Chapter 2

I-95 South

Thursday

Approximately 8:30AM the following morning found the sisters Bloom on the road, headed from Alana's two bedroom apartment in Baltimore, to a place called Wolf Trap, Virginia. They'd already been driving for over half an hour, and the younger of the pair fidgeted in the passenger seat of her sister's hybrid, scowling down at her to-go cup of coffee. "This is friggin' stupid," she griped, knowing full well how childish she she sounded and not caring one damn bit.

"'Lilah, please," Alana implored exasperatedly. "I don't know how long this will take and I can't leave you alone, okay?"

"Why not?"

At that, the elder sister gave her a withering glare, and Delilah huffed in annoyance. "I haven't done anything! I agreed to see your damn psychiatrist, and I haven't had a single episode in-… in like three days! I-"

Alana slammed her hands on the steering wheel in frustration. "Damn it, Delilah, who gives a shit?! Things like this don't just disappear!"

"Oh, and dumping me off with some boyfriend of yours is gonna be any-"

"Stop that," Alana snapped, "stop it right now. Will Graham is not my boyfriend. He's just a friend. You guys can hang out, watch some TV, and I'll be back before you know it."

Delilah made a show of rolling her eyes but said nothing and instead took a deep swig of her crappy, lukewarm coffee. Only six years separated them, and they were both grown adults, yet Alana still insisted on treating her like a moody teenager.

That irritating little voice of reason, the one that sounded obnoxiously like Alana, chimed in in the back of her mind-

'Well, you're sure as hell acting like one right now,' it whispered condescendingly, and Delilah pouted as she glowered out the window.

Whether or not her conscience spoke the truth, Delilah still couldn't help but be annoyed that her sister seemed to only view her as a problem that needed to be solved. She wasn't a damn Rubix cube; there was no algorithm to follow that would reveal the solution to what was going on with her. Deep down, she knew precisely what was causing her fits of mental instability, but if she focused on it enough to speak the words, she was inevitably sent crashing headlong into yet another one.

After several miles of tense silence, Alana sighed and finally loosened her iron grip on the steering wheel a bit. "Look," she started again softly, "I know this is weird. I know. But… Will is a good man. He's a little strange, but… I mean, so are you," she ended teasingly, offering a small grin which Delilah refused to mirror.

"Why couldn't you just have Dr. Lecter babysit me?" she grumbled impulsively, her mind conjuring up unbidden images of impeccably styled hair and expensive, perfectly tailored suits. "Wouldn't have to drive all the way out to bumfuck, Virginia…"

"Because," Alana hissed through gritted teeth, "Dr. Lecter is busy with patients all day and I doubt he wants you loitering in his waiting room all morning."

At that, the remainder of the trip was spent in a remarkably uncomfortable silence. For fifteen solid minutes, Delilah internally debated apologizing for her shitty attitude, but ultimately thought better of it as Alana abruptly jerked the car to the right and she spilled now ice cold gas station coffee on her pant leg. "God damn it, Alana!"

"Sorry, jeez!" She snapped, pulling onto the driveway. "Thought I saw a rabbit."

Delilah turned her scowl to the glove compartment and fished out a few napkins to sop up the liquid on her jeans, grumbling under her breath that this wouldn't have happened if she'd just been allowed to sleep the day away in peace, when suddenly she heard a cacophony of dogs barking. "What the…" She muttered, peering up over the hood to find a scruffy male peeking out the front door of the white farmhouse. The hounds she'd heard were spotted filing out around and through his legs, and Delilah let out a huff of mirthless laughter. "Oh great, he's one of those," she muttered, pointedly ignoring Alana's death glare as they parked and stepped out of the car. A couple of the bigger dogs made a beeline for Delilah and she slammed her back against the car door, a thrill of fear racing up her spine at the sudden onslaught of drool and teeth.

"They- um, they don't bite," the exhausted-looking man she assumed was Will called out to her, scratching at his head as he held a tatty robe closed around himself and meandered off the porch toward Alana.

"Super," Delilah replied unenthusiastically, cringing away as the dogs tried to leap up and slobber on her face. "Still, could you- could you maybe tell them to stop?"

Will let out a couple of high pitched whistles in rapid succession, and the canines darted off at once. Dusting herself off, Delilah mumbled her thanks and quickly paced across the lawn to join her sister.

A beat of awkward silence was broken when Alana cleared her throat and told Will pointedly, "Abigail's awake."

All sleepiness left Will Graham's eyes the moment he heard Alana's words. He was at once alert, concerned, and evidently upset as he suddenly grabbed her arm and ushered her toward the house, away from Delilah. "Why didn't you call me? I could have met you at the- at the, you know. A-a-and who is she," was all the blonde heard before they were too quiet and too far away for her to make anything out. She didn't bother to follow or eavesdrop. Instead, she focused her attention sideways on the mutts darting in and out of the woods, hoping they wouldn't come to bother her again.

Delilah wasn't sure how much time had passed before the pair finally came trudging back over to her, but both looked terribly annoyed.

"'Lilah," Alana called, dragging her attention to her and the male, "this is Will Graham. Will, this is Delilah, my little sister."

"Hi," Will muttered flatly.

With a sigh, Delilah replied with nothing more than a disgruntled 'hi,' as well.

"Well, uh… Now that introductions are out of the way," Alana continued, her eyes shifting back and forth between them. "I'll be back in a few hours, okay?"

Both Will and Delilah grumbled half-assed words of assent as they watched Alana get back into her hybrid and take off. Dust trailed after the silver car and they stared as it slowly dissipated with the breeze. Scratching at her nose, Delilah finally turned to face her new babysitter. "Sorry," she mumbled, ignoring his look of confusion. "Alana can be a bit of a pain in the ass sometimes."

"She's just concerned about you," Will replied immediately, and she shrugged.

Before yet more awkward silence could pass, he cleared his throat loudly and gestured up the stairs to his front door. "Um, want coffee?"

Looking down at her half empty paper cup, she shrugged again and marched past him, right into the house. She found her way to the small kitchen easily and threw her cup in the bin just as she heard Will shut the door. He didn't lock it, she noticed, and for that she felt a small sense of relief. She glanced up from the trash to find him standing awkwardly by the countertop.

"I… Uh… I'll be right back," he muttered, abruptly turning away and disappearing down the hall.

A couple minutes later, he came back dressed in well-worn jeans and a flannel and wordlessly began fixing them a pot of coffee. About twelve minutes after that, they were both seated uncomfortably in Will's living room, nursing their cups of scalding black liquid.

"Never met a woman who didn't take cream and sugar in her coffee," he suddenly blurted out, and Delilah simply blinked at him.

"Implicit sexism," she finally replied with a snort, "hell of a way to break the ice, Mr. Graham."

Will's brows knitted and he actually looked hurt as he replied sternly, "I'm not a sexist."

"Could'a fooled me."

"But I'm not!"

Delilah let out a peal of genuine laughter and shook her head. "Holy crap, I'm just messing with you!" she exclaimed, kicking off her shoes and setting her cup down on the coffee table so she could fold her legs under herself.

"...Oh, right," he muttered, before taking a deep swig of his own beverage and coughing.

"Burn your tongue?"

He nodded vehemently as he gingerly placed his cup down on the table with a strained, "Yep."

Chuckling lightly and feeling a touch less awkward, Delilah turned her attention to her surroundings. His furnishings were minimal, nothing excessive or expensive, with every item she saw having a clear and specific purpose. He was evidently the very antithesis of Dr. Lecter, she thought, though she couldn't fathom why he kept popping up in her mind.

"…Do you work with Dr. Lecter?" She asked before she could stop herself.

Clearly taken aback by the obscure change in topic, Will chewed on the corner of his mouth for a moment, then shook his head. "Um, not really? He's sort of my therapist."

"'Sort of?'" she parroted, one expertly maintained brow quirked in confusion.

"It's kind of like, um, under the table psychiatry? I do work for the FBI and my boss sort of, uh…" He paused a moment, eyes searching around the room as he cherry picked his next words. "My boss thinks I am… in need of… someone to talk to."

Delilah nodded slowly, leaning forward and snatching up her coffee to take a small sip. "Doesn't think you can handle it, huh?"

"No!" He practically shouted at her, his sudden increase in volume causing her to lurch; thankfully, she managed not to spill coffee on herself again. "Er, sorry," he mumbled, lowering his voice. "No, it's just… I-I just, well… Well, yeah," he finally conceded, sighing heavily. "After the Hobbs case, he thinks I'm… fragile."

Squinting, thoroughly puzzled, Delilah shuffled around on the couch to face his armchair directly. "So, why the hell are you still working for the FBI, then?"

"Because I'm good at what I do," he replied evenly.

"Ah," was all she could think to reply, busying herself with studying the fishing lures by the window and wracking her brain for a change of topic.

"So who's Abigail-"

"Why did Alana-"

The pair stopped mid-conflicting-sentences and blinked at one another. "Um, ladies first," Will muttered, taking another tentative sip from his cup.

"Who's Abigail?" she repeated without hesitation, having been curious ever since hearing the name. "Alana's never talked about her before. Though, I assume it has something to do with the FBI, and she never talks to me about work."

Scratching at the scruff on his cheek, Will stood up and began slowly wandering around the living room. "She's… Well, I'm sure you've heard about the-uh, the Minnesota Shrike?"

"That serial killer who offed a bunch of girls and tried to kill his daughter?"

Will nodded jerkily, clearly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. Still, he pressed on. "Abigail Hobbs is the… she's the daughter. He was a mess at the end, grasping at straws to kill; his wife and daughter were the last two straws." She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut as he continued, "I… I was there. I sh-shot him and we were able to keep Abigail stable until the medics could come. Well, he was able to. I couldn't… couldn't get my hands to cooperate."

"He?"

"Dr. Lecter held her throat to stop her from bleeding out. If he hadn't been there I-… I don't even want to think about what would have happened."

"Oh," Delilah whispered, staring down at the last dregs of her coffee. Clearing her throat delicately, she sensed it was time to stop this line of conversation. "So um, what- uh, what was your question?"

Dragging his top lip along his bottom teeth, he stared out the window for a full minute longer before turning his attention back to her. He rubbed his face and took a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling loudly as he plopped down on the couch, keeping a good two feet of distance between them. "I was going to ask why Alana brought you here."

Delilah frowned. "She didn't tell you?"

"Well, she didn't say much. She just said you couldn't be alone and that you were a bit, um, what was the word she used… delicate."

A loud snort escaped Delilah at Alana's choice of words, and she rolled her eyes to the heavens as she sighed exasperatedly. "I'm not a goddamn china doll," she griped, jumping up and stomping into the kitchen to pour herself a fresh cup of coffee. She could hear the light slapping sound of Will's bare feet as he followed her.

"If it means anything, I think you're pretty enough to be a doll," he said, offering a lopsided smile. He then added in a hushed tone, "I know what it feels like to have everyone think you're breakable."

Delilah stared at him for a moment, bewildered by his first statement. It didn't exactly seem like flirting, and she didn't quite know how to respond; instead, she focused on the second half and said candidly, "Well, Will Graham, I won't treat you like a fragile little teacup if you don't treat me like one, deal?" She held up the pot of coffee, silently offering to freshen his drink.

"Deal," he replied with a nod, lifting his cup to her.

She refilled it and replaced the carafe, then leaned back against the counter. The pair slipped into amicable silence as they watched the once wispy white clouds grow darker and fatter, a storm beginning to creep in. As she swiveled her sock-clad feet around on the tile, her stomach gave an almighty rumble and she touched a hand to her middle.

"I'm hungry," Delilah announced, abruptly setting her coffee down and moving to the refrigerator to peruse its contents.

"Uh, well-" He started, but Delilah, seeing nothing but half a carton of milk and some questionable eggs, huffed and slammed the fridge shut.

"What the hell do you eat, rocks and sticks?"

"Twigs have a lot of fiber, I'll have you know," he replied without missing a beat, and they shared a grin.

"You're funny."

"I have my moments."

Tapping her nails on the counter, Delilah sighed and looked around the kitchen. Spotting a phone on the wall nearby, she snatched it up and turned to Will. "How about pizza?"

"Pizza?" He blinked and looked at his watch. "It's barely ten."

"So? Places open at ten. Are you food shaming me now? First the coffee, now pizza?"

With a puff of laughter, he snatched the phone from her and shook his head, mimicking her sarcastically, "You're funny." She watched as he pulled a takeout slip from a drawer and began dialing the number.

"I know," she replied with a wide smile, before returning to her mug and taking a swig of coffee.

"Yeah uh, hi," he spoke into the receiver. "I'd like a med-"

Delilah cleared her throat loudly and shook her head.

"...Er, a large?" He corrected questioningly, and she nodded happily. "Okay. Yeah, a large. With, uh… Everything?"

She nodded again, vigorously, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"Yeah, I'm still here. Sorry… yeah, the works, whatever you wanna call it. Yep, delivery." He rattled off his address as he meandered to the phone cradle at Delilah's side. "Cash, yeah. Okay, thanks." He hung up the phone, then stared at her a moment and shook his head. "Pizza for breakfast," he muttered with an exaggerated sigh of feigned disappointment. "What would Dr. Lecter think?"

That caught her off guard and she coughed lightly on a mouthful of coffee. "What?"

"I've heard grand tales of the dinner parties Dr. Lecter throws at his house. Apparently he's a great cook, and prefers only the finest ingredients."

"I see," she replied, trying and failing to imagine Hannibal Lecter flambeing and sauteing things in a full three piece suit. "I don't see why I should care what he thinks, though."

"Because you like him," he said simply, and she choked on her coffee again as she spluttered to reply.

"I wha-"

"Everyone does. He's well-respected; everyone cares about his opinion." Will clarified flippantly, before squinting at her as though she'd sprouted a second head. "…Are you okay?"

"Went down the wrong tube," she coughed out, patting at her chest and clearing her throat loudly.

"Try not to breathe it in next time," he teased, nudging her arm. "But, seriously, your face is a tomato."

Delilah shoved a curl behind her ear and began picking invisible lint from her pant leg. "I'm fine. It's just… really warm in here."

"Well…" He started, peering out the kitchen window to study the cloud cover. "Pizza's gonna take at least twenty minutes. Wanna go for a walk before it starts raining?"

"...With your dogs?" She asked nervously, trying to hide the scowl she felt creeping up on her face.

Will laughed and sat his mug in the sink. "Come on," he insisted, waving at her to follow as he marched off to the front door, "I promise I won't let them jump on you."

"Ugh, fine." Throwing back the last of her drink, she sat her mug down as well and traipsed after him.

The next twenty or so minutes were spent wandering around Will's property, with his horde of canines in tow. As promised, he'd made sure they gave her a wide berth, most of the time, and not one of them tried to jump or drool on her, for which she was extremely grateful. During the walk, Will talked mostly, educating Delilah on fly fishing- something she could hardly care less about if she tried, but she was sure to nod politely and ask questions at all the proper times. Still, she knew by the time she left Wolf Trap she'd have forgotten the bulk of it.

Once the pizza arrived, Will took the effort to feed the dogs out on the porch, and Delilah even helped him fill the bowls; they then sat alone in the dining room and ate peacefully.

It was rather strange, how easy things seemed to be with Will Graham. She hardly knew him, but he was as nice and weird as Alana had claimed, and Delilah thought perhaps he would make a good friend. It had been a long time since she'd entertained the idea of being friends with someone of the opposite sex, but perhaps she could make an exception.

As she ate a third slice of pizza, she thought back on his comment about her being pretty, and realized she hadn't felt even a moment of unease. He didn't seem to expect anything from her and, even though she knew Alana had basically forced him to keep an eye her, for which he had every right to be pissed, he was still just genuinely kind.

When the pair had devoured over half the box, Will leaned back in his chair and sighed contentedly. "To hell with what Hannibal thinks," he announced, "pizza for breakfast was a great idea."

"Better than twigs?"

He let out an amused snort and nodded. "Yep. I'm gonna have pizza every morning from now on."

"You're gonna get so fat," she warned with mock seriousness.

"Fat and happy," he agreed. "Livin' the dream."

Sharing a laugh, they then quickly cleared the table, and Delilah set to work on the dishes while Will simply crammed the box of leftovers into the bottom of the fridge. "Oh, uh, you don't have to do that," he muttered, sounding uncomfortable as he edged nearer.

"You paid for the pizza; I can wash four measly dishes," she clipped, offering him a smile as she rinsed a freshly washed mug and set it on the drying rack.

"Well, uh… Okay," he replied, still sounding terribly unconvinced. She almost wondered if he had some kind of neurotic disorder and didn't like her touching his stuff, but upon further inspection, it seemed he was just restless with a lack of things to do. Her assessment was proven correct as she watched him shuffle back to the fridge, retrieve the pizza box, and unnecessarily place each slice in its own Ziplock baggie.

Delilah bit back a laugh and shook her head, turning back to the sink. She was only halfway through scrubbing a plate when Will broke the silence with an entirely unexpected question.

"So, uh, ever heard of the Chesapeake Ripper?"

Blood instantly began to thump in her ears at his words, and she wasn't sure why; she froze in the middle of washing a plate. "Um.. I-I-… What?" she stammered unhelpfully, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm herself; hoping it was just the lingering effects of the quetiapine still in her system.

"The Chesapeake Ripper," he repeated, wholly unaware of her present struggle as he tossed the bags of pizza back into the fridge. "We were talking about Hobbs earlier. Thought you might know about the Ripper."

The deep breaths weren't helping, and her tongue suddenly felt entirely too large and sticky in her mouth. Dropping the sponge, she grabbed the clean mug from the rack and ran it under the tap, taking a few quick sips of the unpleasantly mineral-filled water.

"I've just been going over the reports and I noticed there was one murder attributed to him that altogether makes no sense," he went on, still utterly oblivious. "Just one. It-It doesn't feel like the Ripper… I mean, sure, the body was dismembered and put on display in a, you know, artsy kind of way, but the Ripper kills in batches… And there weren't any other murders around the-"

"Wh-what was his name?" Delilah interrupted, the edges of her vision blurring inexplicably.

"Um… I can't recall, hang on." He turned at once and she watched over her shoulder as his shimmering outline moved from the kitchen and down the hall.

Violently shaking hands moved to set the partially washed plate and now dirtied mug into the draining rack, but she missed the mark completely and jumped back from the sink as they both bounced off the edge of the counter and shattered on the kitchen floor.

Will darted back into the kitchen, a hefty file in his hands. "Shit, Delilah, are you okay?"

"What was his name," she ground out, fighting to keep herself focused on the rapidly disappearing figure of Will Graham beside her. His kitchen was quickly shifting into a disgustingly familiar garage, and her entire body was shaking so violently that her teeth began to chatter.

A beat of silence; a rustle of papers.

"He uh-… h-his name was Travis. Travis… Bloom?"

Just as gut-wrenching realization dawned on Will, Delilah Bloom's eyes glazed over and before he could so much as think to reach out to her, the petite blonde let out a strangled sob and began sliding on her socks around the kitchen like a caged animal. She started ripping at cupboards and drawers, a discordance of sound assaulting his ears as various utensils both metal and plastic tumbled to the floor.

"D-Delilah, stop!" He stammered, hollering in his haste to snap her out of whatever the hell she was doing. She suddenly shoved him hard into the refrigerator and booked it out of the kitchen, the racket of his personal belongings being demolished chasing her in her wake.

Will cried out to her again and clambered after her through the chaos, cursing as he cut his feet on bits of glass, and sliding to a halt just as the front door thundered shut. With a quick glance at her own discarded sneakers, he stuffed his bare and now bloodied feet into his boots, then grabbed his coat and mobile phone before wrenching the door open and looking around frantically.

He finally caught a glimpse of Delilah's golden hair just as she fled through the thicket of trees and disappeared into the woods.

Hey, hi, hello there. I know I said I'd only be updating once a week or every other, buuuut I'm impatient, so here.

I'm gonna try to stick to a schedule from here on out though. Please do all of those fun follow-y things, and thanks for reading!