#Shrike is slowly coming to the realization that her mentality all this time was kind of ridiculous. But she does NOTTT want to admit it

[cacturne]

cullen: ugh i was so stupid dwelling on the past like that for so long… i could barely recognize myself in my own anger… shrike, chronic past dweller: noooo dont beat yourself up i think bottling up all that anger and dwelling on the past all the time is an okay coping mechanism let nobody tell you otherwise!!

[silviasutton1989]

(FANFIC) “A Step Back” (Liam x Olivia)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey guys I just want to let you all know that I am Very new to the Tumblr world (I have been spelling it Tumbler so yeah there’s that...) I realized I should put some info on here to  help you better understand what’s going on with my stories. I have about 10 parts they all at some point will tie in together. Please work with me as I figure out all these GIFS and Texts and Photos. I promise with each new post I will get better! If you guys like it let me know see some thing I can fix on? Give me a comment or two. The more help the better I become.

SUMMARY: ***This will be a trip into the past (ROYAL ROMANCE BOOK 1 Chapter 7 Fire and Ice). We will get to know Liam and see just a small glimpse into his life in his eyes. WELCOME TO LYTHIKOS!!!***

RATING: I would rate this PG13 nothing too bad...yet!

The snow falls softly onto the window of the plane. Although Liam is surrounded by the beautiful secluded mountains of Lythikos, he cannot help but mentally be standing at the top of the Statue of Liberty thousands of miles away.

Riley.

That name alone can put a smile on Liam's face no matter the situation.

"I'm so glad to see the excitement on your face Liam!" He looks up to see Olivia standing over him reaching out her hand.

"Lythikos offers our warmest welcome to you, your majesty, and as your personal host let me say that my home is your home."

She draws in closer to Liam who is now standing in the walkway of the plane facing her. Her fire red hair pent up meticulously above her head like her own personal crown. Her emerald eyes stare directly into Liam. Soon she is only an inch away from his lips and as she leans even closer she whispers into his ear

"And whatever you may need please know that I am ready and able to accommodate."

She draws back with a smile to fill her entire face. With an inferior smile of his own, Liam steps back and takes Olivia's hands.

"Thank you Lady Olivia. I want you to know that your hospitality to me and to my guest are greatly appreciated. Please pardon my manners  by saying this but your country although is beautiful cannot compare to the presence before me."

He leans in and places a light kiss on her hand. The moment causes Olivia to shrike but she quickly composes herself turns on her heels and boldly sashays off the plane into the limo waiting.

Liam laughs at himself in amazement. For years he has mastered the art if calming Olivia. It was only recently that he realized the easiest way was flattery. One those days when Olivia would be over indulgent in her heavy flirtation with him, over overly cruel in her treatment of others, he learned that with a small amount of flirting was all it took.

He walks off the small private plane towards the limo.

Liam had learned during his brother Leo's social season that the best way to get through the season, is to appease the ladies as much as possible. Yes there was a thin line between kindness and flirtation and yes he was laying it on rather thick for Olivia, but it  was her weekend this was her land and he was her guest. He knew that Olivia has probably spared no expense in showing him a good time it was only fair he did the same for her.

While climbing into the limo Olivia's demeanor changes and is now back to her usual cold self.

"Okay your highness if you please I would like to go over our itinerary for the weekend."

"Proceed."

"So once we reach the palace you have a little time to unwind and freshen up I have brought our famous Jon Del Tousso for a private spa treatment. You would not believe....."

Liam looks out the window at the trees covered in snow somehow they remind him of Riley. She is a complete mystery to him given how much she left just for him. Nobody has ever taken such a risk such a sacrifice for him like that before. He swallows hard at the thought of her.

"Liam, did you hear me?"

Broken from his thoughts Liam looks at Olivia. "My apologies what were you saying?"

"Ice skating. The lake is frozen so I thought maybe we could skate for a little while. Have a little fun before all the politics roll in what do you think?"

Olivia's eyes widen with hope.

"Lady Olivia today and the rest of this weekend you are my queen and whatever you wish I will obey."

Olivia bites her bottom lip.

"So that's a yes to ice skating?"

"Yes!" Liam agrees with a chuckle.

The day moves on from one event to the next and other than a brief encounter while ice skating Riley is rarely around. Liam was glad to finally be down to the last event of the day.

"Lady Olivia" he begins as he is walking behind her. "I have been here on several occasions I think it's a little late to be giving me a tour."

"Yes but you never had a private tour and with that comes specific information classified secrets and hideaway rooms. This is my home Liam."

For a split second with vulnerability and want Olivia's eyes, she slowly looks up to Liam. He has never noticed how red her lips were how much she smelled of cinnamon and spearmint.

"If you choose me your highness I want you to know it all like the back of your hand."

He smiles as she turns to begin the tour, strangely watching her more than the paintings a secret rooms she had to show.

"And this is our final destination!"

"Olivia this is my room."

"Well I had to end it somewhere your highness. What did you think?"

"You have a lovely home" Liam politely states as he uncontrollably plops down onto his bed.

As he rubs his eyes he barley gets to notice how quiet the room had gotten before feeling Olivia's firm but gentle hands messaging his shoulders.

"My sincerest apologies your majesty I overworked you today didn't I?"

"No Olivia" closing his eyes taking in the message he was given. "This was fine, great even, I'm having a wonderful time."

"He yawns and quickly tries to stifle it as he hears a sad moan from behind him.

" I'm sorry Liam I just needed to show you I can be your queen"

She works her frustrations into Liam's shoulders moving up and down his back. Surprising to Liam the added pressure wasn't at all painful she could put that famous masseur of theirs to shame. He pulls behind him grabbing her hands turning hi head to look into her teary eyes.

"You will make an exquisite queen . You don't have to prove that to me."

Olivia smiles and continues down Liam's back. Closing his eyes he takes in every gently throw of pressure she places.

A few silent moments pass and Olivia stops her movements which causes Liam to look up to see she is sitting next to him staring.

"I am going to kiss you." she states. Her assertion frightens him. Yes it shouldn't this is Olivia but the fact that she has never once tried to kiss him before today was intriguing yet intimidating at the same time.

"Okay" is Liam's only response he sits and watches as she readjust her position on the bed. Slowly Olivia leans in, taking long slow breaths  eyes focused on her target. Liam closes his eyes in wait for her contact.

"Wait!" she screams.

With one eye open he watches her jump out of his bed and stand before him. She takes her bun down and her long fine hair begins cascading over her right shoulder. With that one move she looks nothing like before. Liam had a hard time defining the way she looked. Her green eyes searing into his own made his heart fasten in pace. Desirable was the only word he could find.

Slowly she walks between his legs. Her scent of cinnamon again takes hold of his senses as it radiates from her. They are so close only the air between them separating their lips.

"Okay... now...I will kiss you."

Their lips meet and all at once Liam notices everything about Olivia. Her deep red lips the freckles on her shoulder blade the way she taste of spices. And as they continued it is Liam who begins to take control or of the kiss. With a deep moan of satisfaction he begins to kiss her harder deeper. Lifting his hands to her waist, he uses his fingers to squeeze her in want. They then lurk their way underneath her shirt up her back and around the front to her chest. Making claim to her bra intent to discover the contents within it.

A sudden pain stings his hands. He opens his eyes to see that it was Olivia who has hit his mischievous fingers.

"You can have me when I am your queen, your highness."

As she walks out the room Liam rubs his bottom lip watching her as she goes, unable o stop his smile from pleasure and disbelief.

***----------------------------------------------------------------------***

Some time later Olivia looks out her window thrilled on how the whole day has gone. She begins to go over her To Do List for the ball in her head as she sees Drake and Riley holding hands far in the distance. She smiles in sheer delight her night could not have gone any better.

[elfnerdherder]

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 10

You can read Chapter 10 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 10:

                          To Catch a Madman: It Takes a Madman?

           Two murders, both horrendous in their method and brutality, have swept across the nation in a state of panic. We remember Michael Frost, who targeted his victims and strung them up like icicle lights towards the anniversary of his soulmate’s demise, and we certainly remember Charles Ganse, whose obsession with soulmates caused him to kidnap couples in order to collect their mismatched eyes. There are none so deadly as the Red Dragon, though, who has finally stepped out of the darkness in order to drag Dr. Will Graham to the light.

           We last remember Dr. Will Graham as a consultant to the FBI who aided in psychological profiles of killers. After his admittance to a psyche ward following his killing of Garrett Jacob Hobbs –you will remember him better as the Minnesota Shrike –we believed his career in profiling criminals was at an end. It seems, with the death of two and more to come, that he has been brought out of retirement in order to help the FBI one more time.

           I found him outside of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, after a meeting he’d held with Baltimore’s own resident cannibal, Hannibal Lecter. He was neither calm nor collected, and I was once again reminded of how he’d been just a few years before, a consultant for the FBI, but certainly no agent. The screening process alone is arduous to be an agent, and it is quick to find any forms of mental instability.

           Is the FBI so desperate that they not only turned to Dr. Graham, but to Hannibal the Cannibal, too? Are they at such a loss that in order to catch this madman, they employ not one, but two? These are desperate times for America, and we can only witness with trepidation the bumbling ways that the Federal Bureau of Investigation is trying to keep us safe. To be sure, the Red Dragon is watching, and he’s as amused as we are terrified.

           “Will,” Jack cautioned.

           “I’m fine,” Will said pleasantly. The coffee sloshing over the rim of his cup said otherwise, but Jack wasn’t going to point that out. His hands shook, and he stared out of the window, elbow digging into the newspaper with a vengeance. He imagined it to be Freddie Lounds’ face.

           “It could have been worse.”

           “She talked about my-”

           “I know what she talked about,” Jack cut in smoothly. “Forget about her. She doesn’t matter; I do. I say it’s not relevant.”

           “She’s right, though. You’re desperate, and we haven’t got much.”

           “We know who it is, we know his motivations, we know what he’s capable of, and we know that at some point, he’s going to try for Lecter. That’s far more than we had a month ago.”

           “How’s he choosing them, Jack.” Will destroyed a buttered roll beneath anxious fingers. “That’s how you find him, now that he’s shadow suspended in dust. You got his wife safe, you got his face, and you’ve got an art gallery that wants his head for eating prized art, but you don’t know how he’s choosing who to kill, so you don’t know where to find him.”

           “Do you have an idea?” Jack asked.

           Will finished his coffee and set the cup down a little too hard; it rattled in the saucer and drew the ire of the waitress walking by. An hour of sitting, and they’d ordered coffee, biscuits and gravy without the gravy, and a roll. Her worst nightmare realized.

           “I think I’d be good bait,” he said. He stared out of the window, watching a colorful argument wedged between two cars. They were soulmates, their faces close enough to kiss, their fists close enough to hurt. He thought about Hannibal stroking his back to ease the knots out of it, and he shuddered.

           “Molly wouldn’t forgive me if I used you as bait,” Jack said, but he didn’t sound opposed in the least. A thread of intrigue filtered in his voice.

           “She already hates you,” Will said cheerfully. “She asked if the safe house would have any Crawfords in it, and when I said no she was grateful I took that into consideration.”

           Silence. Jack was many things, but the years taught Will that he wasn’t kind. He’d done his fair share of putting Will in the sort of mental places that Alana ground her teeth at night over, and he did so with conscious precision and no guilt. If it meant they caught a killer, what did he care what happened to Will? Will was just one, and the body count of a serial killer was far too many to risk.

           “I’ll see what can be done,” Jack said slowly.

           Will left him in the shitty diner with Lounds’ article, a disintegrated roll, and the responsibility of the tip to the murderous, matching-eyed waitress.

-

           Chilton intercepted him on his way to Lecter, and for that he was annoyed. He seemed to radiate something, though, something that gave Will enough pause to be uncertain, on edge. He followed him to his office and sat down, legs spread and hands resting on his thighs. He gnawed on his bottom lip.

           “You know, Dr. Graham, I have to say that I’m an absolute horror at keeping secrets,” Chilton began, and Will bit down on his lip a little harder to keep something snarky at bay. “I’ve been rather good about this one, but recent events have led me to believe that I would be doing you a disservice to keep quiet any longer.”

           “What,” Will prompted flatly.

           Chilton turned his computer monitor around so that Will could see it; a series of videos were shown, from isolation rooms to hallways to Abel Gideon’s room. Will studied them dispassionately, although his heart stumbled a little. He didn’t like where this was going.

           “Now, according to the law, I can only keep video of hallways, access points, and rooms where the patient is a danger to themselves and must be monitored. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I wheedled, Lecter’s room was none of those things.”

           “Alright.”

           “Then your clever little stint with the partitions put you at an advantage, allowing a wall of privacy.”

           Will said nothing to that, since such a clever little stint had been his goal in its entirety.

           “What I do have, though, is audio.” Chilton’s brown eyes flickered in triumph, noting the tensing of Will’s shoulders. He couldn’t help it, an involuntary action.

           “That’s not legal, either,” Will managed. His fingers curled to fists on his lap.

           “We have arguably one of the smartest serial killers within these walls, Dr. Graham, and I wasn’t going to leave his actions here to chance,” Chilton retorted. “He wasn’t forthcoming in conversations-”

           “So you bugged his room to hear just what he said when you weren’t around,” Will snapped. His leg jiggled slightly as he bounced its weight on the ball of his foot.

           “There was nothing of true note until you came along, in reality,” Chilton said, unheeding of Will’s discomfort. “You walked through those doors, though, Dr. Graham, and something changed fundamentally.”

           He clicked a button on the screen, and a crackly, soft but clear voice came through.

           “What the fuck did you do to me?”

           “I don’t understand; of what am I being accused?”

           “Stop,” Will prompted. Chilton didn’t stop, merely fast-forwarded. Will despised hearing just how panicked and terrified he sounded.

           “If I kiss you now, will you ask me for more?”

           “Run along now, Dr. Graham, before I make you stay.”

           “Stop,” Will said again, harsher. That time, Chilton did. He clasped his hands on his desk, pleased to see Will’s undivided attention.

           “One-sided connection indeed, Dr. Graham,” he said triumphantly. “At first, I was happy to let this continue, learn as I needed on a psychological level as well as a soulmate level. Your horror in of itself was enough to satisfy me. After your last meeting with him, though, Barney informed me that through the cracks in the partition, it wasn’t a mere conversation you were having with him. The silence on the audio was enough to convince me.”

           “It’s not illegal to have a soulmate,” Will said, but it sounded tinny, even to him. The back of his neck prickled, uncomfortable, and he was aware that about four hundred and fifty seven yards away, Hannibal knew something was amiss.

           “Not in the least, but I do have to protect you from yourself.” Chilton smiled, and it didn’t reach his eyes. “I said he gets into your head, Dr. Graham, and I was correct.”

           Hannibal got into his head. Matthew Brown took one eye, Hannibal took another. Will thought of his dreams where he removed his eyes, fingers blood-stained and lips trembling as he tried to put himself back together. Whenever Hannibal tried to do it for him, he cringed away from it. He was in his head, he was in his eyes, he was in his fucking dreams.

           “What are you going to do, then?” Will asked, and this time his tone was far better controlled. Darker. Harsher. “He has pertinent information regarding the serial killer that the FBI is currently hunting for, and pulling me from interviewing him would be seen as an obstruction of justice. He won’t speak to anyone else but me on the matter –let alone you, who had to bug his room in order to glean any words from him in their entirety.”

           It wasn’t quite smart to goad the one holding the key to his soulmate, but Will didn’t back down, his eyes flicking up to Chilton’s chin, then his two brown eyes that darkened at the challenge. Will wasn’t afraid of becoming a soulmate to Chilton. Chilton would die alone because no one in the world would chemically bond to him. The thought made Will smile, a savage twist at the edges.

           “I have no designs on making this public, since his stacks of lonely hearts letters would only grow at the thought that he would potentially connect to any of them, too. He sometimes makes me feel more like a secretary rather than an administrator.” At that, Chilton sniffed. “At the same time, Dr. Graham, we must look out for one another, mustn’t we? Psychiatrists and all.”

           “Psychiatrists and all,” Will echoed.

           “I want you to keep him talking. I want you to get him to talk about himself. As fascinated as I am with the way he’s delved into you, he’s the one I’m attempting to write a book on. If I tried to write a book about you, I think Dr. Bloom would fly down here in a rage with Verger lawyers at her back.”

           “I’m under no legal obligation to do that,” Will said. “In fact, I can think of several laws put in place for the sole purpose of protecting soulmates against that.”

           “Oh, come now, Dr. Graham; you know that the connection between the two of you isn’t something you want.” Chilton propped his chin up and considered Will, fingers curling like hooks over his cheek. “I could all but feel your repulsion radiating from you every time you walked through my doors. We can help one another.”

           “I’m not going to let you use me.”

           “If you’re not inclined to help, I’m not entirely inclined to keep your secrets.”

           There it was. The blackmail on the table. Will bit down on the fat of his cheek, hard. He could just imagine the fury on Jack’s face, the horror and indignation at his secrecy and his mental state. Maybe if he’d come clean sooner, they’d have simply removed him from the case, but this far into everything, it’d be seen as something worse. Jack would take it just about as personally as anyone was capable of –an attack of the worst kind, seeing as how the only person in the world Will seemed capable of connecting to was a cannibalistic serial killer.

           “I’ll see what I can do,” Will said at last. He gritted his teeth. “Last time I tried to play him, though, I’ll remind you that my girlfriend was almost murdered.”

           “I have every faith in you,” Chilton said, pleased.

           He was given his partitions, whatever that meant. Will rocked from his heels to his toes, then back again as they were set up. Beside him, Abel leaned against the bars.

           “I saw what you did,” he said conversationally.

           “Did you, Dr. Gideon?”

           “You got Matthew Brown sentenced here rather than prison. A smart move on your part, Dr. Graham. Now that his contacts are out, he’s just one of us in the end.”

           So am I, Will thought savagely.

           “I thought it was best, given his half-connection. The psychotic break alone wasn’t something they’d help him with in a prison.”

           “That, and his half-connection to you is all the orderlies can talk about,” Gideon said gleefully. “Dr. Graham, so entrenched in soulmates that people are connecting to him left and right. First Matthew, then Hannibal Lecter. Just what would it take for you to connect back, I wonder?”

           The knowing look on his face told Will that the question was rhetorical. He knew everything.

           “…You tried to warn me,” he said at last, taking a step closer to the bars.

           Gideon tilted his head, regarded Will with a small, twitching smile. He looked around, like he was searching for someone else that may have been listening in, then shrugged innocently, leaning into the corner between the bars and the wall.

           “I may have been inclined,” he said slyly.

           Will stared at him, the faint stubble, the face soft rather than angled like Lecter’s. He didn’t work out with a ferocity that Will felt Hannibal did, muscles aching in the aftermath. He was content with his bed and what little he was allowed inside of the cell. He had nothing better to do, Will supposed, than to try and stir the shit, rile him up.

           And yet…

           “Thank you, Dr. Gideon,” he said at last, sincere. “For trying.”

           “As I said, I do like it when people are polite. No reason or motive in the world other than the fact that you choose to be kind when you could be cruel. Enough people are cruel when they could be kind, I think.”

           Will nodded, rubbed his mouth to wipe away the small smile that threatened. He wondered what Abel Gideon would think if he knew that Will had intentionally found a way to lock Matthew Brown back into the BSHCI. He’d been cruel when he could have been kind. Maybe though, maybe Abel Gideon of all people would see he’d only done it because people had a habit of just not leaving him the hell alone, like Alana and Will both wanted so damn much.

           “Prepare yourself, though, Dr. Graham,” Abel said when Will didn’t speak. “You’re not going to like what you see just on the other side of that partition. Not. One. Bit.”

           “…Thank you for the warning,” he said, and at a nod from Barney at the partition, he turned and walked around it, leaving Abel in his corner, smirking with his secrets.

           Abel was right. He didn’t like it. Not. One. Bit.

           He pushed down against the concrete, and it pushed back. There had been a time, when he was younger and far less in control of himself –he steadfastly ignored the fact that he still didn’t really feel in control of himself –when he’d dig his fingernails so hard into his palms that he’d break skin. It was that or shout, fists hitting dry wall as he tried to get the demons out from under his skin. There was a myriad of ways to try and control the sudden rush of fury, and he was sometimes an avid fan of counting backwards from ten, then twenty, then fifty. He did that now, staring. Hannibal studied his body language, gaze narrowed and curious.

           “They took your things,” Will said after the silence felt too heavy.

           “A punishment for ultimately leading you into a wild goose chase, obstructing justice, and endangering lives, or so I’m told,” Hannibal replied amiably. If he was troubled, he gave no indication. Will was absolutely troubled, though. The drawings on the wall were gone, as well as the books, newspapers, and table. Even the chair, bolted as it had been, had been taken away, holes in the ground where it’d been screwed into the floor. The pens, letters, and magazines were also missing, and it, for the first time, seemed like an honest, true cell.

           Apart from the initial shock, there was a dark part of Will that delighted in Hannibal having to live among the muck and the mire like the rest of the murderers and killers had to. What other serial killer could boast an extensive library and constant correspondence with psychiatrists and grad students? There was something righteously glorious about three grey, hideous cement walls.

           No, the only thing that truly bothered Will was the glass wall that separated them from floor to ceiling, nothing but holes along the top of the glass allowing air to circulate and speech to be heard. It looked to be a foot thick, a dense and formidable material. How Chilton had gotten it up in a day, Will wasn’t quite sure –it was likely he’d had it at the ready when he was done eavesdropping on Will and Hannibal. The invasion of his privacy, of his weaknesses exposed in such a blasé manner –

           -It made him think an awful lot about how doing bad things to bad people felt really, really good.

           “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but it’s an extreme enough emotion that I don’t have to ask. It’s radiating in my pulse,” Hannibal said.

           “Dr. Chilton is listening.”

           “Yes, I imagine he is,” he agreed. “When you leave, he will likely filter in an evangelical broadcast to make me reflect on the things I’ve done. That, coupled with the glass divider; he does enjoy his petty torments.”

           “That invasive, fucking-” He cut himself off. Chilton was listening.

           His head cocked to the side, curious. “Did you suppose I’d be granted privacy?”

           “I supposed I’d be granted privacy,” Will said. He thought about sitting down, but he tossed the idea. His blood curdled, livid.

           “It made me curious about what you’d do next. Is this the end for us?”

           Will shook his head, and he walked to the barrier, the tips of his shoes brushing against the wall. In the reflection of the glass, he saw both himself and Hannibal, and he wondered dazedly if that’s what it was to be soulmates –to see so much of yourself in someone else that you bled together. He swallowed with difficulty; he didn’t want to bleed out, to become a distorted part of himself. His madness was like an oil spill, and he desperately wanted to contain it.

           “Ah, I see; you take no issue in avoiding being so close to me as long as it is by your choice, but now that the choice was taken away, you’re upset.”

           “Is this funny to you?” Will asked.

           “Yes,” Hannibal said, shaking his head no. Will tasted the thinly veiled fury that licked along his bones, and he wasn’t sure anymore if it was his or of it was Lecter’s. It was possessive. Dark. “What are you going to do now, dear Will? I’m curious.”

           “I don’t know,” Will said. A lie, and Hannibal felt it as much as he saw it in the dark look beyond the plastic lenses Will wore to hide just what he was. A moment, charged with something smacking of sin, flickered between them. Hannibal licked his lips. They didn’t need words, and Will wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

           Will lifted his hand up, and he placed his palm to the glass, pressed his fingertips deep like he could break the barrier by will alone. He stared into Hannibal’s mismatched eyes, Hannibal stared back, and after a second that tasted like a thousand heartbeats, Hannibal lifted his palm and pressed back.

           I’ll play your game, Hannibal mouthed to him. Since you were so obliging to play mine.

           Will nodded, and he walked away, leaving Hannibal with his palm print and the sense of something on the horizon. His bones hummed, small sparks of electricity on his tongue.

-

           Jack Crawford was about as well-versed in the art of swearing as any other person. As he raged and paced in the confines of Will’s hotel room, he used every word under the sun that he could grasp onto in such a moment as that, palms hot and eyes blindingly furious. Will watched from the safety of the chair he sometimes slept in, a whiskey sour in hand, chewed-up straw dangling from his mouth. His eyes did not itch, nor did they convey a lie bought at the convenient price of $24.99.

           “And of all of the fucking, god damned, piece of shit –over a month, Will? A fucking month?” A deep inhalation. “More than a month, quite a few fucking months?”

           “Hannibal god-damned Lecter?” Will mouthed along with him, swirling his drink.

           “When I said –and I know I fucking said it –when I fucking said to come to me if you felt you were in too deep, did it occur to you that that was too deep?”

           A rhetorical question. Will made the mistake of not-quite catching that the first time, and he’d been verbally steamrolled. Hence the drink.

           Well over an hour took Jack to stopping mid-step and staring at the wall like it had the answers. The fight hadn’t left him, but the ability to convey even his basest of emotions had. Like a balloon pricked with a fine-tipped needle, the air had to ease out of him sooner or later. Three drinks later, in Will’s case.

           “It’s not ideal for me, either, Jack,” Will said, turning the straw over and over in his hands. “It’s not been a vacation.”

           “You lied to me,” Jack managed, still staring at the wall.

           “I told you I didn’t want to do this, and you made me do this. I walked in there, and I got fucked over more than you did, I think.”

           “Oh, you think?” Jack rounded on him, but seeing the empty glass in his hand seemed to shock some of the anger out of him –he balked at the image of a too calm Dr. Graham.

           “I’m thinking, ‘I’ve got a serial killer in my head, and I’ve got one at my back, scratching at it.’”

           “This has compromised this entire investigation,” Jack groused.

           “It hasn’t. I haven’t broken any laws, and Lecter’s already imprisoned for murdering people, so his obstruction of justice isn’t really going to bother him too much,” Will pointed out. “Besides, it gives you what you want, doesn’t it? I’ve got a real bad feeling that I should linger right around this area, and you need me to help you catch your Red Dragon, right around this area.”

           “Oh, no, the fuck you are,” Jack snarled. “You’re on a plane to Molly –Christ’s sake, Will, does Molly know?”

           “Molly knows,” said Will amiably.

           “How’s she feel about that?”

           “I’m thinking, ‘I warned you this would change me, Molly. You won’t know me the same.’ And she said, ‘I’ll get to know you all over again.’”

           “You’re off this case, and I-”

           “The fuck I am, Jack,” Will said, and Jack stopped at the sound of the glass falling out of Will’s hand, hitting the floor with an anticlimactic thud and rolling on its side. Will thought about leaving it, but he ultimately sighed, bent down and retrieved it, straw dangling from his lips. He thought about Molly and cringed.

           “I didn’t hear that,” Jack warned him.

           “You did,” Will retorted. “Molly almost died because of Red Dragon, and you dragged me out of a pretty god damn good life to come find him for you. I’ve got a maroon eye that belongs to a serial killer behind a glass wall, and I’ve got a pretty good idea to suss out your killer that you wanted so badly you wrecked my life to get him.”

           There were many things that Jack Crawford was, but kind was not one of them. Will felt his eyes, weighing and assessing, and he knew without having to know that he’d piqued his interest –enough to at least hear him out. In the end, no matter what he felt for Will, mercy wasn’t one of those things. He’d sacrifice Will for anything, and Will was counting on that.

           “What’s the idea?”

           “He loves reading about Lecter, doesn’t he? And now I’ve interested him.” Will shifted in his chair, getting comfortable. He rubbed his bad eye. “I’m thinking, ‘the only thing worse than getting caught is your idol denouncing you.’ I’m thinking… ‘Why don’t we draw him out to me?’”

           “Bait,” Jack said, clipped.

           “Freddie Lounds is biting at the bit to get me to do an interview. I’ve got four voicemails. We get her to write about me, write about Lecter, and really make Red Dragon mad. Get Chilton in on it, too, let out some stuff about his inability to acquire a soulmate, his impotency, leanings towards things he’d feel as inferior to him –sexuality, appearance, you name it. Two doctors talking about it, one an expert in soulmates, the other an ‘expert’ with criminal psychology? You want him to make a mistake, you gotta make him mad enough to do it, Jack. We’ve gotta make Red Dragon mad.”

           Jack started pacing again. This time, Will leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling rather than track it, letting his eyelids keep track of time. At one hundred blinks, his footsteps trailed to a stop, and Will pulled the straw from his mouth, tying aimless knots into it.

           “We do this, I’ve got round-the-clock guard on you. You’re wearing Kevlar.”

           “Bullet wounds are headshots on the victims, Jack. He goes for the head.”

           “You’re wearing Kevlar,” Jack snapped.

           “I’ll wear Kevlar,” Will groused.

           “We’ll need to take pictures to make it believable. Will you take pictures?”

           Will sighed, like it was the most difficult thing he’d ever been asked to do. “I’ll take pictures.”

           “You’re a son-of-a-bitch,” Jack informed him.

           Will didn’t have it in him to disagree. Somehow, the lack of fight made Jack anxious, and he shifted from one foot to the other.

           “…You have killers in your head all the time, Will. What’s it feel like to have this one, now that it’s…chemical rather than psychological?” he asked when he found the words he’d been fumbling for. After yelling so long, the sudden curiosity was almost laughable.

           “Like putting my hands in black paint and pressing it over my eyes,” he said, and he finally looked at Jack, dropping the straw onto the table beside him.

           “I’m sorry,” Jack said, and it wasn’t for the cussing.

           “Me too,” Will replied.

-

           Freddie Lounds handled herself far better than anyone expected. With the aid of an ecstatic Chilton and a resigned Crawford, Will sat down with her and answered questions no honest journalist would ask, phrased his words in a way no true psychiatrist would. Chilton added in a word or two on the matter, and it became a sort of banter back and forth, the two of them building off of one another’s ‘theories’ on the ‘Soul Stealer’.

           “He’s certainly inbred,” Will said.

           “Prone to homosexual tendencies,” Chilton added in.

           Will’s contacts remained in. Now that Jack knew, Will had no fear of Chilton. What little ground he’d hoped to gain ahead of Will for his book –Blood and Chocolate, he’d confided in Will –was lost. Not that Will would tell him that, though.

           Hannibal was behind a glass wall, and Will didn’t like it.

           When Freddie pulled out her camera, Will noted the tense stance and expression on Jack’s face, and he took great delight in posing as she directed, although he faltered somewhat when she asked about having a photo by the graveside of Mrs. Hess. That was met with a curt no. Chilton couldn’t resist stepping in for a few photos, and there was a collective expression of pleasant surprise when Will put an affable hand on Chilton’s shoulder.

           In the end, Freddie held her hand out to Will, and Jack almost fell out of his chair when Will clasped it firmly and thanked her for her hard work.