n1angi

[n1angi]

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 5 : RISOTTO MILANESE

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Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 4,5k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

The morning air was crisp, with a faint chill in Sidonie’s home, a reminder that winter was fast approaching.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a dim light through her apartment, with only the glow from the front door offering any brightness.

She picked up the leather bag she had packed the night before, hearing a soft whimper from her dog. Smiling, she crouched down to give Lucy a gentle pet.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” she murmured.

Lucy licked her face, and Sidonie let out a small chuckle. After leaving the house, she locked the door behind her and glanced at the two cars waiting outside. Noticing Jack stepping out of his car, she sighed and began walking toward him.

Today, Sidonie was meeting Abigail Hobbs, and the thought made her sigh. Although she was irritated at Jack for assigning her to a task outside her usual duties, her curiosity ran deeper.

There had to be some connection between Copycat and G.J. Hobbs. Why else would the copycat contact G.J. Hobbs if they weren’t somehow linked? Even if Hobbs didn’t know the copycat personally, the killer had to have some knowledge of him to mimic his actions so closely.

Will Graham had mentioned earlier that the copycat case wouldn’t resurface, but Sidonie had a nagging feeling, almost instinctual, that he would.

Whether Abigail could help with the case or not remained to be seen, but it was worth a shot.

“You’ll be in the second car,” Jack told her.

“Good morning to you too, Jack,” Sidonie replied as she walked past him, heading toward the car behind his.

She glanced at the sleek, expensive vehicle and noticed Hannibal in the driver’s seat with Will in the passenger seat. She gave them a nod before opening the back door.

Her eyes fell on a slender young girl with wide, steel-blue eyes that held a mix of confusion and slight tension. Abigail’s pale, almost ghostly skin made her seem even more fragile.

She leaned away slightly to make room for Sidonie.

Sidonie settled in, placing her bag between herself and Abigail, and greeted her coworkers.

“Good morning to you too, Miss Renard. Did you get any rest?” Hannibal asked with a slight smile as he started the engine, following Jack’s car.

“More or less. Thank you for asking,” she replied, noticing Will slouched in his seat, rubbing his eyes. Now, he didn’t seem to have gotten any rest.

Sidonie turns her attention to Abigail, who looks at her anxiously. Offering a gentle smile, she extends her hand.

“Sidonie Renard. I’m a forensic analyst. It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”

Abigail hesitantly shakes her hand, glancing between Sidonie and the others.

“I thought analysts were supposed to focus on evidence,” Abigail remarks.

“Umm, Yeah, that’s true. But sometimes understanding the bigger picture helps uncover details. Being present gives me a better sense of the situation, so that’s why I’ll be accompanying you on this trip.”

“Then I’m guessing you’ll be around quite often,”

Sidonie offers a subtle smile as Abigail continues to stare at her. She notes how expressive the young girl’s face is as if her emotions are laid bare for anyone to see.

“That’s right.”

Abigail smiles, but it’s clear that it’s forced, born out of discomfort.

Hannibal glances in the rearview mirror, observing them.

“How are you finding the weather, Abigail? I’ve heard it can be quite a change from what you are used to.”

Will subtly raises an eyebrow at Hannibal's question. Was he really starting a conversation with the weather?

“Winter is milder here than back at home… but I’m adjusting.”

“It’s often the small adjustments that are the most challenging, but they can also be the most rewarding,” Hannibal informs. “This trip can be considered as one of those occasions.”

“I just hope… it brings a bit of peace,” Abigail says softly, her voice almost a whisper.

She lowers her eyes, watching her fingers as they fidget. Her shoulders slump slightly.

“It’s not easy to keep hope alive… especially when everything feels uncertain.” Will murmurs, his voice raspy, betraying his fatigue.

“Will is right,” Hannibal adds. “Hope is a powerful ally, Abigail. You are brave for facing what lies ahead, even when the path is unclear.”

“…I’m- I’m just…Everything feels so heavy sometimes.” Abigail admits, swallowing hard. “Hope feels more like a dream than something real.”

Sidonie watches Abigail closely, placing her hand between them and subtly shifting her shoulders.

“You don’t have to force yourself to move forward if you’re not ready. The burden you’re carrying isn’t light. Sometimes… just staying where you are is enough.”

Abigail looks up at her, then down again with a small shrug.

“Yeah… maybe you are right.”

The car falls silent for a moment. Sidonie clears her throat and reaches into her handbag.

“I didn’t have time to eat anything so…”

She pulls out a chocolate bar.

“I brought some chocolate. Would you like some?”

Abigail nods and smiles shyly.

“Do you prefer dark chocolate or something sweeter?”

“I thought only old people liked dark chocolate,” Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie raises an eyebrow playfully.

“Thanks for calling me old”

Abigail gives a faint chuckle.

Will listens, feeling a small swell of emotion as he hears Abigail’s chuckle.

He hadn’t been sure if he could reach that part of her, get her to open up. The moments they shared were subtle, but he hoped that she would get to be happy one day. He genuinely wanted her to have a normal life.

“Mr. Graham,”

He glances at Sidonie, holding out a chocolate bar. He nods grabbing the bar from her hand, mumbling small thanks.

He breaks off a section and glances at Hannibal.

“I’ll decline, as I’m driving,”

Will shrugs and pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

“Suit yourself.”

As the group arrives at the airport, the terminals are bustling with travelers and the clatter of rolling luggage. They make their way through the crowd, following signs to their gate. After a swift check-in and security process, they board the plane.

Inside the aircraft, the cabin features muted colors and soft, overhead lighting. Will settles into his window seat and pulls down the shade to block the rising sun. Abigail takes the middle seat, looking weary, and soon drifts off to sleep. Sidonie sits beside her.

In the row ahead, Hannibal, Alana, and Jack find their seats together, exchanging quiet words as they get settled. Hannibal’s gaze occasionally drifts back, observing the surroundings, while Alana and Jack engage in a low-key conversation. The plane begins to taxi, and the engine noise grows louder as they prepare for takeoff.

As the plane ascends, the cabin settles into a gentle rhythm of vibrations and occasional turbulence. Sidonie’s eyes are fixed on the pages of her book, turning them with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Will struggles to find a comfortable position.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to fall asleep, he glances over at Sidonie, noticing the cover of her book. It’s “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath.

“Quite a heavy read for a flight”

“It’s been on my list for a while.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Interesting choice for this setting.”

“How so?”

“I am guessing you’re not near finishing it,” he looks over the page. “Yeah, not even close.”

Sidonie raises a brow at him.

“No spoilers please.”

He chuckles faintly.

“Such a book is impossible to spoil.”

Her attention turns back to the pages.

“I assume you read often.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“That’s what every bookworm says.”

Will shakes his head.

“Perhaps you got me.”

Sidonie smiles faintly.

“Do you read?”

“In my free time.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Crime and Punishment, by Dostoyevsky.”

Will nods.

“Classic.”

“You?”

“Frankenstein, Mary Shelley”

Sidonie hums thoughtfully.

“Huh, an Interesting choice.”

Will tilts his head, waiting for her to elaborate.

She places her book on a lap, her hands still holding it.

“Well, if you put it in a certain perspective, both of the characters deal with the consequences of their actions and look into darker aspects of themselves in their way.” she explains “Raskolnikov's surroundings had a profound impact on his actions, while Frankenstein's choices were more a product of his unbridled ambition and intellectual hubris. It’s interesting how both of them are driven to confront their inner demons, despite the different forces pushing them.”

“Huh…That’s a good way of putting it.” Will nods. He hadn’t thought of it that way but found the comparison intriguing. He realizes this is the longest conversation they've had since she arrived almost two weeks ago.

However, his lack of initiative and the irritation that came with Jack’s persistence were the biggest reasons for it. Will leans into his seat.

“Mhh, you have a talent for… connecting dots, even when they seem unrelated.”

Sidonie blinks, realizing she has rambled a bit.

She had felt and knew that Will didn’t think much of her. Perhaps even to say he was not particularly fond of her. But just now, she could tell his tone was slightly warmer and lighter. Even inviting.

“You’ve just described the reason why I’m here.”

“It can be your cognitive capabilities, and… some might consider a personality trait.”

“How so?” She looks at him.

“Well, um, It could mean you're constantly on edge, wary of revealing too much about yourself.” Will says slowly “As if you're constantly guarding yourself.” He pauses as she arches her brow. “Or perhaps you have a deep need to make sense of things, to feel a sense of security.”

"Looks like Dr. Freud is back from the dead.”

Will rolls his eyes, faintly smiling at her sarcastic remark.

“And here comes the humor, a classic defense mechanism,” Will adds in.

“And I’m the one overanalyzing now mh?”

“Touché.”

Abigail shifts slightly in her sleep, her head resting against Sidonie’s shoulder. She murmurs in her sleep, barely coherent.

Sidonie freezes momentarily but then adjusts so Abigail’s head is comfortably supported. Abigail’s face relaxes, showing a hint of relief.

Will watches the scene quietly. The interaction is subtle but undeniably comforting.

Sidonie notices Will’s softened expression.

“Let’s try not to wake her... She has a lot to face today.”

Sidonie tells him as he agrees with a nod.

As she goes back to her book, Will, unable to fall asleep, finds his mind preoccupied with other thoughts, looking forward to returning home.

Two rented cars pulled up at the airport, everyone loading their luggage and heading to their destinations.

The morning sun was dim but bright enough to cast a warm light on the car. The weather was nicer than in Washington, with a chilly breeze rustling the leaves on the ground. Minnesota was greener than Sidonie had anticipated.

The drive was quiet. Will, who had struggled to sleep on the plane, finally managed to doze off with his head resting against the window. Hannibal was driving, looking well-rested, while Sidonie assumed he must have slept during the flight.

In the other car, Abigail sat with Alana and Jack.

Hannibal glanced at Sidonie in the rearview mirror. She had her head propped up with one hand, her eyelids heavy as she looked out the window. The dim sunlight touched her face.

“I can wake you when we arrive, Miss Renard,” Hannibal offered softly.

Sidonie turned towards him, her gaze lazy.

“It’s okay. I prefer to sleep in a bed.”

Hannibal nodded and returned his attention to the road.

He gently pulled up to the motel, as Will had chosen to stay there rather than go into the city.

Sidonie stepped out of the car, and Will looked at her, still half-asleep. He had expected her to stay in the city with the others.

“Hannibal is heading to the city,” Will said, just to let her know.

“I know, but I’d rather get some rest right away,” Sidonie replied.

Will nodded and looked at Hannibal, signaling him to call before picking them up.

They received their keys and went to their rooms on the second floor, two doors apart, and settled in.

Sidonie looked around the room, noting the full-sized bed with white sheets, a small TV in the corner, and a table with two chairs. She drew the curtains and turned on the light. Setting her bag on one of the chairs, she sat on the bed and then lay down, closing her eyes.

The first day of travel had been exhausting, and she needed time to adjust to the new environment. She hoped she could trick herself into sleeping, but after ten minutes of silence and shifting uncomfortably, she gave up.

Getting up, she opened her bag.

Fortunately, she had picked up some food at the airport before their flight. She took out a sandwich and sat down in the wooden chair, leaning back.

As Sidonie unwrapped the sandwich, her mind drifted to a distant memory. She remembered sitting in the kitchen with her mother, a table of similar size between them.

She gripped the steel spoon with the delicate flower carvings. Her gaze fixed on the soup in front of her, which she could distinctly remember the smell of. It was earthy, and fresh, with a hint of onions, garlic, carrots, and celery mingling together. The smell should have felt comforting, but instead, it brought haunting tension to her.

Her eyes slowly drifted to her mum's hands, which were always empty of any jewelry. She could remember the navy dress she wore. She couldn’t quite place if it was old, or if she rarely wore it.

The memory of her face was blurry. All she remembered was her lips; tight and down casted. Her jaw clenched.

Sidonie took a bite of the sandwich but immediately felt her stomach churn.

It tasted acidic.

She spat it out and stood up, grabbing her bag and pulling out a water bottle to drink quickly. Her face showed her distaste.

Had she been given expired food?

Her eyes scanned the package, and the fresh date stared back at her, contradicting the discomfort she just felt.

The sleek, white car pulls into the driveway and Will glances back at Abigail. She looks over at Sidonie, prompting her to open the door. Both step out of the car, with Will and Alana following closely behind.

Abigail's gaze fixes on the large, graffiti-like letters scrawled across the front of her house. The word "CANNIBALS" glares back at her. She stares at it, her brows furrowing, her lip trembling slightly.

Hannibal and Sidonie stand behind her as Abigail slowly moves toward the house. Sidonie takes in the surroundings—a traditional two-story house with a classic suburban look. The muted brown bricks and siding give it a rustic feel, and fallen leaves are scattered across the black, sloping roof.

As Abigail nears the entrance, her eyes fall on a faded, rust-colored stain on the front step.

“Is this where my mum died?”

“Yes.” Will nods.

Her eyes slowly brim with tears.

“I was sort of expecting a body outline in chalk or tape.”

“They only do that if you’re still alive and taken to the hospital before they finish the crime scene.”

He explains as she stays silent for a moment.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Abigail mumbles softly as she steps into the house. Will lingers outside for a moment, staring into the distance before turning back to glance at everyone else, then heads in.

Sidonie follows, her eyes briefly falling on the faded stain by the entrance. She pauses, staring at it, lost in thought. When she looks up, she catches Hannibal’s gaze. He silently urges her to move along with the others.

They all step into the dimly lit room. Antlers are mounted on the walls, and the interior is dominated by dark wood and deep browns. Sidonie can't help but admit that the decor isn’t to her taste.

Alana stays close to Abigail, while the rest follow behind. Abigail hesitates in the doorway before entering the kitchen. The room has been scrubbed clean, every surface meticulously wiped down by the cleaners. The evidence box sits on the table, waiting for them.

“If you ever want to go, you just have to say so and we will go.”

Alana reminds her.

“Go where? Back to the hospital?”

“For now.”

Abigail notices that all the family pictures, once proudly displayed, have been turned around, their images hidden from view.

“They turned all the pictures over.”

“Crime scene cleaners will do that.”

“They did a really good job.”

She glances at the spotless table and then shifts her gaze to the floor.

“Is that where all my blood was?”

Will nods.

“Yes.”

Abigail faces him.

“You do this all the time? Go places and think about killing?”

Sidonie glances at Abigail and then shifts her eyes to Will.

“Too often.”

“So you pretended to be my dad?”

Will steps forward, moving closer to Abigail.

“And people like your dad.”

“What did that feel like? To be him?”

Hannibal eyes subtly narrow as he observes the exchange between Will and Abigail.

“If feels like… I’m… talking to his shadow suspended on dust.”

“You think you knew him?’

“I tried to know him. I still try.”

“Even after you killed him?”

“Maybe because, I killed him.”

Sidonie crosses her arms, her eyes lowering to the floor.

Abigail nods.

“No wonder you have nightmares.”

“The attacks on you and your mother, they were different. Desperate. Your dad knew he was out of time. Someone told him we were coming.”

Will explains.

“The man on the phone?”

Sidonie’s eyes drift back to Abigail and Will. Hannibal’s gaze follows hers, taking in her reaction.

“It was a blocked call. Did you recognize his voice?”

“I had never heard it before.”

Abigail’s eyes flick briefly toward Hannibal, as Hannibal tilts his head slightly.

“Was there anybody new in your father’s life? Someone you met or someone he talked about.”

Alana asks.

“He may have been contacted by another serial killer, a copycat.”

Will’s voice is gentle as he addresses Abigail, who furrows her brows in visible distress.

“Someone who’s still out there?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail swallows hard, a realization dawning on her that her nightmare is far from over and hope feels increasingly out of reach.

Sidonie walked through the hall and entered the room bathed in soft cream pastel hues.

This was Abigail's room. Her gaze swept over the full-sized bed with dark blue sheets adorned with white flowers, flanked by wooden nightstands. One of them held a white lamp and a photo of Abigail with a friend.

Approaching the desk on the right, Sidonie noted its neat arrangement of books. Above it, posters of horses, bands, and pictures from trips decorated the wall. Two small shelves displayed a few trophies, all earned from horse riding.

The room had a peculiar, somewhat unsettling scent.

As Sidonie examined the trophies, Abigail entered. Her eyes took in the sight of the woman In front of her.

Although Sidonie’s strong, distinctive features and deep, articulate voice were intimidating, just now there was a softness in her demeanor, which contrasted with her usual presence.

“Do you like horseriding?”

Sidonie shakes her head.

“Never tried it before.”

“But do you want to?”

Abigail asks her, and Sidonie glances over with a gentle smile.

“Now that I remember it, I would love to try.”

“I used to be afraid of the horses when I was small. They used so huge in my eyes.” Abigail shares “But after my dad forced me to start horse riding… I grew to love them.”

Sidonie gazes at her for a moment, lost in thought.

G.J. Hobbs had appeared to be a loving father, and despite everything that had happened, Abigail still seemed to love and miss him.

She wondered if it was truly possible to love a parent who had caused so much harm.

“I see.”

“They are suspecting me, aren’t they?”

Abigail suddenly asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s natural that they do,” Sidonie reassures her.

“Yeah…Why else would they send you here.”

“I’m not qualified for what they asked me to do. The only reason why I agreed, is for personal interest.”

“Personal interest?”

“Copycat killer.”

Abigail nods slowly, her gaze drifting away.

“I see… um, how does he kill?”

“He displays them theatrically. Like pigs. Leaves no evidence. Quite the character, I would say.”

“And you work on evidence.”

Sidonie nods in agreement.

Abigail crosses her arms and swallows, her expression tense.

“Is he… going to come after me?”

“There is a high probability that he might.”

Abigail nods her mind elsewhere.

Sidonie tilts her head slightly, observing her.

“Do you remember anything about him? The tone of his voice? Anything can help Abigail.” She gets closer to her “If we catch him, you will be safe.”

“Why do they suspect me?”

Abigail shifts the topic, drawing Sidonie's attention for a moment.

Alana had noted that Abigail seemed adept at gathering information while holding back her own—a subtle form of manipulation. Yet, Sidonie knew there was nothing to hide about their suspicions of Abigail. The girl was sharp enough to understand that much on her own.

“They’re struggling to understand how your father could have lured the girls.”

“I wouldn’t… I didn’t do anything.”

“The evidence doesn’t point to you. It’s just a theory.” Sidonie pauses. “But… it’s more likely that a copycat might be targeting you.”

Abigail’s gaze locks onto Sidonie’s, a flicker of terror in her steel blue eyes contrasting sharply with her calm olive green ones.

“If you remember anything, even just a small detail, it could help us solve the case. You’re under FBI protection, but that might not last forever. So if something comes back to you, you need to let me know.”

“He… He might have had an accent.”

Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie’s eyes widen slightly.

“An accent is a good detail. Can you remember anything else about it? Maybe where it was from or what it sounded like?”

“I’m not sure...”

A knock on the door interrupts them. Hannibal stands there, watching them.

Sidonie looks up, and Abigail, startled, glances at him.

“Dr.Bloom asked us to stick together,” Hannibal says, addressing Sidonie.

“Alright, let’s go downstairs.”

Abigail nods and moves past him, avoiding eye contact. Sidonie offers Hannibal a polite smile.

As they walk away, the wood creaks slightly under their steps. Hannibal’s gaze lingers on Sidonie’s back. His eyes darkened.

She was proving to be a complication.

Sidonie, along with the others, carefully unpacks the evidence box in the room.

“Can you catch somebody’s crazy?”

Abigail looked at the item in her hand.

“Folie a deux.”

Alana replies softly.

“What?”

“A French psychiatric term. ‘Madness shared by two.’”

“One can not be delusional if the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by others in that person’s culture or subculture. Or family.”

Hannibal adds as he sets another box down.

“My dad didn’t seem delusional. He was a perfectionist. After he skinned a deer, he would pluck the loose hair. Most people use a torch. Dad would remove all the hair by hand. He wanted to make sure he got every one of them.”

“Your dad left almost no evidence.”

Will said.

“You let me come home to find the evidence.”

“It was one of many considerations.”

Hannibal informs her.

“Are we going to re-enact the crime?”

Abigail as she looks at Will and Alana.

“You be my dad. You be my mom.”

She looks at Sidonie.

“You can be Agent Graham”

Then she looks at Hannibal

“And you be the man on the phone.”

Uncharacteristically, Hannibal is caught off guard by that. More so by Abigail’s steely nonchalant stare that followed.

Hannibal looks away as Alana's voice softens.

“We wanted you to come home to help you leave home behind.”

“You’re not going to find any of those girls, you know.”

“Why so?”

“Because he’d honor every part of them. Made plumbers putty out of elk bones. At least that’s what he told us. Whatever bones were left of those girls is probably holding pipes together.”

“Where did he make this putty?”

Hannibal asks.

“At the cabin. I can show you.”

“Abigail... there’s someone here.”

Everyone turns to see a girl with dark hair and a dark red leather jacket. She looks to be about the same age as Abigail.

“Hey, Abigail.”

“Hey, Marrisa.”

Marissa and Abigail head outside, with the adults deciding to give them some space. Will and Alana follow, standing at a distance to monitor the situation.

Inside, Hannibal and Sidonie go through the evidence box.

Hannibal’s gaze shifts to Sidonie as she fixates on a package containing a golden wedding ring. Her eyes locked on the ring, that had a slight stain of the blood.

Hannibal notices her intense focus, a subtle curiosity evident in his expression.

“You seem lost in thought Miss Renard.”

She puts it back down.

“Just thinking about the case.”

“I believe there should be more reasons for your agreement to accompany this case.”

Sidonie glances at him, her frows furrowing subtly.

“Perhaps, it is something personal,” Hannibal adds in.

“And what gives you that impression?”

“Everyone has a reason for doing what they do. Even being here has a purpose for each of us.  For Abigail, it’s a hope. Leaving her old life, to start anew.”

He watches her intently. She meets his gaze, her eyes briefly meeting his with a hint of curiosity. Raising her brows and sighing, she shifts her focus back to the evidence.

“I’m here because of the copycat killer. I’m curious of him.”

“Curiosity takes us to many places, but it always circles back to our mind. The real intrigue lies in the canvas itself, not just the strokes on its surface.”

She furrows her brows slightly, her gaze moving from his hands to his face.

As he examines the evidence with a calm demeanor, Sidonie feels an unsettling chill, as if something unseen is creeping up behind her. His calmness contrasts with the intensity of his scrutiny making him seem almost omniscient, adding to her discomfort.

“I suppose we all have our reasons for being drawn to certain things. If there’s something more personal, It’s my matter to handle. Not anyone else's.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Ah, a well-defended boundary. It seems that you have mastered the art of self-preservation Miss Renard.” He pauses “While such skill is admirable, it often leads to a certain solitude.”

Sidonie hesitates, the urge to deny the truth rising within her, but she can't escape the reality his words hold.

The loneliness she feels is palpable, shaped by her nature and circumstances. It leaves her with a sense of vulnerability as if she’s suddenly been laid bare.

“Perhaps there is some truth to that. Being alone is something I’ve grown accustomed to, but that’s what I chose, and manage just fine.”

She looks him in the eyes.

“But I can say for certain that catching this copycat killer will personally satisfy me. Knowing I’ve apprehended him will simply boost my ego and credibility.”

Hannibal’s eyes darken slightly, sensing the hint of need in her voice, almost a desire.

He smiles subtly, feeling a twinge of excitement.

A subtle yells come out of the yard as they look away.

A distant shout breaks the moment—Marrissa and Abigail are outside, calling someone out.

They look away, drawn back to the present, as the moment slips away and reality reasserts itself.

[n1angi]

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 4 : PARMIGIANA

previous chapter | next chapter

Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 3,2k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

Sidonie observed the man in front of her. He was tall and slender, with a lean, angular face. His blue shirt, brown tie, and colorful ornaments on his tie complemented his suit. His hair was styled neatly, giving him a sophisticated look. He was charismatic, well-mannered, and attractive.

“I’m honored to offer any insight I can,” he said to Jack, then turned his attention to the brunette. His eyes took on her appearance.

She was neatly dressed in classic trousers, leather-heeled boots, and a black turtleneck. Her outfit made her large olive-green eyes stand out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Jack speaks highly of you. I’m glad to work with someone of your caliber.” He maintained eye contact.

“The feeling is mutual. You’re also well-known around here. Agent Crawford seems to trust you a lot.” She nodded and smiled slightly, holding her hands in front of her as she glanced at Jack, who gestured for them to sit.

Jack cleared his throat, mentioning that Alana would join them soon.

“Abigail Hobbs woke up this morning. I thought we could consult two professionals before taking action since Miss Renard seemed hesitant about the idea.” Hannibal tilted his head slightly.

“What is the idea you speak of?”

“I have seven families waiting for an answer. I want Miss Renard to consult Abigail and find evidence of what is left of these girls. Speaking to Abigail will be necessary for trust.”

“I’m sure we need to give Abigail some time to process what happened,” Sidonie said.

“Sudden intrusion will only make her more cautious. It’s best if she speaks with her therapist for the first couple of days.”

Jack looked at Hannibal.

“As you can see, she is hesitant.”

“Hesitance isn’t the issue here, Agent Crawford. What you’re asking of me isn’t in my expertise. It’s a huge responsibility to consult a victim while trying to find evidence on them.”

“She might not be a victim at all,” Jack pressed.

“Her father slit her throat, and she nearly died,” Sidonie said, frowning. “She deserves some time to recover.”

Hannibal’s lips curl into a faint smile as if he’s trying not to show his amusement.

“I agree with Miss Renard,” Hannibal said calmly, looking at Jack. “It’s best to stay patient. We don’t want to rush.” He turns to Sidonie. “Combining her expertise while carefully observing Abigail could benefit the case. It might help move things along.” He notices Jack’s pleased expression. “However, given Miss Renard’s limited experience in this area, it’s better if those who have interacted with Abigail stay by her side.”

“Are you suggesting to accompany Miss Renard?” Jack asks.

“I believe it will be the best approach.”

“And what about Will Graham?”

“It’s best if he is there too.”

Sidonie holds her breath, dreading the possible reaction from the men.

“There’s a chance he might not be happy with this idea,” Jack reminds him.

“I expected such a response,” Hannibal replies.

The room falls silent. Jack sighed, realizing he could rely on Hannibal to manage the situation.

“Now, let’s move on to the painter’s case,” Jack stands up and looking at the wall covered with crime scene photos.

Hannibal and Sidonie also rise, with Hannibal holding back to let Sidonie go first. They approach the wall as Jack begins to speak.

“Seven deadly sins. That’s the theme behind the crimes. The number seven indicates the next possible cases, including this one. We have very little evidence of who the killer is, but…” Jack looks at Sidonie. “Miss Renard found a bristle and suggesting he might be a painter.”

“Quentin Metsys, the moneylender, and his wife,” Hannibal says with a slight smile. “A representation of greed.”

“At first, we thought it might be a copycat,” Jack continues, “but that theory was dismissed.”

“Understandable,” Sidonie adds. “A copycat sees himself as superior to his victims. This killer, however, seems to feel undervalued. A copycat is meticulous and proud of his work.”

“Are you familiar with profiling, Miss Renard?” Hannibal asks, intrigued. Sidonie shakes her head.

“No, not really. I just took into account what Mr. Graham said about the case. But over time, you start noticing patterns between evidence and the traits of the criminals.”

“Are you suggesting that evidence itself has character?”

“Not exactly,” Sidonie replies. “But there might be a connection between the evidence and the killer’s traits.”

Hannibal considers her words thoughtfully.

“Do you have any ideas about the killer, Dr. Lecter?” Jack asks. Hannibal turns back to him.

“There’s a chance he may not be a painter after all.”

“Why’s that?” Jack inquires.

“Being a painter is a well-known profession. If he was working as a painter, it would be easier for him to be identified, especially if he was dealing with recent frustrations.”

“And what makes you think that?” Jack asks.

“The statement he’s making.” Sidonie looks frustrated, trying to think of other possibilities. Hannibal’s point about the painter’s potential exposure makes sense. “The choice of the seven deadly sins isn’t random. It shows his inner conflict, his struggle with his own failures, and the wrongs he feels he has faced. He might be revealing something about his own life. There’s more to his story that he wants to share.”

“Well, we need to catch him before he can tell us more,” Jack insists.

The door opened automatically as she stepped outside, her boots clicking as she walked to a bench and sat down. She sighed, rubbing her slightly sweaty hands together. The contrast between the hot office and the cool air outside was noticeable.

She looked at her thumb, watching the sweat mix with her palm.

“Miss Renard, are you okay?”

She looked up, startled by Hannibal’s sudden presence. “Yes, I just needed some fresh air. It’s much cooler out here than in the office.” She wiped her hands on her trousers and moved slightly to make room for him.

Hannibal sat beside her, crossing his legs.

“Do you tend to run hot?” he asked.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” she replied. Hannibal nodded, recalling how cold the room had been earlier. He looked around.

“You mentioned earlier that evidence might link a killer to their traits. What about a painter? What traits might fit him?”

“Will Graham has already covered that. I have nothing new to add,”

“And what about Abigail Hobbs? Is there any evidence that could suggest she’s guilty?”

Her gaze lingered on his face, curious about the sudden change in topic.

“There’s a chance she could be, considering the nature of the crimes. But right now, the only clues would be in her current behavior, which I’m not sure I can help with.”

Hannibal nodded, clearly unsatisfied with her response. It didn’t provide him any new insight, personal or professional.

As his eyes drifted to her hands, he observed how her fingers were intertwined. He saw a scar running from her middle finger down her hand. Recalling the article Freddie Lounds had written about her, it seemed obvious to him why she seemed so anxious earlier.

“Your approach to her seems sympathetic. Some might even call it kind.”

“I’d describe it as flexible, rather than kind.” She looked away, her gaze falling on two familiar figures approaching from a car. “Approaching her right now might be overwhelming, especially after what she’s been through. Whether she’s guilty or not, it’s tough for anyone.”

Hannibal followed her gaze, seeing Alana and Will approaching.

“Balancing empathy with objectivity is no easy task, and you handle it with a rare skill,” Hannibal said. Sidonie blinked at his compliment. He smiled subtly at her reaction.

Will and Alana reached them, and Sidonie and Hannibal stood up.

“I’m glad we’re not too late, Has Jack arrived?”

“We’ve already spoken with Jack,” Hannibal replied.

“So we’re late,” she mumbled.

Noticing Will’s gaze, Hannibal turned to him.

“I assume you know Abigail has woken up?”

“Heard of it,” Will said sarcastically.

“And I assume he wanted to interview her right away,” Alana predicted, raising her eyebrows.

“I won’t argue with that,” Hannibal smirked. Alana shook her head at his response. “Miss Renard suggested we wait before talking to her, which seemed like a wise course of action.”

Hannibal looked at Sidonie, drawing her into the conversation. Alana smiled.

“I’m glad someone agrees with me,” Sidonie nods, smiling slightly.

“Shall we go in?” Hannibal asked Alana, who nodded in response. They headed inside while Will stayed behind.

Sidonie noticed that Will didn’t move, adding to her unease from their earlier shared eye contact.

As the door closed, Will looked around, finding the area empty.

“Jack has involved you in this case, after all,” he mumbled, catching himself. He realized his words might sound unpleasant despite his intention to start a conversation.

“I understand you’re not thrilled about this. But whatever Jack has assigned to me doesn’t reflect on your professionalism,” Sidonie replied.

Will chuckled, almost painfully.

“He doubts my judgment, that’s what it is.”

Sidonie remained silent as she shared the same concern.

“He doubts anyone who disagrees with him,” she pointed. “He strongly believes Abigail was involved.”

“What do you believe in?”

Sidonie blinked in surprise at his question. After a second, she turned to him.

“I trust the evidence, which suggests she wasn’t involved. I won’t rush to judge Abigail Hobbs just because of her father.”

Will looked at her face and saw no signs of deceit or falsehood. She appeared confident and sincere.

Noticing his steady gaze, Sidonie stepped away.

“I need to get back to work.”

Will stared at the road ahead as he and Hannibal drove to the psychiatric hospital to visit Abigail Hobbs, who had woken up a few days ago.

Surprisingly, Jack had taken Sidonie’s advice, and Alana had been persistent about giving the young girl her space.

Will felt a mix of nerves and guilt. He wasn’t just troubled about talking to Abigail; he felt bad for leaving her orphaned, even though he didn’t regret what he did to her father.

He remembered how Garet Jacob Hobbs had looked as life left his eyes, and he was relieved that Abigail hadn’t met the same fate.

Hannibal, who was driving, broke the silence.

“Something on your mind, Will?” Will rubbed his face. “You’re not sure what to say to her.”

“Are you?”

“No,” Hannibal replied, “but our best approach is to stay by her side and help her open up over time.”

“I’m not sure she’ll feel safe around me.”

“You saved her life,” Hannibal reminded him.

“You did,” Will countered.

Hannibal thought for a moment and then said calmly.

“We both played a part. What matters is that she knows she’s not alone. Building trust takes time, and your presence will help her feel safer.”

“What if my presence does the opposite?”

“Your empathy, though it might be a burden to you, can help bridge the gap to her healing. She needs to see that someone understands her pain, even if she doesn’t recognize it yet.”

Will sighed, feeling the weight of Hannibal’s words.

As the car stopped, Will and Hannibal entered the hospital and asked to see Abigail. To their surprise, the nurse told them she already had a visitor. They exchanged a puzzled glance, as the only people who knew Abigail’s location were the FBI and Alana, who they were sure weren’t there.

“Can you describe the person visiting her?” Will asked.

“A short woman with long curly red hair and blue eyes. She’s neatly dressed.” The nurse replied.“

Will frowned in confusion and asked the nurse to lead them to Abigail’s room. When they opened the door, they saw the red-haired woman sitting on Abigail’s bed, talking to her.

“...Works for the FBI but isn’t really an FBI agent. He catches insane men because he can think like them. Because he is insane,” Freddie Lounse said, looking at them.

Will immediately recognized her by her manner of speech.

“Would you excuse us, please?” Will irritate. Freddie stood up as he approached Abigail’s bed. Abigail looked around the room with confusion in her blue eyes. “I’m Special Agent Will Graham,” he introduced himself.

“By Special Agent, he means not really an agent. He didn’t pass the screening. Too unstable,” Freddie looked at Will.

“I insist that you leave the room,” Hannibal interjected. Freddie pulled out her card.

“If you want to talk—”

Will snatched the card from her without saying a word. Freddie didn’t resist and left the room. Abigail looked between the two men as Will removed his glasses and wiped them.

“Abigail, this is Dr. Lecter,” he introduced. After a pause, he asked if she remembered them.

Abigail turned her gaze to Will.

“I remember you. You killed my dad.”

Will nodded, his jaw tightening slightly.

“You’ve been in bed for days, Abigail. How about we take a walk?” Hannibal suggested.

Abigail walked weakly into the garden, supported by Hannibal and Will.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save your mother. We did everything we could, but she was already gone.” Will said softly.

“I know. I saw him kill her.” Abigail replied, tears stinging her eyes but not falling. They helped her sit down. “He was loving right up until the second he wasn’t. He kept telling me he was sorry and to just hold still.” She stops “He was going to make it all go away.”

“There was plenty wrong with your father, Abigail, but there’s nothing wrong with you.” Will looks at her. “You said he was loving. I believe it. That’s what you brought out in him.”

Abigail fell silent.

“It’s not all I brought out in him,” she whispered, looking at Will. “I’m going to be messed up, aren’t I? I’m worried about nightmares.”

Will didn’t respond. He couldn’t promise her she would be okay or that she wouldn’t be affected.

“We’ll help you with the nightmares,” Hannibal reassured her.

“There’s no such thing as getting used to what you experienced. It bothers me a lot. I worry about nightmares, too.” Will admitted as he sits down next to her.

“So killing somebody, even if you have to do it, it feels that bad?” she inquires.

Hannibal looks at Will, curious how honest his answer will be.

“It’s… The ugliest thing in the world.” Will says carefully as Abigail takes his words in.

“I want to go home,” she whispers.

Freddie Lounds leaned on the hood of Hannibal’s dark blue Bentley, waiting. When she saw Hannibal and Will approaching, she quickly stood up, almost respectfully.

“Special Agent Graham, I never formally introduced myself. I’m Freddie Lounds.” She offered her hand. Will put on his glasses, ignoring her hand.

“Are you trying to salvage this joke from the mouth of madness?”

“Please. Let me apologize for my behavior there. It was sloppy and misguided. And hurtful.”

“Miss Lounds now isn’t the time,” Hannibal spoke. Freddie looked at Hannibal but continued speaking to Will.

“Look, you and I may have our own reasons for being here, but I also think we both genuinely care what happens to Abigail Hobbs.”

“You told her I was insane,” he hissed.

“You weren’t the only topic in the article,” Freddie defended herself, noticing Will’s clenched jaw. “I can undo what I said.” Will tried not to laugh at how absurd she sounded.

“You help Abigail see me as more than her father’s killer and I help you with online ad sales?”

“I can un-do what I said. I can also make it a lot worse.” Freddie warned. Will’s face twitched as he stepped closer to her.

“Miss Lounds, it’s not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.”

Sidonie sat at her desk, working on a sample from the corpse. Jimmy clicked his tongue in frustration, and Beverly raised an eyebrow.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Another article about Will Graham by We All Know Who,” He chanted. Almost everyone gathered around to look at the article on the computer.

Sidonie stayed at her desk, shaking her head slightly. She knew that no one, not even Jack, could stop her from writing nasty articles.

“It’s not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living.” Jack sits behind his desk reading off of his computer screen “You know what else isn’t very smart?” he looks at Hannibal, who sits next to Will. “You were there with him and you let those words come out of his mouth.”

Alana glanced at the two men next to her, and Sidonie did the same.

“I trust Will to speak for himself,” Hannibal clarified.

“Evidently, you shouldn’t.” Jack replied.

“I’m just happy the story wasn’t about Abigail Hobbs,” Alana said with a slight shrug..

“Then it’s a victory.” Jack pressed his lips together and nodded. “So Abigail Hobbs wants to go home. Let’s take her home.”

“What Abigail wants and what she needs are two different things. Taking her out of a controlled environment would be reckless.” Alana defends.

“You said she was practical.”

“That could just mean she has a dissociative disorder,” Will adds in.

“You take her home, she may experience intense emotions, and respond aggressively. Or reenact some aspect of the traumatic event without even realizing it.” Alana worried as Jack glanced at Hannibal, knowingly.

“Where do you weigh in on this, Doctor?”

“Doctor Bloom is right, but there is a scenario where revisiting the trauma event could help Abigail heal and prevent denial.” Alana shook her head and looked at Sidonie, who was quietly observing the discussion.

“Then we have a difference of opinion. Therefore I’m choosing the opinion that best serves my agenda.” Jack looked at Will. “I want to know if you are right about our Copy Cat Will.”

Will, looked tired, almost asleep.

“We have no way of knowing what’s waiting for her when she goes home,” Alana points out.

“And the publicity might make things worse. The whole city knows about her and her father because of Freddie Lounds.”

“Miss Renard has dealt with Freddie Lounds before. I’m sure she can talk to Abigail about it.” Jack asserts.

“I should add ‘Public Relations Expert’ to my resume,” Sidonie snarked with a slight smile. “I feel like I deserve a raise.”

“Perhaps a comic would be a better choice.” Jack retorts at the comment.

“A shared experience can help Abigail deal with her situation, but Miss Renard isn’t qualified to question her,” Alana argues.

“Hannibal and Will will accompany her as she works on the case.”

“It seems I don’t have a say in this,” Alana’s tone was sharp with frustration.

“No, not on this one,” Jack confirmed.

The room fell silent.

“I think Jack’s right,” Will spoke up, recalling what Hannibal had said on the way to the hospital. “Having someone who’s been through a similar ordeal could help Abigail. It might bring her some… normalcy and comfort.” Hannibal looks at Will, somehow amused at his agreement. He looks at Sidonie, who also seems to be taken aback by his words. “Maybe she can make things easier for everyone…”

Sidonie and Will lock eyes for a moment, their gaze sharing a sense of understanding, or knowing, like back in the pharmacy.

Hannibal observed the moment between Sidonie and Will with curiosity.

“Well, I have to admit, Will, I didn’t see this coming,” Jack says with a tone of genuine surprise as they break eye contact. “But I’m glad you’re on board.”

“So what’s the plan?” Alana asked.

Jack turned to Sidonie.

“Get ready for the trip. We are taking Abigail Hobbs to her nest.”

[n1angi]

𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐨𝟑 ♡

[n1angi]

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 3 : BOUCHE

previous chapter | next chapter

Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 3,9k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

The following day arrived, and the routine remained unchanged. They examined the found evidence and documented it together.

It was a peaceful day, thankfully devoid of any new murders. The four of them split into pairs to examine the bodies.

The lab door creaked open, revealing Will Graham with a cup of coffee in hand. He approached Brian and Jimmy, observing the corpse. Will donned gloves and joined them.

“What were they soaking in?”

“A highly concentrated mixture of hardwoods, shredded newspaper, and pig poop. Perfect for growing mushrooms and other fungi,” Jimmy explained, as Brian pointed at the kidney.

“It wasn't the mushrooms though. They all died of kidney failure,”

“Dextrose in all the catheters. He probably used some kind of dialysis or peristaltic to pump fluids after the circulatory systems broke down,” Beverly suggested, moving closer to the group. Will glanced briefly at Sidonie, who seemed to be engrossed in her work.

“Force-feeding them sugar water,” he concluded, turning back to Beverly.

“You know who loves sugar water? Mushrooms. They crave it” Jimmy chimed in.

“Recovering alcoholics crave sugar. Uh, don’t take that personally,” Brian teased Jimmy, prompting a smile from Beverly.

“I'm not recovering,” Jimmy retorted with a smirk.

“But alcoholics aren't the only ones with compromised endocrine systems.” Will mumbled as his expression shifted into a realization. “They all died of kidney failure? Death by diabetic ketoacidosis?”

Beverly to raise an eyebrow at Brian.

“Did you know they were diabetics?” she inquired.

“We don't know.”

“No, they are all diabetics,” Will confirmed, shaking his head. “He induces a coma and puts them in the ground,” Beverly couldn't help but smile at his deduction.

“How is he inducing diabetic comas?”

“Changes their medication. He's a doctor or a pharmacist or works somewhere in medical services,”

“He buries them, feeds them sugar to keep them alive long enough for the circulatory systems to soak it up,” Beverly summarized.

“So he can feed the mushrooms,” Jimmy added.

“We dug up his mushroom garden,” Brian lamented.

“He'll want to grow a new one,” Will remarked before leaving the room to inform Jack about their discovery.

Sidonie gently pulled a red hair from the corpse, recognizing it immediately.

“What's that?” Beverly asked, taking a step towards Sidonie.

“Freddie Lounse,” she replied, storing the hair in a small container. Brian glanced up at the name.

“How did she get there before us?” Beverly wondered, looking around.

“She has her ways…" Sidonie shrugged. “It’s a surprise she hasn’t been caught for contaminating the crime scene. It’s not like she hasn’t done this before.”

“Wait...” Jimmy stepped closer, examining the hair. “Doesn’t it look like the one found in Minnesota?” Everyone turned to him. Beverly groaned slightly.

“She was there too.”

Brian stayed silent, listening to the conversation unfold.

“Should we inform Jack, or...?” Jimmy wondered aloud.

“It will be wise to report it,” Sidonie suggested, her gaze returning to the corpse. A suspicion crossed her mind. “Maybe there's someone in B.A.U. leaking information. How else would she know about the locations?”

“You are right.” Beverly nodded. “It’s best if Jack knows.”

Jack Crawford and Will Graham, accompanied by other agents, approach the serene-looking pharmacy. Jack briefs Will.

“She's the chain’s 10th diabetic customer to disappear after filling a prescription for insulin, second from disappear from this exact location.”

“The other eight.”

“All over the county. One pharmacist has been all over the county, too,” Jack replies.

“A floater, huh?”

“Floater's floating right there. Still logged into his workstation,” Jack remarks, as the armed agents approach the pharmacy counter. Upon noticing the FBI agents, individuals raise their hands. Some of them kneel, others lean against the wall.

Jack displays his badge and announces loudly.

“Everyone. Stop what you're doing and put your hands in the air.” Will stands behind him as the pharmacists comply.

“Special Agent Jack Crawford. Which one of you is Eldon Stammets?” The pharmacist glances at his colleague beside him, looking puzzled.

“Eldon was just here. Just now,”

“His car still in the parking lot?” Will asks. The pharmacist falls silent, and Jack raises his voice, insisting.

“His car!”

Beverly and Sidonie arrive at the pharmacy, announcing their intention to review the documents and potential evidence. Brian begins examining the medicines while Jimmy and Sidonie focus on the prescriptions nearby.

Beverly checks the computer, her eyes scanning the screen until she notices something familiar recently accessed. Opening it, she discovers an article, causing her eyes to widen.

“Jimmy,” she calls out, gesturing to the screen as he approaches. He reads the title.

“I’ll go and get Jack.”

“What’s the matter?” Brian asks curiously.

“It's Freddie Lounse,” Beverly informs. Sidonie's attention is piqued upon hearing the name. Brian reads the article title. His eyes slowly look up at Sidonie.

“It’s about Will Graham and… you.”

“What?” Sidonie's brows knit together, blinking. She approaches the computer, standing between the others as she reads the article.

The headline reads, “EXCLUSIVE: 'MATCH MADE IN HELL,”. Beneath it, she comes across a picture of her where she tries to approach Will.

She continues reading about what Freddie wrote about him. The article portrays the FBI as paying a psychopath to catch another, essentially painting them as one of them.

“The esteemed profiler seems to have found himself a fitting counterpart, who is, not so surprisingly, the daughter of a murderer. What a charming pair, don't you think? After all, why else would she choose such a career path? Her knack for murder runs in the family!

Oh, but let's not forget her delightful habit of falsely accusing her colleagues, leading to their unfortunate job losses. Such dedication to spreading chaos surely speaks volumes about her upbringing. Is this how she channels her impulses? By wreaking havoc and ruining lives for sheer entertainment? Just ask her former coworkers who fell victim to her blame game, leaving them out of a job. Looks like her idea of therapy involves a little collateral damage. Daddy issues, anyone?”

Jack and Will approach them.

“Freddie Lounse,” Brian speaks hesitantly. Sidonie takes a step back from the computer. Her expression shows a hint of a frown, but she quickly smoothens it, maintaining a composed demeanor.

Beverly informs Jack she can’t read it out loud because it goes into detail, so Jack reads it quietly. Will does the same. As Jack finishes, he curses.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” he mumbles. Silence falls upon the group.

Will looks at Sidonie, curious about her reaction to the article.

Without a complete understanding of her history and actions, likely exaggerated due to Freddie Lounse's article, the potential parallels between Sidonie and Abigail Hobbs provided a faint sense of comfort.

Jack hadn't factored in Sidonie's past, but regardless of this Will couldn’t help but relax slightly at the thought of her hastily judging Abigail.

Sidonie sensed Will's gaze on her. Looking at him, their eyes locked. His deep blue hues met her olive green ones for the first time.

A wave of anxiety and discomfort washed over her. Quickly averting her gaze, she excused herself, stepping back to catch some fresh air.

Hannibal sat at his desk, his posture upright but his gaze downcast as he read a recent article by Freddie Lounds. His attention lingered on the image of the unfamiliar woman depicted in the article.

After reading it through, he closed the page with a slight shake of his head.

“You are naughty Miss Lounds.”

Sidonie sat at the table, pen in hand, diligently jotting down the evidence they had gathered from the pharmacy earlier that evening. Her gaze drifted over the paper as she wrote, though her mind wandered elsewhere, causing her to shift in her seat and blink, trying to refocus.

With a firm grip on the pen, she clenched her jaw slightly, meticulously labeling the evidence and noting its details, such as location, custody, and packaging.

As she glanced at one of the photos of the evidence, memories of Will Graham's acknowledging look after reading the article flooded her mind, eliciting a sense of irritation.

She disliked the sudden attention drawn to her past, especially due to Freddie Lounse's article. It seemed history was repeating itself, and she found the notion unsettling.

The door creaked open, and Jack Crawford entered the dimly lit lab, the sound of his footsteps echoing.

Sidonie's eyes darted to him, surprised by his sudden presence, which put her on edge.

“Agent Crawford.”

“I took care of Freddie Lounse. The article has been removed,” he informed her, prompting Sidonie to relax her shoulders slightly, unaware of how tense she had been. “I ensured she won't write about you again.”

“Thank you,” she replied, though her gratitude was tinged with doubt.

“She confessed she was in Minessoda.” Jack continued, recalling the earlier report the team gave him on the case. Sidonie nodded as silence loomed over the room.

“I assume you've had dealings with her before?” Jack inquired, prompting Sidonie to sign, as she crossed her arms.

“Unfortunately,” Jack mirrored her posture, prompting for more information. “She wrote an article about me, back when I worked in law enforcement.”

“And when was this?”

“A few years ago,” Sidonie replied, her tone curt. “After I reported some of my coworkers for misconduct, including breaking protocols and involvement in drug-related offenses. Agent Lawson ensured everything was documented. You can check if you are curious.”

“You sure do have a knack for reasoning everything with evidence,” Jack remarked with a lighter tone.

She chuckled softly, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

“It just comes naturally to me, I guess,”

“I'm not questioning you. I trust Harold's judgment of you. That's why you're here,” Jack assured her.

Her former boss had always spoken highly of her, acknowledging her hard work, and she was grateful for the recognition.

“However, I don’t get one thing. Why would they speak ill of you?” Jack inquired, taking a step closer.

“Because it's easier to shift blame onto someone else for your own mistakes,” she replied, meeting Jack's gaze. “Especially someone with a background.”

Jack's expression tightened slightly, a hint of discomfort flickering across his features.

“Did they know?”

“When you're looking for someone to blame, you'll dig up anything you can find.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Jack nodded, his eyebrows raised in understanding.

Sidonie turned to her notebook, her handwriting from earlier appearing shaky as she glanced at it.

“I'd like to ask you a favor.” Jack began, catching her attention. She had a suspicion of what he might be hinting at after their conversation. “You and Abigail Hobbs share some, overlapping aspects in your past. I want you to talk to her,” he requested.

Bingo.

“You have Will Graham, a man with an empathic mind who can understand anyone. I'm sure he can determine if Abigail Hobbs was involved in her father's actions,” Sidonie reasoned.

“Convincing him to see things differently is a challenge. You've seen it yourself,” Jack responded, causing Sidonie to lean back on the table, feeling hesitant about the idea.

“Why do you doubt Will Graham?”

“I doubt his judgment regarding Hobbs's daughter, not him. Guilt can cloud anyone.”

Sidonie looked away slightly, acknowledging the truth in his words. Guilt was indeed a powerful blinder.

“According to the regulations, Abigail should have a psychologist,” Sidonie pointed out.

“She will.”

“Agent Crawford It’s beyond my duties to accept such a request. A psychologist should be able to figure out if she's hiding something.”

“Would you have more faith in someone who has experienced similar circumstances or someone attempting to understand them? Or are you perhaps also convinced that she is innocent? Is this something personal Agent Renard?” Jack countered, raising his eyebrows and inclining his head slightly.

Sidonie stared at him for a moment, aware of the implication.

Despite her irritation at Jack's request, she knew better than to let her emotions cloud her judgment, especially when dealing with someone in authority. She sighed deeply.

“I'm certain Will Graham won't be pleased with this plan.”

“I'll talk to him. Or I'll get Hannibal to do it.”

Sidonie shook her head slightly, as she turned around. She had deduced that Hannibal was a psychiatrist who had been present at Hobbs's death with Will.

The idea of an unknown presence unsettled her.

“I doubt he'll warm up to the idea,”

“He'll have to adjust,”

“Accusing someone without evidence is just as serious as proclaiming a killer's innocence,” she reminded him, giving him a meaningful look. “I don't want my professional reputation to suffer because of actions I took while I was asked to fulfill certain duties,” Sidonie stated firmly.

Jack observed her, biting inside his cheek.

He admired how she stood her ground while staying professional. He got why she hesitated. Her reputation had taken hits from her dad and old colleagues. More rumors or hostility could harm her credibility, affecting not just her job now but what comes next.

“I'll ensure history doesn't repeat itself,”

Rejecting Jack's proposal didn't seem like the wisest choice for her. She understood that refusing him could potentially strain their professional relationship, especially given Jack's reaction to Will Graham's statement about Abigail.

As Sidonie pondered the copycat killer and its potential link to the Hobbs family, she wondered if there could be some connection there.

She recalled Will mentioning an unidentified phone call during the lecture.

She collected her notebook, signaling the end of the conversation.

“You won't be able to repair my reputation if things go wrong.”

“It won't,” Jack asserted confidently.

"Goodnight, Agent Crawford," Sidonie bid farewell as she left the office, her footsteps echoing on the ground.

Jack watched her go, knowing she had accepted the offer.

In the dimly lit hospital room, Will Graham sits quietly, his gaze fixed on Abigail Hobbs, who lies comatose in her bed. Suddenly, the sound of hooves echoes through the hallway, drawing Will's attention to the door. A large black stag passes by, ignoring him completely.

Will rises from his seat and follows the animal's path. It disappears into one of the rooms just as the hallway lights begin to dim. Will remains still, closing his eyes slowly.

When he opens them again, he hears a soft, familiar voice.

Alana is there, reading a book to the unconscious Abigail. Will looks around the room, noticing a blanket draped over him that he doesn't remember putting on. He rests his head on the arm of the couch, listening quietly to Alana.

After a moment, he sighs softly, interrupting her.

“What are you reading?” Alana glanced back at Will, then returned her gaze to the book.

“Flannery O'Connor. When I was Abigail's age I was obsessed. I even tried to raise peacocks because she raised peacocks, but they're really stupid birds.”

“You could be reading to a killer,” Will remarked lowly, shifting slightly.

“Innocent until proven guilty and all that,” Alana replied, closing the book nervously. Will noticed her hesitation. “I'm about to broach the subject of that “match made in hell” article.”

He briefly glanced at Abigail, recalling the discomfort he and Sidonie had shared over the article. Will shifted in his seat.

“Oh, that. Did Jack send you?”

“No, I send me,” she smiled, causing a slight swell in Will's heart.

“I don't think we've ever been in a room alone together. Have we?” Will remarked.

“I haven't noticed. Have we?” Alana's voice was lighter. She glanced between Will and Abigail, smiling. “Not that we're necessarily alone now.”

Will lifted his head, stretching slightly. His hair was tousled, and his eyes were partially closed.

“Back to… Jack Crawford's crime gimp,”

“It certainly creates an image, I don't need to talk about it if you don't.”

“No, no we can talk about or not talk about whatever you want" he assured her, smiling slightly and signing with a hint of uncertainty. Alana looked at him, puzzled by his statement.

“Honestly… I was enjoying listening to you read,” he confessed, leaning back and flashing a smile, revealing his teeth.

Alana allowed herself a genuine smile in return.

“Abigail Hobbs is a success for you.”

Will remained silent at her statement, his gaze fixed on Abigail and her condition. His voice softened.

“She doesn't look like a success.”

“Don't feel sorry for yourself because you saved this girl's life.”

“I don't,” Will insisted, running his hands over his face. “I don't feel sorry for myself... at all,” he added after a moment, furrowing his brows as a realization dawned on him.

“I feel... good.”

Freddie Lounds, visibly shaken and blood-spattered, is attended to by paramedics while a police officer's body is wheeled toward an awaiting ambulance. She calls out to Jack.

“Miss Lounds?” Jack approaches, dismissing the officer beside him. “Are you alright?”

“Where's Will Graham?” Freddie's gaze searches the area anxiously.

“We have an eye witness to the murder. We don't need Will Graham,”

“No, that’s not why I am asking,” Freddie shakes her head, her expression troubled. Jack realizes this and instructs the officers to find Will Graham as Freddie begins to explain. “He was talking about people sharing the same properties of a fungus. Thoughts leaping from brain to brain. They mutate. They evolve.”

“What does he want with Will Graham?”

“Someone who understands him,” Freddie replies, causing Jack to pause. “Graham was right. Stammets is looking for connections.”

“What did you tell him?” Jack's tone is firm, demanding answers. “I need to know exactly what you told Eldon Stammets about Will Graham.”

“I told him about the Hobbs girl,” Freddie admits, her eyes distant.

“What exactly did you tell him?”

“Everything," Freddie confesses. “He wants to help Will Graham connect with Abigail Hobbs. He's going to bury her.”

The hospital elevator doors slide open, and Will Graham steps out. His phone rings, and he answers it, listening intently to Jack's voice. His expression shifts, a hint of concern creeping in.

He quickly tucks his cell phone into his back pocket and reaches into his pants, retrieving a revolver. With measured steps, he makes his way into Abigail's room.

The room is empty. No Eldon Stammets. No Abigail Hobbs.

Will's thoughts race as he backs out into the hallway and approaches the reception desk. He looks at the nurse and asks for answers, his tone urgent.

“Where is she? Abigail Hobbs. The girl in this 408. Where is she?”

“They took her for tests,” she stammers nervously.

“Who took her? Who took her?!” Will's frustration mounts, his face turning to annoyance. Without waiting for an answer, he dashes down the hallway, gun in hand.

Bounding down the stairs, Will rushes through the hallway, his eyes scanning for Eldon.

“Hey!” he shouts upon spotting him, aiming. Eldon turns, and his shoulder is suddenly struck by a bullet.

He falls to the ground, clutching his arm in pain as his gun tumbles from his grasp. Will swiftly kicks the weapon out of reach before checking Abigail's pulse, his gaze never leaving Eldon.

“What were you planning to do with her?” he hisses through his teeth.

“We evolved from mycelium. Only reintroducing her to the concept.” Eldon explains, his voice strained with pain.

“By burying her alive?” Will's tone is sharp, his disbelief evident.

“The journalist said you understood me,”

“I don't,”

"Well, you would have. You would have. If you walk into a field of mycelium, they know you're there. They know you're there,” Eldon desperately tries to explain. “Their spores reach out for you as you pass by. I know who you're reaching for. I know,” he adds, his gaze shifting to Abigail. Will listens in silence as Eldon continues.

“Abigail Hobbs. You should have let me plant her. You would have found her in a field where she could finally reach back.”

Will’s anger is evident in his gaze, although upon hearing footsteps approach he quickly presses the emergency stop button.

He leans against the doorway as the cops, nurses, and paramedics approach.

Will stands in Hannibal's office, his back turned to the elegant man.

“When you shot Eldon Stammets... who was it that you saw?” Hannibal inquires as Will's gaze shifts nervously.

“I didn't see Hobbs,”

“Then it's not Hobbs' ghost that's haunting you, is it?” Hannibal's tone softens slightly. “It's the inevitability of there being a man so bad that killing him felt good.”

“Killing Hobbs felt Just,” Will asserts firmly, recalling the act.

“Which is why you're here. To prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail not killing her dad.” Hannibal explains. Will closes his eyes, struggling with his thoughts.

“I didn't feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets,” Will argues

"You didn't kill Eldon Stammets," Hannibal clarifies, meeting Will's gaze calmly. Will clenches his jaw, reluctantly admitting.

“I thought about it. I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention of pulling the trigger,” he confesses, turning to look at Hannibal, searching for his reaction. Hannibal remains composed, offering no visible response.

“If your intention was to kill him, it's because you understand why he did the things he did. It's beautiful in its own way. Giving voice to the unmentionable.”

Their eyes meet for a moment. Will shakes his head.

“I should have stuck to fixing boat motors in Louisiana,” Will jests, taking a seat. Hannibal chuckles softly.

“A boat engine is a machine. A predictable problem, easy to solve. You fail, there's a paddle. Where was your paddle with Hobbs?” Hannibal inquires, moving to sit directly across from him.

“You're supposed to be my paddle,”

“I am,” Hannibal affirms, mimicking Will's gesture.

“It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it?” Hannibal pauses, letting the question linger.

Will contemplates for a moment, his thoughts racing.

“Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?”

“I liked killing Hobbs,” Will confesses.

Hannibal leans in, a sense of satisfaction evident in his demeanor. Though his expression remains unchanged, there's a subtle understanding in his voice.

“Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?” Will avoids the question, looking down at his hands.

“That depends on who you ask,”

“God's terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshippers last Wednesday night in Texas, while they sang a hymn.”

“Did God feel good about that?” Will asks.

Hannibal pauses, locking eyes with Will and tilting his head slightly.

“He felt powerful.”

Jack entered the lab, taking in the busy scene of forensic analysts at work. Beverly greeted him and informed him that the evidence had been handed over.

Jack scanned the room and spotted Sidonie, who was conversing with one of the clerks about handling specific evidence.

He called her over, and Sidonie excused herself from the clerk and approached Jack and Beverly.

“Follow me,” Jack instructed, leading the way. Sidonie glanced back at Beverly, who gave her an encouraging thumbs up.

Sidonie quickened her pace catching up with him. She stayed quiet, sensing it likely pertained to yesterday’s discussion.

As Jack opened the door to his office, she stepped in, her gaze immediately falling on a man she didn't recognize, dressed in a dark blue suit with brown stripes.

Jack closed the door behind them, ensuring it was locked.

The man turned to face them as he heard the door close, his eyes meeting Sidonie's with a hint of recognition from a photograph he had seen.

“Dr. Lecter, this is Special Agent Sidonie Renard,” Jack introduced, gesturing towards Sidonie.

“Sidonie, this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He will be assisting us with insights on the Painters case.”

[n1angi]

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 2 : AMUSE

previous chapter | next chapter

Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 4,5k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

The dim sunlight spread across the field, accompanied by the soft chirping of birds. Sidonie tied her short hair into a lazy bun and draped a scarf around her neck as her dog barked with excitement for their morning walk.

“Lucy, easy there, it’s too early for all that,” she mumbled as she opened the door. Her dog bounded out and made its way towards the nearby forest.

Sidonie closed the door behind her, lifting her scarf to shield herself from the chilly morning air. While hugging herself for warmth, she observed her dog trotting ahead, occasionally pausing to investigate a scent.

This routine was familiar to her: a leisurely morning with a cup of tea or coffee, followed by a reluctant shuffle to the shower. She went for a simple breakfast of cereal or toast with jam before embarking on her daily walk with her beloved dog, the one who brought life to the otherwise empty house she lived in.

As she scanned her surroundings, Sidonie noticed her dog standing still, sniffing at something on the ground. Approaching to see what had caught its attention, she tilted her head and furrowed her brow in curiosity.

There, she found a dead crow lying on the ground, its wings spread wide, feathers shimmering in the sunlight. The bird had its head tilted at a peculiar angle, its feathers stained with blood, and its mouth ajar. She pulled her dog away, concerned it might catch something from the carcass.

“Come on, let’s go this way,” she urged. As she clicked her tongue, she guided her companion to go the other way, and they carried on with their walk across the field.

Will stiffly fired the gun, the sound echoing in his ears. Uncomfortably, he fixes his gaze on his target, remaining focused. Garret Jacob Hobbes’s body seems to approach him. Will’s heart races with unease, his eyes meeting the dead stare of his victim. A few knocks on the window jolt Will out of his dream. He glances around, puzzling over the surroundings.

“We’re here,” Jack informs him. Will nods as he adjusts his tousled hair. His deep blue eyes land on the rustic cabin that belonged to Hobbes. As he opens the car door, he follows Jack, examining the many police officers combing the area for evidence.

Both of them put on the gloves provided by the police. Before entering the cabin, they armed themselves with a flashlight.

Inside, Will noticed the dead stag on the table and several animal heads displayed around the room. While observing the scene, Jack’s face shows clear disturbance. Will spots a staircase and ascends, with Jack trailing behind. They enter a room encased in antlers, every surface adorned with them, including the walls, ceiling, and floor.

Will notices dried blood on one of the stags, creating a pool below. Jack’s eyebrows raise further, visibly perturbed.

“Could be a permanent installation in your Evil Minds museum,” Will remarks.

“Well, what we learn from Garret Jacob Hobbs will help us catch the next Garret Jacob Hobbs. There are still seven dead bodies that are accounted for,” Jack responds, scanning the scene with his flashlight.

“Because he ate them.”

“Had to be parts he didn’t eat,” Jack notes.

“Not necessarily.” Will lifts his brows as Jack blinks at his statement.

“What if Hobbs wasn’t eating alone?” Jack suggests. “It’s a lot of work. Disappearing these girls, butchering them, and then not leaving a shred of anything outside of this room.” Will considered his words for a moment.

“Someone he hunted with?”

“Someone in a coma, who happens to also be someone he hunted with,” Jack presses, referring to a conversation they had in the office yesterday.

Will blinks, remembering the young girl who lay in the hospital room whom he saw a few days ago. He sighs deeply, already knowing what Jack implied.

“Abigail Hobbs is a suspect?”

“We’ve been conducting house-to-house interviews around the Hobbs residence and this property,” Jack explains, watching Will closely. “Hobbs and his daughter spent a lot of time together. They spent a lot of time together here. She would be the ideal bait, wouldn’t she?” Will licks his lips, irritated at his words.

“Hobbs killed alone,” Will insists, meeting Jack��s gaze for a moment. Jack chooses not to respond, but he definitely takes notice of what he’s witnessing. Will glances at Jack for a moment before noticing something on the floor. He grabs it. It appears to be a long red hair.

“Someone else was here.”

Sidonie stepped out of the elevator and made her way towards the lab. She wore the same shoes and coat as yesterday, but today she added a cerulean-colored turtleneck with a delicate golden necklace paired with brown slacks. Her hair was already up. When she entered the office, Baverly greeted her.

“Hello there, Hawkeye,”

“Jack told us about the hair,” Jimmy remarked.

“And it’s only your second day,” Brian raised his eyebrows.

“Not as an analyst.” Sidonie clarified as she hung her coat and grabbed her gloves. “I have years of experience.”

“Leave something for us to discover, won’t you?” Beverly nudged him

“There’s always plenty of work, I’m sure you’ll find something.” Brian raised his hands, mumbling about it being just a joke. “Good job, by the way,”

“Thank you.” Sidonie looked at Brian, offering him encouragement. “We've all got our reasons for being here. All of us can bring something useful to the table, so don't let me discourage you.”

“This job pays me well enough not to be discouraged,” Brian retorted as he grabbed the files from the table. “But documenting all of this is the worst,” Sidonie smirked in agreement.

“I agree.”

“I don’t mind it. It’s quite relaxing.” Beverly rolled her eyes.

“Jimmy, don’t lie.”

“I’m not,”

“He is,” Brian whispered to Sidonie, earning a glare from Jimmy.

“You sigh all the time while you do it,” Beverly countered.

“It’s out of pleasure,”

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Brian chimed in, causing Sidonie to chuckle. Jimmy was about to argue back when Jack entered the lab. All eyes turned towards him.

“We’ve got the alibis from the cabin if that’s what interests you,” Jimmy noted, and Sidonie looked at Beverly, puzzled.

“It’s from the previous case. Minnesota Shrike,” Beverly explained, and Sidonie recalled the news that had been all over the place these past few days. Seven missing girls were victims of cannibalization.

“Anything leading to Hobbs's daughter?”

“Nope.” Brian shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Maybe she wasn’t involved after all,” Jimmy suggested, but Jack didn’t seem to like that answer.

“Sidonie, I want you to look at the case.”

“I’m not familiar with the case, so I’m not sure if I’m—”

“Will Graham is giving a lecture about the case in an hour. Get familiar,” he ordered. “I’m sure he will mention the copycat case too.” She cast a quick look around as her colleagues signaled her to go.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said as she removed her gloves, grabbed her lab coat, and left. Silence fell upon the room.

“And here I thought I would pile her up with documenting the evidence,” Brian commented, and Beverly rolled her eyes.

“And then you dared to complain about not having something to do.”

“Go back to work,” Jack pressed as he turned around to leave. As the door closed, Brian spoke again.

“Jimmy you seemed to enjoy documenting, right?”

Sidonie quietly entered the lecture hall, noting it was already half-full. She found an empty seat near the front and sat down, crossing her arms as she observed the room. Some students were chatting about the case, while others passed around the papers. No one seemed to mind her presence, perhaps because she was wearing her lab coat. As more students arrived, the hall filled up quickly.

After a few minutes, Will Graham walked in, and the students stood up, clapping enthusiastically. Sidonie stayed seated.

“Thank you. Please, stop,” Will gestured for them to quiet down, clearly uncomfortable. He placed his briefcase on the desk and dimmed the lights, bringing up a slide showing Hobbs’ resignation letter. He paused, studying the slide.

“This is how I caught Garret Jacob Hobbs,” he began, capturing everyone's attention. “It’s his resignation letter. Does anybody see the clue?” He scanned the room, but ignored the raised hands, leaning on the table as he continued. “There isn’t one. He wrote a letter, left his phone number… but no address. That’s it.”

Sidonie leaned in slightly, her eyes drawn to the image of Garret Jacob Hobbs’ lifeless body, pierced by ten bullets. She blinked at the number, then glanced back at Will.

“Poor record-keeping and dumb luck,” he sighed, turning back to the slide. He stared for a moment, recalling the image of Abigail Hobbs lying on the floor, her neck cut, struggling to breathe, surrounded by a pool of blood. His hands shook as he tried to stop the bleeding, cradling her head in his lap.

The room fell silent as Sidonie shifted her gaze between Will and the picture. Given his recent arrival at the B.A.U., she pondered the reason for his behavior, like why he fired ten bullets. She guessed it might have been due to adrenaline.

Will looked back, seeming to return to the present, and shifted uncomfortably. He clicked to the next slide, showing a photo of Garret Jacob Hobbs and his daughter Abigail smiling after a hunting trip. Sidonie leaned back, her jaw tightening slightly.

In the photo, Abigail, a young girl with long black hair and blue eyes, appeared happy, a stark contrast to the likely reality of her life.

“Garret Jacob Hobbs is dead. The question is how to stop those his story is going to inspire,” Will remarked, leaning away from the table as he observed the next slide. “He’s already got one admirer.”

Sidonie’s eyes narrowed slightly at the image of the woman posed with the stag’s antlers. It was him.

“The Copycat.”

The lecture progressed slowly, with Will presenting more images related to the case while the students discussed it among themselves.

Sidonie listened attentively, but her thoughts kept returning to the copycat. She understood why Will referred to “The Painter” as careless. This murder was distinct—it felt like an insult. The killer was skilled, likely experienced, meticulous, and astute. The motive behind the girl’s murder remained unclear, aside from the resemblance to Abigail.

“I wonder why her lungs were removed…” a woman murmured behind her.

“Perhaps a tribute to the Shrike,” a man whispered in response, eliciting a disgusted noise from the girl beside him.

When Will announced the end of the lecture, the students began gathering their belongings and heading towards the exit. Sidonie made her way down and approached Will slowly. A student ahead of her attempted to engage with him, but he appeared too eager to depart to acknowledge his surroundings. He shuffled his papers.

“Interesting lecture,” Sidonie remarked, and he glanced up, mildly surprised by the unexpected compliment. His gaze shifted from her lab coat to her face. Recognizing her, he looked away, continuing to sort his papers.

“Um, thank you. I wasn’t expecting to see you… at a lecture.”

“Me neither,” she confessed, slipping her hands into her coat pockets. “I’ve been intrigued by the copycat ever since I learned about the lack of evidence.” Will furrowed his brow, searching for the right response.

“I’m sure the analysts are examining the evidence—the visible ones,” Sidonie nodded, seemingly unaffected by Will's sarcastic remark.

“The copycat isn’t the reason why I’m here, though,” she added. “Jack asked me to dig into the Garret Jacob Hobbs case, see if there's more to uncover.” Will paused, averting his gaze. He tightened his grip on his briefcase, seizing it as he sat up, chuckling softly.

“Tell him there is nothing to find. He is only wasting your time,” his voice was subdued, and his demeanor noticeably shifted. Sidonie blinked at Will's tone as he prepared to leave, but before he could depart, someone intervened.

“Hi, Will.” Will nearly stumbled back against the table. Sidonie looked at the black-haired woman, noticeably shorter than her, with soft blue eyes and a slight smile. She wore a red pencil skirt and a white and black plunging neckline shirt.

“Hi,” he sounded resigned.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” She glanced at Sidonie, offering a small smile, which was out of politeness. Sidonie shook her head, sensing the atmosphere.

“No, um, I was just about to leave. I have to get back to work.” Sidonie waved as she turned to depart.

“Stay,” Jack’s voice echoed through the hall, and the woman glanced back. Jack greeted her, whose name turned out to be Alana. He stood next to her, while Will walked around the table, gathering his files.

“How was the class?”

“They applauded, it was inappropriate,” he said, avoiding eye contact, evidently irritated.

“The review board disagrees. You’re up for a commendation, and they approved your return to active duty,”

“The question is, do you want to go back to the field?” Alana interrupted. Will looked between them, torn between satisfaction and apprehension.

“I want him to go back to the field. And I’ve told the board I’m recommending a psych eval,” Jack responded to Alana instead of Will. Will opened his mouth slightly, a realization dawning on him.

“Are we starting now?” Alana raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, the session wouldn’t be with me.”

“Hannibal Lecter is a better fit. Your relationship isn’t personal. But if you’d be more comfortable with Dr. Bloom…” Will gripped his chair slightly.

“I’m not going to be comfortable with anybody inside my head,” Jack looked away.

“You’ve never killed someone before, Will,” Alana’s tone softened. “It’s a deadly force encounter. It’s a lot to digest.”

“I used to work homicide. I’ve got a good metabolism,” he defended as he began to walk away, only for Jack’s voice to halt him.

“The reason you currently ‘used to’ work homicide is that you couldn’t stomach pulling the trigger. You just pulled the trigger ten times,” Sidonie absorbed that information, recalling the body of Garret Jacob Hobbs.

“So, the Psych Eval isn’t just a formality?” Will’s voice lowered.

“No, it’s so I can sleep at night. I asked to get close to the Hobbs case, and I need to know you didn’t get too close,” Jack’s voice was cold. “How many times have you spent the night in Abigail Hobbs’ hospital room?”

Sidonie blinked at the sudden revelation, slowly understanding where Will stood. Will's emotional nature was a defining aspect of his work, often making him overly empathetic. Jack kept a close eye on him for this reason. However, their differing viewpoints led to a lack of harmony between them.

Will likely felt sympathy for the potential suspect, considering he had killed her father. But without evidence, nobody could make any accusations against Abigail Hobbs, or anyone else for that matter.

The room fell silent for a few moments.

“Therapy doesn’t work on me,” Will said firmly.

“Therapy doesn’t work on you because you won’t let it,” Jack implied, moving closer to him. Sidonie leaned back on the table as Alana sighed.

“Because I know all the tricks,” Will corrected.

“Perhaps you need to un-learn some tricks,”

“Why not have a conversation with Hannibal? He was there. He knows what you went through,” Alana suggested as Will removed his glasses and began to walk away.

“Come on, Will. I need my beauty sleep!” Jack shook his head as he glanced at Sidonie from the corner of his eye. He turned to her. “Did you get familiar with the case?” Sidonie nodded as she stood tall.

“I did.”

“How likely is it that Abigail Hobbs was involved in those crimes?” he asked her, and she remained silent. She glanced at Alana, who also appeared to be interested in her response.

“I am not a profiler, I can’t profile Abigail Hobbs,” she told Jack. “I only came here to get familiar with the case and see if there could be potential evidence or clues.”

“So, are you saying there are none?”

“The house and the cabin mentioned earlier were empty. From the looks of it, there is close to no evidence that points to Abigail,” Jack crossed his arms at the answer. “For now, I can’t offer much insight on the case.”

“She’s right, Jack,” Alana told him. “Until Abigail wakes up, we need to be patient.”

“Until she wakes up.”

“Don’t push it,” Alana advised. “And talk to Hannibal.”

“I will.”

Will peruses the books neatly arranged in Hannibal’s mezzanine. He wasn’t entirely certain why he had come here. Perhaps he was genuinely considering Alana’s advice. Hannibal had been present when he killed Garett Jacob Hobbs, the only one he could confide in.

However, Will didn’t view this as therapy, nor did he consider Hannibal a friend. Their connection was based on sharing a traumatic event, at best. Friendship? Certainly not.

Hannibal's gaze flickers over Will's contemplative posture, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he retrieves a paper from the file, drawing Will's attention.

“What's this?”

“Your psychological evaluation. You’re totally functional and more or less sane. Well done.” Hannibal remarks, prompting a subtle furrow of Will's brow.

“Did you rubber-stamp me?”

“Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn't break you and our conversation can proceed unobstructed by paperwork,” Hannibal clarifies as Will paces along the mezzanine, his hands slipping into his pockets. Hannibal's eyes track his movement.

“Jack thinks I need therapy.”

“What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there,” Will falls silent for a moment, the straightforwardness of Hannibal's response igniting something within him.

“Last time he sent me into a dark place I brought something back,”

“A surrogate daughter?” Will remains silent. Hannibal scans the book on his desk, his tone taking on a slightly lighter note. “You saved Abigail Hobbs' life. You also orphaned her. It comes with certain emotional obligations, regardless of empathy disorders.”

“You were there. You saved her life, too. Do you feel obligated?”

“Yes,” Hannibal's voice is firm. “I feel a staggering amount of obligation. i feel responsibility.” Will gazes at him, listening intently. “I've fantasized about scenarios where my actions may have allowed a different fate for Abigail Hobbs.”

Will nods, recognizing his feelings mirrored in Hannibal's words. He bites his cheek.

“Jack thinks Abigail Hobbs might've helped her dad kill those girls,”.

“How does that make you feel?” Will almost rolls his eyes at the predictable therapist question. He arches his brows at Hannibal.

“How does it make you feel?”

“I find it vulgar.”

“Me, too,” Will quickly agrees.

“And entirely possible,” Hannibal adds.

“It's not what happened. Yet he is persistent,” Will recalls the events of the morning. He knew Sidonie wasn't part of Jack's agenda, yet her sudden involvement still irked him.

Was Jack trying to push him further by sending people to plant ideas in his head? Making him doubt Abigail's innocence? Will refused to entertain the thought.

“Jack will ask her when she wakes up or he'll have one of us ask her,” Hannibal suggests. Will furrows his brow.

“Is this therapy or a support group?” Hannibal's face twitches upward slightly, finding Will's comment amusing.

“It's whatever you need it to be,” he reassures. “and Will. The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself and not the worst of someone else.”

Sidonie packed the equipment into the bag and took a deep breath. It had been a few years since she last worked in the field. She felt a mix of nerves and excitement about what she was about to witness. Putting the camera, kits, and measurement equipment into the bag, she glanced at Brian and Jimmy, who were also getting ready. Looking around, she felt a bit puzzled.

“Where's Beverly?”

“She went to fetch Graham,” Brian's voice carried a hint of frustration, eyebrows raised. Sidonie nodded, noting his tone.

“I'm ready,” she announced, closing her bag.

“We're all set,” Jimmy smiled as Beverly entered the room, with Will trailing behind her.

“All right, the car's ready. Have you packed everything?” Beverly asked, and they nodded. She glanced at Sidonie, winking at her. “Are you excited?”

Sidonie stared. Jimmy and Brian looked at Beverly with a questioning look, while Will just slightly looked their way. The question was odd on its own.

“You have no idea,” she smiled slightly, feeling warm in her chest.

When they arrived at Elk Neck State Forest, they were the first ones to step into the area. Four of them gazed at the bodies unearthed from the ground. In each of the nine bodies, one hand was visibly out, connected to a tube, with mushrooms growing out of them. Some bodies seemed more decayed than others.

“Wow…” Brian snapped a photo.

Sidonie stared, then glanced at Beverly. Beverly nodded in reassurance, prompting Sidonie to take out her equipment as well. Jimmy and Brian began taking pictures while Sidonie and Beverly focused on gathering physical evidence. They retrieved extra gloves, tweezers, kits, and swabs, and got to work.

After nearly two hours, they finished their work.

Beverly peeled back the ripped skin from the victims as she examined the teeth, looking disgusted. She glanced at Sidonie, who was observing the victim's nails.

“I doubt I’ll be able to eat after this,” Beverly muttered. “Especially mushrooms.” Sidonie remained silent, her attention still on the victim. Beverly looked back at the approaching figures. Will and Jack stepped onto the crime scene. Beverly tapped Sidonie’s shoulder, causing her to jolt. She noticed Jack and Will approaching.

“Seven bodies, various stages of decay, as you can see, all very well fertilized,” Jimmy reported to them.

Sidonie reached into a grave containing a partially uncovered, fungus-ravaged corpse, its eyes, nose, and mouth covered in duct tape, its palms filled with black soil.

“He buried them in a high-nutrient compost. He was enthusiastically encouraging decomposition. A patient way to dispose of a body,” Beverly remarked.

“They were buried alive. Whoever it was, they wanted to keep them that stuck there. At least for a little while,” Sidonie spoke up, standing next to Beverly.

“Line and rebar were to administer intravenous fluids after burial. He was feeding them something,”

“No restraints?” Will asked.

“Just dirt,” Jimmy responded.

Beverly pointed at the other end of the air supply system.

“The other end of the air supply system comes up over there. It isn't a very considerate clean air solution, which clearly wasn't a priority. Because he's not lazy,” Will reflected.

“No, he's not.”.

“Let's clear the scene,” Jack instructed all four of them. As they stepped over the scene, Will lingered. Sidonie glanced at him.

“Did you find any shiitakes?” Beverly asked her as Sidonie raised a brow.

“Isn’t he coming?”

“That’s his preference,” Sidonie nods acknowledging the information. As they move away from the scene, she pauses and looks back at him, observing with curiosity. Beverly stops walking, watching Will from a distance with a knowing expression.

Sidonie observes him as he walks around the grave, stopping as he starts to speak to himself. She can’t hear what he says, but his expression is stoic, yet entranced. He gets closer to the ground and sits down, still murmuring to himself.

Sidonie’s crosses her arms, taking in the sign.

Will's empathy was a double-edged sword. While it allowed him to understand complex minds, it also took its toll on him, keeping him distant from others. But what intrigued her most was whether he could truly relate to those he empathized with. Was it his imagination, cognitive functions, or something deeper?

Observing the scene was captivating, yet she sensed a subtle flutter of unease. He pauses for a moment, his expression shifting. Suddenly, the supposed corpse grabs Will’s hand, and he jolts back to reality with a slight shout.

The victim breathes in harshly as Beverly calls for an EMT. 

Sidonie steps into the scene along with the others, checking the victim's pulse.

“Don’t touch him!” Zeller shouts at Will as the man stands up, leaning against a tree far away. His face is pale. As the EMT arrives, Sidonie clears the way, looking at Will. His whole body is shaking.

Glancing around, she notices that no one seems to be acknowledging his state. Contemplating whether to approach him, she briefly considers her options before making a decision.

“Are you okay?” her voice is calm. He looks at her for a moment, swallowing. His eyes narrow, and he moves away. It's a sign he doesn’t want to be disturbed. 

Her eyes follow him. As she turns around, her gaze catches a familiar figure on the other side of the police. A red-haired journalist, disguised as one of the victim's mothers.

Sidonie stares at her, and the woman seems pleased with what she sees. Her blue eyes are filled with intrigue, almost sparkling.

“Looks like you got a live one,” red-haired tells the policeman next to her.

Sidonie decided to leave the office ahead of schedule today after completing her tasks earlier than expected.

Seeing Freddie Lounds at the scene so soon after leaving law enforcement was annoying. She knew Lounds had a knack for meddling where she didn't belong, stirring up trouble with her pointless chatter. It was just another irritating encounter she could do without.

“Hawkeye?” Beverly's voice brought her back to reality, causing her to blink repeatedly. She looked at the black-haired woman next to her, relaxing her jaw. Beverly gave her a knowing look. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. Why are you asking?”

“You seem a bit off since the case,”  Beverly noted as Sidonie glanced down, silent for a moment.

“I guess the victim... caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, I understand... It's been a while, after all,” Silence fell over them for a few moments.

“I should head out. My dog needs to be fed,” Sidonie grabbed her coat as Beverly nodded in understanding, stepping back slightly.

“See you tomorrow then.”

Returning home, she received a warm welcome from her excited dog. Stooping down, it showered her face with affectionate licks. Sidonie grinned at the gesture, patting its head lovingly.

After slipping off her shoes, she headed to the kitchen to prepare some tea. While filling the kettle with water, she glanced out the window. The night was falling, painting the sky in shades of dark blue.

A sudden movement outside caught her attention, drawing her gaze to a tree branch. There perched an owl, its sizable form blending into the shadows. Sidonie squinted, leaning closer. It seemed strange; despite living so close to the forest, she rarely spotted owls.

Suddenly, as if sensing her presence, the owl locked eyes with her, its yellow eyes fixed on her. They locked gazes for a moment before the owl hooted and flew away.

[n1angi]

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 1 : PILOT

next chapter

Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 4,1k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

The countryside surrounding Baltimore stirred with life as the first signs of autumn emerged. Delicate amber leaves had already sprouted on barren branches, as the fields gradually blurred into a warm tapestry of earthy tones, once parched by summer heat. The air, once dry, now carried a hint of crispness and the earthy scent of fallen leaves. Similar to Persephone’s return, autumn brought fresh colors to the world.

Despite her fondness for the chilly weather, the demands of her profession often required her to rise before dawn, leaving her longing for the warmth and comfort of her home. Unfortunately, the extensive off-field work required by her profession only exacerbated her yearning for brighter surroundings beyond the lit confines of the laboratory.

With a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, she blinked against the morning sun’s glare as she stepped out onto the porch. She shivered involuntarily; the chill of the autumn was clear. Her faithful golden retriever squeezed past her legs, eager for their morning stroll amidst the falling leaves.

“This is refreshing,” she whispered, her gaze sweeping over the landscape. Catching the retriever’s eager gaze, she offered a faint smile as she stroked its head, granting permission for its walk. With a joyful wiggle of its tail, the dog bounded down the stairs and dashed into the field ahead.

She savored her tea, the bitterness lingering on her tongue as she sighed. Despite the present allure, her mind drifted to work and the proposition. Special Agent Jack Crawford, head of the B.S.U, had approached her. While they had crossed paths in the past because of cases several years ago, they had never engaged in private conversation. Thus, the invitation to join the B.A.U. as a forensic analyst and crime scene investigator came as a surprise.

“A mind like yours could be invaluable to us,” he stated, his words laced with persuasion. He emphasized the importance of her role, perhaps nudging her into accepting the offer. Such tactics were common in their work.

Yet, she had been yearning for a change in her workplace for some time. Despite her proficiency and dedication to her work, she found herself isolated among her colleagues as of late. Their discomfort around her was understandable, and if she were to be honest with herself, she had grown accustomed to being treated differently, especially by those senior to her. However, humans are social creatures, still yearning for acceptance wherever they go. The sense of alienation had taken its toll, leaving her longing for an environment where she could feel more accepted and valued.

Change, though uncomfortable at first, was preferable to stagnation. Retrieving her phone from her sweatpants, she hesitated for a moment before dialing Jack’s number. After a few rings, he answered.

“Hello, Jack Crawford speaking,” the voice behind the phone said.

“Hello, Agent Crawford. It’s Sidonie Renard, from the law enforcement agency. I’ve given your offer some thought…”

As she parked her car near the building, she sighed softly, tapping her fingers on the wheel. After a moment of reflection, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening the car door. Retrieving her soft black leather handbag, she stepped out and locked the car behind her.

Adjusting her black coat and dark blue slacks with a slight touch, she made her way towards the building’s entrance. Her outfit, perfectly coordinated with her black loafers and turtleneck, radiated a sense of effortless elegance. A small leather watch adored her left hand, while her ears sparkled with silver stud earrings.

Her almond-shaped olive-green eyes, framed by dark lashes, held a captivating gaze that added a certain allure to her. Her dark brown waves cascaded around her face, highlighting her angular cheekbones, which added a touch of refinement to her features. Her brows were elegantly arched, while her lips boasted a subtle rosy hue. With a slender build, she moved gracefully.

As she walked, she studied the building’s appearance, absorbing its imposing presence. The structure loomed before her, casting long shadows that seemed to swallow the surrounding sunlight. It was both sleek and austere, with darkened windows. Compared to the bustling atmosphere of the enforcement agency building, this place was quieter and more subdued.

Approaching the building, she noticed Jack already standing at the entrance, his eyes scanning the surroundings. As soon as his gaze fell on her, his face lifted slightly, reflecting a pleased expression. Returning the sentiment, she offered a smile.

“Agent Crawford,” she greeted.

“Welcome to the BSU,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake. “I’m glad you decided to join us.” She accepted his gesture, shaking his hand gently.

“I’ll be happy to contribute,” Jack gestured towards the door, and both of them entered the building.

“I’ve heard that you have a special eye for details, Ms. Renard,” he stated.

“I assume this is the reason why I was recruited,” Jack nodded as he continued.

“Have you heard about the recent murder case?” she shook her head as Jack continued.

“The Vanderbilts family, specifically Jonathan Vanderbilt and his wife Elisabeth, who are known for diversified corporations, have been killed in their penthouse. Their arms were vertically cut, drained from blood.” Jack shared as he took a glance at her while walking down the hall. “They were glued at the table, their faces were mutilated. Eyes were taken out, along with their teeth. Money was glued to their hands and imposed in their eyes and mouth.”

“Depiction of greed,” she confirmed.

“The theatrical way of seeing a murder is no news to us. At first, we thought it was the copycat. However, our criminal profiler tells us this is someone entirely new,” he shared.

“What was it that gave it away?” she raised a brow as Jack clicked on the elevator door.

“He said he was sloppy.” As the door opened, they stepped into the elevator. “We’ve been combing through the crime scene for any leads or evidence that might help us identify the perpetrator,” Jack explained. “But so far, we’re coming up empty-handed.” They exited the elevator and walked down the hall. “I want you to take a look at the bodies,” Jack decided, stopping in front of her. His gaze held a sense of resolve. Sidonie clutched her bag slightly, her lips tilting up.

“Lead the way.”

Jack opened the door, and Sidonie followed behind him, already dressed in her lab coat. The room was occupied by a few people, three of whom were clad in coats, while the other was not. They seemed to be engaged in conversation about the deceased bodies displayed before them. A tall, lanky man with brown hair appeared to notice their entrance.

“Jack!” His voice exuded cheerfulness and friendliness. Jack raised his hand in acknowledgment as everyone’s attention shifted towards them. “Oh, and a stranger...” he added with a smile still plastered on his face.

“Sidonie. It’s a pleasure,” she introduced herself.

“Oh, you are the recruit Jack mentioned,” he recalled.

“Why wasn’t I informed about this?”

“Because Jimmy, you were too busy trying to outsmart the evidence with your latest conspiracy theory,” the woman with long dark hair retorted playfully, shooting a glance toward Sidonie. “Name is Beverly, welcome to the team.” They exchanged a slight smile.

“I’m Jimmy,” A slightly stocky man with a rugged appearance inquired.

“And I’m Brian,” As everyone introduced themselves, Sidonie’s gaze drifted towards the un-coated man. He was fairly tall and slender, with a somewhat disheveled yet sharp appearance. He had tousled brown hair and wore brown square-shaped glasses, highlighting his piercing blue eyes. His expression carried a certain thoughtfulness. When their eyes met, he blinked a few times and looked away.

“Will Graham. I’m a criminal profiler,” he stated, his tone measured, yet soft. It was evident he kept to himself most of the time. Sidonie nodded, recalling Jack’s earlier mention of him regarding the case.

“I want her to take a look at the bodies,” Jack announced as everyone made space for her. Sidonie grabbed the gloves from the opposite table and approached the body, examining it closely. Everyone observed her movements, curious about what she might find. She noticed the glue still present on the man’s fingers, along with money paper on his hands. The woman, however, was missing the papers, only the glue remained. ‘I suppose it’s a depiction of how greedy he could have been over his money…’ she thought to herself. Both victims had their eyes torn out, with money still in them.

“We didn’t have enough time to remove them yet,” Beverly explained. Sidonie continued to observe the bodies, her focus drifting to the scene where the bodies had been positioned according to the pictures. Her eyes widened as she recalled the arrangement of the bodies, the table, and the money depicted in the pictures.

“Where is the money that was on the table?” Jimmy and Brian exchanged a glance, while Will rubbed his chin, observing the body himself.

“It’s here,” Beverly said, displaying them in front of Sidonie. Gently grabbing the money, she started to arrange them around the table. Some were completely covered in blood, while others were only partially covered. However, it didn’t seem like a natural occurrence; it was part of the theatrics, the décor, a hint. Will’s eyes lit up as he approached the table. As Sidonie arranged the money, he seemed to grasp the idea of what was going on.

“It’s a puzzle,” he observed as she continued to place the money in order. After a few seconds, the picture formed, spelling out ‘Seven.’

“Holy shit,” Brian muttered.

“Seven deadly sins,” Beverly murmured, looking at Jack. “That means he is planning on six more.”

“How can we know which sin would be displayed next?” Jack inquired, turning to Will, who appeared to be lost in thought, staring at the puzzle. Sidonie steeled herself as she examined the bodies once again, searching for more clues.

“It will be a Gluttony.”

“How do you know?” Jack asked, raising a brow as Will’s eyes scanned the body as he pursed his lips together.

“The killer’s choice to tamper with the victims’ mouths suggests a focus on consumption or excess...” he furrows his brows slightly “They’re making a statement about indulgence, perhaps hinting at the sin of gluttony. It’s a common motif—the physical alteration serving as a metaphor for the sin being expressed.”

“And how can we know who the next victim will be?” Jack persisted.

“He feels underappreciated like a victim. It’s a sign of protest,” Will paused. “He will target someone who holds a higher social status, to be seen, and heard. To make a verdict.”

“Wow... took the ‘eat the rich’ movement to the extreme,” Brian commented, earning a roll of the eyes from Beverly.

“So he will go for the wealthy individuals?” Will nodded. Sidonie stared at him, considering his words, as she looked back at Jack who seemed ready to take action.

“Let’s coordinate with the team and gather as much information as we can on potential targets among the wealthy individuals,” he instructed, before leaving the room. A brief silence fell over the group until Brian cleared his throat, dispelling the awkwardness.

“I think we should take the money out of these guys.” Jimmy agreed, gesturing for Sidonie to join him. Will adjusted his glasses as he grabbed his jacket.

“Call me if you find anything else.”

“Uh-huh,” Beverly responded as she grabbed her tools. Will nodded as a sign of goodbye and left the room.

After successfully collecting physical evidence, Beverly and Sidonie took the body to the morgue. As they closed the door, Beverly smiled.

“I’m starving. Would you like to get some lunch with me?” she asked, and Sidonie smiled in agreement. As they headed to the cafeteria, they exchanged brief conversation. Beverly mentioned how glad she was to have another woman around during work, noting that being with Jimmy and Brian could be tiring at times, although she cared for them deeply without saying it.

“What about you? Where did you use to work?” Beverly asked as she grabbed the turkey sandwiches from the station.

“Law enforcement agency,” Sidonie replied, scanning the food displayed in front of her. Salads, sandwiches, wraps with assorted toppings, and dressings were neatly arranged on the station. “I’m not used to making spontaneous decisions, but I thought it was time for a change of environment.”

“You can’t be spontaneous when it comes to our job, I can say that,” Beverly remarked, raising both eyebrows as she grabbed a cherry-flavored juice. “What do you look forward to?” she asked, examining Sidonie. She glanced down, avoiding eye contact.

“Nothing in particular,” Sidonie replied, her tone optimistic yet reserved. Slowly meeting Baverlys gaze, she continued. “It’s a chance to grow both… personally and professionally. I’m excited to see where it leads,” Beverly sighed slightly as she mumbled.

“That’s true spontaneity you have there,” Beverly remarked as both of them sat down at the table. “What do you think of the crime? Had anything like this before?” She breathes in deeply, recalling the past crimes.

“I wouldn’t say it was like this one, but… there was this crime, in the suburbs, in a small church. 2 priests killed.” She shrugged “I wasn’t working at the field there, but I have seen a picture. The killer sewed their mouths and eyes and crucified them in the church, cutting their genitals. It wasn’t a hard case, but obviously, it was a revenge for the rape the killer and some other victims went through. Theatrical and symbolic. Just like this one.” She bit the part of the sandwich.

“Why weren’t you working on the field?” she asked curiously. “Jack told us you have a special eye for detail, so they should have put you to good use.” Sidonie swallowed the food.

“I used to work in a field, but…” her voice softened “a few people got fired because of me. So I was… forced to lay back”

“Ahh, I see.” Beverly responded, “You scared them.” She affirmed as Sidonie leaned away slightly, not saying anything in return. Beverly continued “I’m sure the copycat will keep us occupied for a while so I won’t be too worried about losing the job.” She joked.

“Agent Crawford mentioned him earlier today. He also has a theatrical way of displaying his victims.”

“Ugh, yes. He leaves close to no clues.” She stressed.

“What’s the reason behind the crimes? Anything specific?” Sidonie suggests.

“No, nothing at all.”

“What does Mr. Graham think?” Sidonie asks as Beverly rolls her eyes.

“He said that he sees his victims as pigs, to ridicule them, but other than that, even he has a hard time placing it together.” She highlights “ Or maybe not… I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell what’s going on in his head.”

“Well, if everyone has been having a hard time, why wouldn’t he?” Beverly raised her brows.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Sidonie tilted her head in confusion. “Let’s just say he is… different. I won’t say too much; you will have enough time to see it yourself.” Sidonie glanced down at her plate. ‘Different huh…’.

As the evening progresses in the dimly lit B.A.U. office, the atmosphere becomes hushed and serene, with only a few scattered individuals remaining. The usual hustle and bustle of the day gives way to a quiet intensity as the remaining staff members focus on their tasks.

Sidonie sits at her workstation, surrounded by the soft glow of computer monitors and the occasional flicker of fluorescent lights overhead. Despite the late hour, she remains deeply engrossed in her work, peering through a microscope with unwavering concentration. As she meticulously examines samples under the microscope, her brow furrows in concentration. Beverly chuckles as she approaches.

“Take it easy,” she advises, glancing at Sidonie’s coat. “It’s time to leave, or the office will close on us.” Sidonie sighs slightly, acknowledging her co-worker.

“I’ll be leaving soon. There is only one sample left.” Beverly rolls her eyes playfully.

“Alright. Have fun- I suppose?” she says, turning away. “Get home safe,” she calls out, and Sidonie smiles before refocusing on her work.

Remembering Jake Crawford’s words about the crime scene, she furrows her brows in concentration, hoping to find something significant. ‘How was this sloppy when there is close to no evidence that points out the killer other than his motive? Perhaps it was meant to be said about his personality.’ Grabbing another sample, she examines it under the microscope, noticing what appears to be animal hair. Intrigued, she checks the file for any mention of pets but finds none.

“Huh...” she blinks as she turns back to the microscope, observing it further. Her eyes widen as she notices a slight paint stain on it. Sidonie smirks slightly, realizing the killer’s oversight. “Sloppy,” she mumbles to herself, noting it down. She decides to report her findings to Jack, taking a photo of the sample before replacing it and marking it as important evidence.

Sidonie’s shoes gently shuffled on the ground as she approached Jack’s office. As she reached for the door handle, she hesitated. While she was accustomed to walking into her boss’s room whenever there was something to report, she was no longer working there. She glanced at the tinted windows, preventing her from seeing inside, but she could hear Jack’s voice from within. With a slight pause, she gently pushed the door open, her voice carrying into the room.

“Excuse me, Agent Crawford, may I come in?” Jack’s voice paused momentarily before granting her entry. As she stepped inside, her gaze fell on Jack and another familiar figure. Will stood with his arms crossed, acknowledging her presence. She noticed that he wasn’t wearing glasses anymore.

“Sidonie, what brings you here?” Jack inquired.

“Um…” Sidonie glanced between Jack and Will. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she added, taking a step back.

“As long as it’s important,” Jack replied, a slight smile playing on his lips. Sidonie nodded and approached, standing next to Will. She handed him the file with the printed picture, prompting a raised eyebrow from Jack.

“It’s a bristle,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” she confirmed, stealing a glance at the man next to her. “But it’s not just any bristle; it’s from a brush, a paintbrush,” she explained, pointing at the picture and leaning in slightly. “At the end of the bristle, there is paint. It’s not noticeable at eye level, but under a microscope, you can tell it’s from paint.”

“He’s a painter,” Will remarked quietly, raising his eyebrows at his colleagues. “How typical...” Sidonie blinked in response to the comment.

“At least we have a lead,” Jack interjected, furrowing his brows. “I’ll talk to Hannibal tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be able to help,” he added. Will nodded and turned to leave, eager to remove himself from the situation as soon as possible.

“Consider what I told you,” Jack warned before Will closed the door on him. He shook his head and turned to Sidonie, who realized that something must have happened before she entered the room. “You can go home now. Keep up the hard work,” he said, and she bowed slightly, pressing her lips together. She turned to leave, but her feet halted halfway through the door.

“Agent Crawford, may I ask you something?” she inquired, turning slightly. Jack hummed in response as he grabbed his coat. “Earlier today, you mentioned the copycat, and I was wondering…” she began carefully. Jack looked at her, his eyes softening slightly. “May I take a look at his files?”

“I doubt that there is anything we can find, but…” Jack trailed off. “Feel free to do so,” he added with a hint of encouragement.

She retrieved her bag and coat from the office before making her way down the stairs towards her car. Will stood nearby, muttering something under his breath, his demeanor tinged with irritation. His gaze flitted around the surroundings, and upon catching sight of Sidonie, he averted his eyes, as if seeking to conceal himself. Dealing with a phone call, he grabbed his phone. Sidonie had noticed that he wasn’t the friendliest type. At the very least, he was awkward, if not unfriendly.

Entering her car, Sidonie placed her bag on the passenger seat and took a moment to gather her thoughts before starting the engine. Just then, she caught Will's muffled voice.

"Hello... hi. I’ve been having trouble starting my car. After I turn the key, I hear clicking sounds, but the engine doesn't start. Yes, I tried jump-starting it, but that didn’t work," he explained, his voice wavering slightly in the cold as he spoke to the service. After providing his details, he pocketed his phone, his expression uncertain. A car pulled up in front of him, and Sidonie leaned down, peering through the window.

"Hey," she greeted him. "I overheard your conversation. Do you need a ride?" Will hesitated, then shook his head.

"No, it’s fine. They will arrive soon," he replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

"I don’t think they will," Sidonie remarked, trying to sound reassuring. "I can drop you off at your place if you’d like?" Will glanced around nervously as if expecting the truck driver to materialize out of thin air. With a resigned sigh, he leaned in.

"I live in Wolf Trap. I’m not sure if—"

"I live in Vian," Sidonie interjected, and he fell silent for a moment before opening the door. Retrieving her bag, she moved it aside to make room for him. Will settled into the seat, his discomfort was evident in his stiff posture and avoidance of eye contact.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice softening.

"You’re welcome," Sidonie replied, starting the car and pulling away from the curb.

The silence enveloped the car, stretching on for a couple of minutes without either of them uttering a word. Sidonie refrained from initiating conversation, sensing Will's discomfort in social settings. Having experienced such feelings herself, she chose silence for their mutual comfort.

Meanwhile, Will felt a sense of unease, a departure from his usual demeanor. He didn’t know her. He would have felt more comfortable if she were someone he had known for a little while. Or maybe not. He considered engaging in small talk, a prospect that filled him with dread, compounded by recent unsettling nightmares he had been having about antlers.

“How was your first day at the office?” Sidonie glanced at him, slightly taken aback by the sudden question, before adjusting her grip on the wheel.

“It was alright. The murder case was interesting,” Will responded, his gaze drifting out the window to the illuminated city lights. “And you?”

“Same old,” he replied.

“How long have you been working at the B.A.U.?” she inquired, attempting to steer the conversation away from an awkward pause.

“Around a week and a half,” Will replied, prompting a surprised reaction from Sidonie.

“I would never have guessed. You and Agent Crawford seem close,” she observed.

“I wouldn’t call us close,” Will muttered, and Sidonie refrained from further comment, sensing his reluctance to elaborate. “How did you come to know Jack?” he asked, shifting in his seat.

“Through law enforcement. I met him through colleagues,” Sidonie replied.

“And why the job change?” Will pressed, his gaze briefly flitting towards Sidonie's hands on the wheel, noting her tight grip. Her grip was tight almost as if she was scared her hands would slip away.

“Nothing specific. Just decided to try something new,” Sidonie explained. He didn’t respond.

“I’m not good with small talk,” Will confessed suddenly, breaking the silence.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to talk if you don’t feel like it,” Sidonie reassured him with a slight smile. “I enjoy silence as much as conversation.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page... with silence,” Will remarked, his tone softening.

The entire ride remained silent. Surprisingly, after their small talk, it wasn’t as awkward as Will had anticipated. He felt a sense of relief from the tension, at least that’s what he could freely admit.

“You have to turn left here,” he instructed, sitting up slightly. She followed his directions, entering his yard where the dogs barked at the sound of the unfamiliar car. It was clear they were from the house, but the number of them surprised her.

“You’re a dog lover, I see,” she commented.

“Strays,” he replied as he opened the car door. “Would you like to... have a coffee?” he offered, attempting to meet her eyes. He felt grateful for her assistance and wanted to express his thanks, but the thought of sitting in silence over coffee made him uneasy.

“I have a dog of my own, so I need to get going. She’s waiting,” she explained, and Will felt a wave of relief at her words.

“In that case, I won’t keep you. Thanks again,” he said, nodding as he exited the car and closed the door behind himself. Sidonie watched him enter the house, where a bunch of dogs greeted him.

“Strays, huh...” she mused to herself.