOTES: See chapter end.


'Nadir - The worst moment, the moment of least hope.'


Chapter One: Malattia

They dredged the third body from the river at eleven the following day, a little over three miles from Will's home. Despite Jack's insistent calls, Will prolonged the journey for as long as excusably possible while still maintaining a sense of urgency. Which was to say, of course, that he turned up well before the disposal units and investigators, the crime scene still fresh under his footsteps with every crunch of the snow.

Will spun on his heel and paced the bank of the river again, hands buried in his pockets. Vague strings of motive and method weaved through his mind into a tapestry, so ornate he believed he could vocalise the tenuous links. But when he tried to describe it to Jack his words fell jumbled from his lips, and shattered this faint hope.

It was their fourth lap of the riverbank. The fourth time Will spoke through the thinly connected evidence. And Jack just stared at him. Will waved his hands in an inarticulate gesture, conveying meaning his words could not.

Finally Jack replied, "You think this victim was killed alongside the second." His voice laboured slowly with restrained disbelief. Will read the lines around his eyes. A slight leniency had not left his stature since he was released from Baltimore. A desperate wish to regain his former standing with his favourite profiler, if only to reassure that each case would be solved with utmost proficiency and care. "But not alongside the first?"

"Yes."

"All three bodies were found equal hours apart. In different locations." In any other situation, or perhaps if Will was any other person, Jack's words would have been interpreted as patronising, in the same way you told a child monsters weren't real so they'd sleep at night. Will preferred to view it more as simply bouncing ideas off of each other. It made him feel better.

"The first one was separate from these two. Same perpetrator, but two different nights. Maybe three, if he took a day off."

Jack exhaled. Willing to indulge Will's theory for a second. "Someone can get a date on the victims. See if it could be the same guy. I'll call Bever -''

Will's involuntary jerk cut Jack off. He hastily forced a thin-lipped smile and turned his face away, Beverly's loss still frosty in his mouth. Jack began again. An apology laced through his tone like string. "I'll get Jimmy out here to get a date on that. I want you to see the girl's body. She's over here. You can do your analysis."

Will wasn't listening. Jack's words floated like leaves through one ear and tore apart before they lodged in the branches of his brain. Another car had joined the posse of officers' vehicles scattered haphazardly in the frosty clearing. And Will didn't have to register the fact it was civilian. He knew the make and he knew who owned it. "Why's he here?"

Jack stepped forward to plant himself at Will's side. "His profiling skills are effective in certain situations." Dire situations. "And -" Jack faltered, a rare remorse flashing across his features. "I thought you might appreciate his company. After yesterday's… events."

Will pointedly glared at the ground. His memories still swam with an undercurrent of panic, stemming from the disaster that was the previous crime-scene he'd analysed the day before. The one linked to this one.

Will changed the topic. He threw an accusation in there for good (perhaps 'snide' would be a better term) measure. "Trusting the Chesapeake Ripper with crime scene investigation, are you Jack? I thought you had me."

"I do have you. I have you both. He's not proven guilty yet."

"You know he is, though." Will narrowed his eyes. Jack sighed and walked towards the newly arrived Hannibal Lecter. Will didn't follow but called after him instead, voice light enough not to convey his full accusations in one. "Unless you just called him here because you want me to multitask two cases?"

Jack didn't reply. Will didn't want him to. His hands shook slightly in his pockets, flimsy from the cold and the tremor terrorising his fingers since Chilton. Will found himself categorising his life like that now. Pre-Baltimore, Baltimore itself, then just 'since Baltimore'. Though Hannibal Lecter would have been an equally sufficient marker in Will's timeline.

Will hadn't spoken to him since Randall Tier. His stomach was in a constant free-fall at the littlest reminder of the bloodshed. So he'd obstinately ignored all interactions with anyone apart from work and the delivery driver who dropped off his groceries when he couldn't be asked to drive to the store. And that included ignoring as many of Hannibal's calls as feasibly possible.

Will's feet found their way to the body bag still nestled in the frost. The team finished up the wrapping and evidence collecting. A human imprint lay solid in the drifts, deep and splattered with icy crystals newly frozen. Will stepped over it, but he wobbled and his foot brought snow tumbling onto the void body. He felt sick.

His fingers found the edge of the stretcher, clinging on like wool fraying at its ends. He unzipped the top of the bag, which peeled back flakes of dead skin, unearthing a skull beneath layers of dirt.

The victim couldn't have been more than fifteen, but her face was mauled to the point Will could barely tell. Bruising and blue lips highlighted the sunken planes of her face, and the skin tore away from her mouth to highlight an unblemished toothy grin. Will's ungloved hand brushed back her hair, shamelessly contaminating the evidence, and he loathed the action even as it appeared tender. Its only purpose was to better view the full scale of the injury.

Will half-turned his head to the figure who'd materialised from the breeze itself. Quiet, almost silent. "There were two more," he announced. "I think - I think it's not just a spree kill, though. It's like… like the killer has a larger motive than just an emotional outburst."

Hannibal nodded at Will's acknowledgement and joined him at the victim's side, footsteps loud now he'd been realised. But he was not perturbed by the thought Will had heard him coming. If anything, his immediate answer suppressed a quiet interest in Will's awareness.

"Jack suggested you were drawing connections from slim findings."

"Isn't that exactly why he hired me to begin with?"

Hannibal's lip curled upwards. "I believe it is." He reached for Will's wrist. When Will looked down, his knuckles were white, the dead girl's head tilted back under the weight of his own hand in a grotesque parody of softness. Hannibal carefully lifted Will's hand away, as Will snatched it back.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Hannibal ignored him. "Have you attempted to reconstruct the killing?"

"I don't think I'm ever not reconstructing." Will scrunched his hands into fists in his pockets. "It's just harder when the body is found at a different location."

"Perhaps. Yet I suppose your insights are likely as correct as ever."

Will pointedly ignored Hannibal's eyes flitting over his face, but noted the corners crinkled with the same emotion as the night Will brought him Tier. A smidge of curiosity, or even tentative satisfaction, dusting the edge of Hannibal's countenance like grime coming off of an unused instrument, an earthy confidence that he was nearing the closing cadence of a piece he hadn't expected to complete.

Will sighed. He was overanalysing.

"Where'd Jack go?" He broke the silence, shrugging off Hannibal's attention. He zipped the body bag closed and sealed it like a coffin. The victim would be gracing his presence soon in the form of crime-scene photos and the graphic imagery of the courtroom. And in nightmares.

"I believe he is discussing motive identification with Alana."

"Alana's here?" His already low spirits dimmed, doused with fear. He didn't need to deal with Alana's frosty avoidance today.

"Telephonically," Hannibal explained dryly.

Will wrinkled his nose, hiding his relief. "Adds up, I guess."

His feet sank through layers of crisp snow as he walked back towards the car fleet. Hannibal joined him, gait far more suited to the slippery environment than Will's. Another assured trait Will could curse him for.

"So, why'd Jack call you? I don't know about him, but I'd prefer to work without the Chesapeake Ripper breathing down my neck."

Hannibal fell silent, as he always did when Will spoke openly. Still that boundary loomed, a cliff to be leapt, despite their actions being anything but secretive in nature. "Uncle Jack believes we are best suited to catching criminals when paired together."

"Yeah, well…" Will tailed away.

He knew he worked best broken, he'd said as much. And nobody knew quite how to break him like Hannibal Lecter did.

Hannibal's stoic, blank-slate act faltered as Will presented no counter argument, and he smiled dimly. "I'm not so bad company, surely?."

"You sent someone to assassinate me less than a week ago."

"Retaliation. As you so artfully put: even-steven."

Will didn't feel even. He envisioned slipping over a cliff, tumbling over and over and over until it smashed into the rocks at the bottom and his thoughts scattered and spilled like sand. "I can't deal with you right now. I don't want to deal with you right now. So you'd better put that psychology knowledge to use and go talk to the team."

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "Certainly. Though I would rather stay with you. What next steps can I accompany you with?"

Will gritted his teeth. Attempts to ward Hannibal off dripped through his fingers, pointless. "The first two victims should be identified now. I'll start there."

Hannibal nodded. "And then?"

"I don't know." Will raised his arms in exasperation. "Backpedal to their families and find the original location of the murders. Something like that."

Hannibal's niceties grated on his senses. Will wanted him to leave. It rendered the case easier to navigate. Will knew murder far better than he did this newfound task Jack put him up to; he had no talent for manipulation.

Yet Hannibal's avid insistence displayed some marks of Will's work, an obsession he'd fed the flames of. He regarded Will with earnest. Will's eyes flitted away naturally, cloaking his deceit with awkwardness, awkwardness which was not necessarily unfounded. He coughed. "I'll figure it out as I go."

"If you wish, I could drive you to the station. It is nearer my home, after all."

"Uh… no thanks. I have my car."

Hannibal raised his eyebrow. "It was less about the journey and more about the company. You look tired, Will."

Will felt tired. Discomfort prickled the back of his skull, sharp thorns digging into the bone. Early headache warnings swam in the basin of his brain but he waved his hand, warding them away. He didn't need sleep. And he certainly didn't need a long conversation with Hannibal, no matter what Jack would say on the matter. He just needed to solve the case. Soon.

"Jack told me you've been struggling with this newest killer," continued Hannibal, pressing his nails into the emotional wound. "Any reason?"

Will thinned his lips. "None I want to disclose with you." Hannibal smiled knowingly. Will shivered.

Because he did. He wanted to open his mouth and let old blood spill from his lips. The fear he'd nurtured all week, born in his gut after Tier, had festered into a parasitic entity flooding his bone marrow. Rot had built its home in his heart and clung to his ribcage.

A part of him teetered on a small hope, a deep-seated trust that Hannibal could talk him through this. Half of him wanted to carve his own chest in two, to lay bare the wasteland within, drunk on memories of easier interactions – back when Hannibal had been just his psychiatrist, not a serial killer. The other half was logical, and jaded. Baltimore stung his thoughts with phantom pain.

Will stared over the cliff, tempted to let himself fall.

But fear wrapped its arms around his waist and held him back. He shook his head. "I - I've got to go. I'll do some research at the station. Jack… uh, Jack will probably want you here."

Hannibal, never one to push an issue beyond breaking point when he had no privacy, nodded assent. "Of course. Good luck. I am optimistic that I can still expect you for our session on Friday, correct?"

"Yeah."

Will hoped he'd imagined the disappointment in Hannibal's voice.

Jack would be pleased with his progress.


Will studied the smudge of purple under his eyes. The station's bathroom mirror was grimy, dusty water stains trailing from the middle to the lower edge. It flattered his image, in such a way to add to his unwell demeanour, highlighting the deep contour of his cheeks.

He hadn't looked so bad for a long time. Getting out of the state hospital had graced him with a semi-permanent flush, bringing colour to his cheeks in the fresh air. That dimmed over time, until now he was pale, a waxen complexion stretched over his skull.

Will dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out his neglected bottle of aspirin. He'd avoided it like a virus, but he permitted himself a small dose given that this headache felt genuine. No hallucinations, no lost time. Just a headache and all the sadness that came with it.

Someone walked behind him and entered one of the cubicles, thankfully ignoring Will's scarcely hidden breakdown. Will pinched the bridge of his nose. He inhaled. He closed his eyes.

When he finished this case, he was going to have a break. A long break. Sure, he told himself that every time and it never came to fruition, but he wanted to make sure of it on this occasion.

He didn't know how long he could last if he didn't have one soon.

He opened his eyes. The dead girl overlayed his reflection, her bluish skin overlapping his, her skinless flesh imprinted on his own face. He blinked and she was gone. But she remained hanging in the forefront of his mind, a dangling marionette. Her limbs twisted into a web, joined in unison with the two other corpses they'd found, and the three dead children paraded the stage of Will's mind in a sick puppet show.

Will sighed. He took another dose.


A/N: Felt there was an episode missing in season two that demonstrated Will's switch to trusting Hannibal. I have (for once) fully finished this work and plan to update every two weeks, but I may to switch to one if that's preferable.

As always, reviews are appreciated :D I'm working hard to build my writing skills, so constructive criticism is welcome.