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sunlitroom · 7 years ago

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Gotham – s4e09 – Let Them Eat Pie

As I watched it, and some random observations here and there.

Previously on Gotham:

Bruce killed R'as and started down a dark path. This path is so well trodden by Gotham's citizens at this point that it should really have vending machines and little benches along the way - is there anyone at this point who hasn't offed someone? Bruce acts out. Oswald has met Martin. Harvey made a mistake. Jim took over as captain in the coldest way possible. What did you do to get it? Ha - a sneaky cut there shows us Jim and Sofia on the couch. Oh Jim - all those noble intentions about not dancing to Carmine’s tune when you came to town way back in s1e1, and you wound up the Falcones’ bitch after all. Pyg and his endless fucking talking.

As always, long post will be long. There are likely to be rambling digressions. Gobblepot might appear (although I welcome all shippers and non-shippers alike :)). There will be naked favouritism and naked not-favouritism. Broader comments at the end on plotlines and parallels and general direction.

Someone who is clearly Pyg in disguise is handing out donuts to the homeless. Between Oswald's poisoned Cannoli, and the drugged pastry Ed fed the mayor, Gotham seems very concerned with making sure we never accept free pastries. He's disguised as a priest, which I think is a very specific offence. He lures some to go with him with the promise of pie, ushering them into a van

Say no to free pastries, and don't get into vans with theatrical strangers

Pyg has taken them to an empty building of some sort. He's photographing the homeless people he lured away and pinning the pictures to a wall. He's also wittering on about divisions in society, and saying he knows how it feels to feel like a ‘have not’. After a few mouthfuls of his pie, the people round the table all slump. Pyg gloats that he's going to show the ‘haves’ a lesson.

In a makeshift kitchen, he takes off his disguise and begins to butcher the corpses.

Let's begin - shall we?

At the precinct, a man is painting Jim's name on the door of the Captain’s office, while, inside, Harvey is still clearing his stuff out. Ouch.

I'll be out of your way in just a second, captain

Jim says this isn't how he wanted things to go down, but this vaguely regretful look doesn't tally with how cold and self-righteous he was last week when relieving Harvey of duty - so fuck you, Jim.

Harvey says he was thinking about their first case. He says that if Jim had killed Oswald, then Falcone would still be running things, and a lot of people who are dead would be alive today.

(An aside - what now? Am I misremembering things, and Falcone was actually some kind of jolly Santa Claus figure? I'm not sure why we keep getting this bizarre nostalgia. Plus, it completely discounts that both Fish and Maroni were jockeying for position too.)

Jim says that if he could go back he'd do exactly the same thing. Harvey says Jim doesn't understand how the city works: it doesn't need heroes - it needs people who'll do what's necessary. In a staggering display of hypocrisy, Jim tells him that he's wrong:

if you show them the way, people will follow

He also tells Harvey that when his leave is over - there's a desk waiting for him - but Harvey replies that he has no desire to sit and watch Jim all day. He leaves, and Jim is left standing alone. For the second time now, we’ve seen him in that office – but not in the Captain’s chair.

(An aside – it’s probably Gotham’s old problem of inconsistency week to week, but Jim’s sudden sadface is not in keeping with his behaviour last week. Also, Harvey seems to have lost 4 seasons’ worth of characterisation and gone back to his earliest version of himself. On top of that, Jim’s not even going to see him until he gets back from leave? Not check up on his self-destructive friend at all? This isn’t in keeping with how close they are at all. Why has a big reset button been hit on their friendship?)

At the orphanage, Sofia's arranging flowers.

Oswald enters the room, says the flowers are beautiful and assures her that the benefit will be a success. Sofia says she hopes so - she wants the wealthy to fund the orphanage.

Oswald however, has to decline, and says something has come up. She asks if it's the thing in the Narrows with his former Chief of Staff. Oswald shakes his head – and tells her that it’s more serious – Jim’s promotion.

Sofia asks if he's worried. Oswald smiles and says the issue is the person who ordered the appointment. Sofia deflects – commenting that the mayor is a weasel. Os isn't buying this, though, and says that someone has got to the mayor, and when Oswald finds out who is really behind it, there will be a reckoning.

(An aside - someone at Gotham loves Hannibal)

Sofia looks thoughtful for a moment. She tells him Martin is doing a song tonight with the other children, and smiles before leaving..

Mr Penn scurries over, looking anxious. He tells Oswald to have Victor ‘talk’ to Sofia if he suspects that she’s responsible, but Oswald says she is literally his only friend. Mr Penn delicately asks if she's actually murdered the mayor. Oswald considers this – what if he’s

Chasing a ghost while she’s preparing her next move

He needs someone discreet, someone to get close to her. He has a brainwave. Oswald is going to recruit Martin

Oh Oswald. No. This is a bad idea.

In the hallway outside, Sofia was apparently lurking outside the door - listening to their noisy conversation. She calls Jim. Jim picks up and tries to be all stern, saying that they're done.

Jim - you don't get to keep the captaincy and stay on your moral high horse. You’re bought and paid for, Captain Blond.

Sofia tells him Oswald suspects something. Jim asks if she warned the mayor. She says she did. He says it sounds as if she has her bases covered and tells her not to call again, after insincerely thanking her for the heads up about Oswald. He hangs up. She looks at the phone in some consternation.

Jim walks on up the stairs where Harper is answering the phone. Jim picks up and immediately says Sofia

Wrong, try again

It's Pyg. He asks Jim if he remembers how he told him about the rot in Gotham, from high to low. As he speaks, Pyg is setting up the final touches on some tent. As he leaves, he tells Jim to hurry out for a taste of what's to come.

(An aside - Jim’s slip-up here, and Pyg’s failure to be shocked by it further undermines all the incorruptible Jim Gordon stuff from Pyg, and points again to a plan from Sofia)

As Jim and Harper enter the tent, we see the corpses of two of the homeless people dressed up in 18th century aristocratic clothes, pigs snorting round the table, and a card saying vive la revolution

Jim wants the area closed off, as he’s saying this, one of the people gawping in at the tent comments that one of the pigs is starting to eat a corpse.

(And another Hannibal nod - this is Mason Verger’s thing.)

The kitchens at Wayne Manor. Bruce stumbles in and brattily demands breakfast at lunchtime. Alfred tries to reach out to him, but Bruce is not responding. Alfred reminds him he killed Ra’s. Bruce takes out his phone and tries to ignore him. Alfred asks him he remembers what day it is. Bruce explodes – it’s the day of the annual camping tradition, where they lay stones at the top of some nearby hill. He takes the stones out, inscribed with Bruce and Thomas’ initials, and tells him to remember whose son he is. If I’m honest, I’d guess that comparing his current behaviour to his father’s is probably already part of Bruce’s self-flagellation routine, but I can see why Alfred tried it.

In the morgue, Jim is explaining to Jim that the homeless people seem to have had their organs removed. Jim puzzles aloud about why Pyg said the victims would be rich and powerful if he was going to target the homeless. Lucius points out that Jim wants logic from psychopaths, and suggests that he’s using them to make a statement.

Jim says the homeless population is densest in the Narrows. As he leaves, Lucius comments that it’s a hell of a first day to be captain.

At the Narrows, Jim is sending officers out to search. Harper tells him that traces of the chemicals found on the corpses are used in paper manufacturing. Jim fortuitously remembers an abandoned paper factory nearby, and they head off.

As soon as they enter, they see there's a corpse lying on a table, a hole where an organ should be. Harper asks what he’s doing. Jim says he’s taking organs and – on seeing a grill nearby – adds:

He's cooking them

There’s a sound, and Jim and Harper hare off after it. Pyg manages to sneak up on Harper and (I think) stab her in the chest/shoulder. He tells Jim to drop his gun. Harper tells Jim to shoot the bastard, but Jim drops the gun instead. Pyg says they found him too soon (he really is quite shit), and chortles that the table is not yet set. Jim offers himself as a hostage, but Pyg says he must see the final act. Knocking Harper out, he hauls her into the van and drives off. Jim looks after them, looking faintly put out.

A brief scene to demonstrate that Alfred and Kevin the teenager have indeed gone to the woods.

In a room at the iceberg lounge, we see that Oswald has made Martin a suit for the fundraiser. They communicate with each other through the mirror, emphasising that while they might want to communicate with each other, there’s deception and manipulation acting as a barrier.

Oswald comments that Sofia is

Quite a lady isn't she? A friend to both of us.

Or is she? He tells Martin that he worries Sofia is only pretending to be Oswald’s friend, and using Martin. Martin frowns, and draws a question mark on his pad. Oswald tells him that he’s been running it over in his mind, and there’s two possible ways she’s done this.

The first – she chose a specific orphan to place in his path, told his how to act, groomed him….

Martin shakes his head violently at this, panicked and upset. Oswald backs down from this line of thought, and suggests option two, that she just collected group of children hoping one would gain his trust and make him easier to manipulate. Martin looks tearful.

Oswald tells him that in the second version, he is innocent (Oswald, he’s innocent in both – because he’s a child) and that this is the version he badly wants to believe.

To prove his friendship, he wants Martin to spy on Sofia. Martin nods his head, and Oswald offers his hand. His face working, he asks Martin not to let him down, please. As Oswald walks away, we see that Martin is crying.

(An aside. A number of things with this scene.

First of all – in what we’re being presented, Martin is under a horrible amount of strain. I think Sofia has set him up from the beginning, or at least pushed hard – which puts her on the same list as Tabitha, for me. I think Martin does genuinely want to be friends with Oswald, and now he’s in a horrible, dreadful situation. As for Oswald, he’s allowing his own hang-ups free rein, and is placing a massive amount of strain on a child. It’s more sincere than Sofia, if that makes sense, his emotional involvement is genuine, more meaningful, and not motivated by anything – but it’s still inappropriate to place that burden on a child.

As discussed elsewhere with @rhavewellyarnbag and @maysgreatnewusername, though, given how manipulative and demanding Getrud was (and Elijah, imo), I think that Oswald is under the impression that this is how relationships work – specifically parent/child relationships. Getrud was jealous and demanding (and pretty unstable, imo). From Oswald’s behaviour, he was practised in placating and comforting her. He’s not especially reflective about that relationship, though – and maybe never will be, now – and so instead of recognising that it wasn’t healthy, he instead sort of operates within its parameters.

Secondly – this just didn’t feel solid to me, and I think I’ve figured out why. I just don’t buy that Oswald is so emotionally committed to the idea of friendship with Sofia. That has really been highlighted by his interactions with Martin, where I think you can see genuine emotional engagement.

As such – I don’t think I really believe the lengths he’s going to ascertain her sincerity. He’s mistrusted her from the outset with good reason. I don’t buy that the relationship is emotionally fulfilling enough to outweigh that – it’s too laced with doubt and suspicion, and Oswald finds neither tolerable. At this point, it feels more realistic to me that he would just write her off as too risky, tell Mr Penn to legally extract Martin, and either destroy her or withdraw totally into a Cold War situation.)

At the Narrows, Jim is barking orders about Harper's search. The press ask questions. Jim says he believes Pyg is responsible. A reporter asks how people can be kept safe if they can't keep officers safe. Another asks whether Jim will be pushed aside like Harvey Bullock was if he fails. Jim winces. Another asks about the rumour of cooking victims. A disgruntled Jim asks who told him that.

Back in the paper factory. Jim angrily remarks that someone leaked to press about the cooked victims. Lucius suggests Pyg – which does make sense – and tells Jim everyone is on his side. He also tells him there’s something he has to see.

Pyg's left a quote from A Modest Proposal. Lucius recognises it because he’s pretty wonderful:

“I grant this food will be somewhat dear, and therefore very proper for Landlords, who, as they have already devoured most of the Parents, seem to have the best Title to the Children.”

(An aside – yeuch, Pyg and his posey little undergraduate affectations.)

He explains that it's an argument for cannibalism – eating the poor. Jim extrapolates from the text that it’s specifically talking about orphans, and heads off alone to the Orphanage. As he suspects that it’s a trap – and doesn’t want to be caught out like Harvey, he says he’ll go alone.

At the orphanage, Sofia is in the kitchens. Pyg shows up in a chef disguise and says he’s made a change to the menu – Gotham meat pies instead of the pre-arranged menu. Hiding organs underneath a pastry lid doesn’t exactly take much work. Hannibal would turn his nose up at all this.

In the woods, Alfred tries, while Bruce sulks. Alfred tells the story of how he met Thomas. He was on a self-destructive path after the army, drink and drugs. He woke up in an alley, covered in blood, and turned himself in, hoping the police would send him to jail. The police made him wait.

There was an annoying American wandering around. He asked Alfred what he did, and Alfred spilled his guts about everything. Bruce is listening, but trying to seem like he’s not. When the police come back over, Thomas concocts a story to save Alfred – telling the police that Alfred saved him from being mugged. After the police left, Alfred told Thomas that’s not what happened – but Thomas told him it is now.

Alfred tells Bruce that friendship saved him. He knows what it's like to hope for punishment – he wants to help Bruce. Bruce grimaces and says he hears him, but doesn’t want to talk about it.

He suddenly gets up and unconvincingly searches for the rocks. He says he must have left them in the car, and runs off. Alfred spots that the rocks are actually in the bag, and hears Bruce drive off.

At the Orphanage, the benefit has started. Sofia tells Oswald and Martin they both look handsome.

Oswald tells her he knows how important the evening is, and that he wouldn't have forgiven himself if missed Martin’s performance. Sofia asks Oswald if he found the mayor. Oswald says he didn’t. Sofia claims she’s happy he could make it to dinner, and goes off to check on the chef, sending Martin off to the other children. Oswald turns, and reminds Martin to watch Sofia.

Jim sneaks into the orphanage basement by the back door.

We see Martin standing in a hallway, writing in his pad. We get some menacing music as Sofia approaches Martin from behind, and asks him what he’s writing. In terms of the question of Sofia’s affection for Martin, I think it’s notable that her approach here is reminiscent of Pyg sneaking up on Harper, and then again on him sneaking up on Jim in the next scene.

Jim is lurking round. A surprised waiter encounters him. Jim hushes him, questions him about the chef, and tells him to bring Sofia to him. As the waiter turns, Jim asks him what’s in his jacket. The waiter turns and swings for Jim. Jim lands a punch, but is then knocked out by Pyg, who appeared from nowhere.

He comments that Jim really is an impressive policeman. The waiter tells him that he thinks Jim came alone. We see Jim dumped in a random room in the orphanage, with a bound and gagged Harper.

Elsewhere in the orphanage, Sofia is making a speech about how an orphanage was a long-cherished dream. What, Falcone couldn’t afford this before or something? Or did he draw the line at putting a gangster’s name on an orphanage? Whatever.

She asks them to go next door and take their seats for the performance. Oswald approaches and asks where Martin is – he wanted to wish him luck. Sofia smiles slightly, but ignores this – and comments that maybe things happen for a reason. Licensing crime was a bold move, but could have destroyed Oswald. Whoever appointed Jim might have saved him.

Oswald is incredulous – by destroying everything he ever created? He looks hard at Sofia. He tells her to confess that she did it, and face the consequences.

They’re interrupted by Pyg – who says something wanky and punny about dinner or performances or something. I honestly tune him out.

Jim is trying to untie Harper, and has apparently stopped the bleeding. She tells him they forgot to search her (that was very convenient). Jim finds a knife strapped to her ankle and begins to work on the door.

They sit down to dinner downstairs. Oswald angrily asks Sofia if this is another of her plans, to which she retorts no.

Pyg gives an intensely annoying performance.

Sofia calls enough – and asks where the children are. Pyg stabs her in the hand. Oswald stands, enraged – but Pyg warns him not to pull it out, the next is in her eye.

He tells Sofia that the children are in the kitchen: he’s not an animal

(You are, mate - you slaughtered and butchered those homeless people)

He rambles on a bit more to make sure everyone gets his hypocritical moral lesson. Oswald twigs first that the pies are people and refuses to eat. Pyg then reveals that he has Martin.

(I’d point out here that the last person to see Martin before Pyg showed up with him in tow was Sofia)

Sofia and Oswald stand, both seemingly enraged. He tells them to eat or he’ll kill the boy. One of the other guests refuses, saying that he’s just some urchin, so why bother. An livid Oswald turns as he says this and – taking the knife from Sofia’s hand – stabs him in the head.

Pyg claims Oswald is the main reason he’s here, the worst glutton. Again – really? Worse than any of the other powerful people in town? He reiterates that Martin will die if he doesn’t eat. Oswald tears up, looks down at the pie, and starts cramming it in his mouth, retching as he does. Turning, he screams at the rest of them to eat – or he’ll hunt them down and kill them all.

Jim gets the door off its hinges.

Pyg keeps talking. He reminds Sofia she has to eat – why, if she’s so desperate to save Martin, has she waited? She tells him she will as long as he doesn’t hurt Martin. It feels very stagey. She struggles to pick up her fork, and asks Oswald – in a little-girl voice – if he can help her. Now it definitely feels staged.

He picks up the fork, and cuts a piece for her. She’s just about to take a bite when Jim runs in, firing his gun, and chaos ensues.

Oswald flings himself in front of Jim, begging him to stop, because he’ll kill the kid. Jim tells Oswald to get off him, and shoves him away. Oswald ushers Martin from the room – not Sofia, who instead runs towards Jim. Jim tells her to get out – and a fight ensues on the table between him and Pyg

Much flightiness goes on. At one point, Pyg tells Jim

Don't give up - you'll ruin everything

(Which – again – maybe points to Jim just playing a role in someone else’s plan.)

Just as Pyg has Jim pinned, Jim spots the knife Oswald used to stab that guy in the head and – pulling it out – stabs Pyg. See – Jim and Oswald connected even when the plot is throwing angst and contrived conflict at them: Oswald just saved Jim’s life. Gobblepot confirmed.

Sofia’s hand is being stitched up by a police officer. As they leave, Oswald enters and asks how her hand is. She says it’s fine, and asks after Martin. Oswald replies that he’s stronger than he looks.

Drawing closer to her, he tells her she paid off mayor to make Jim Captain

And you want me to believe this was out of friendship – to save me.

Sofia says she tried to talk him out of the Pax – but there was no other way. Oswald says it’s equally possible she is his enemy, intent on destruction. She comments that he could choose to see it that way – but the choice is his.

Oswald says that whatever the reasoning – she went behind his back, and he’d be justified in killing her, but what she was going to do for Martin - that was real.

(Yeah - but very conveniently timed - Oswald. And who says her pie had people in it?)

She nods and looks downwards. I don’t buy her sincerity here – her face is very similar to when Falcone told her she wasn’t ready for Gotham. Oswald steps closer, and tells her never to betray him again. He also says he will abandon the licensing scheme (what a damp fucking squib that was) but will not accept Jim as Captain. Sofia shrugs and tells him to pick someone else, Gordon means less than nothing to her. After Oswald has left, she smirks.

Outside, Jim puts Pyg in the back of the policecar. The press call for Captain Gordon. Walking over, he reports back to them, and says GCPD kept its promise. They thank him, and he nods uncomfortably. Sofia watches smiling from a window, Jim looks up at her, somewhat uncertainly.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce is having a party. There’s some back and forth, but Alfred kicks them out. He tells Bruce to face up to who he really is. Bruce is apparently cut up that he avenged his parents – but nothing changed – so why did he do it?

Alfred tries to convince him to talk more, to help him understand – but Bruce glowers and tells Alfred to behave like his butler, not his father. He runs off to join his friends and leaves Alfred behind

Holding a glass of whiskey, Sofia faces the fire, waiting on a predictable Jim, who walks into the room. She smiles at him, calling him the hero of the day. Jim looks po-faced, and says he was just doing his job. She smiles again.

I know you hate me, but you deserve the job

Jim says he went to Falcone and knew what he was getting into, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. Sofia says that he accepts it, though. It’s not clear to me here whether she means the job, or the reality of what he has done. I’d argue that Jim doesn’t accept it, actually – his affronted superiority as soon as he was given the captaincy was a joke.

Jim stubbornly says he deserves the job like Gotham deserves law and order. Sofia frowns and asks if Jim thinks she doesn’t want that too. She tells him that she’s not his enemy – and never will be. Touching his face, she kisses him. Jim kisses back, but seems to have a realisation. He steps back, mistrust on his face.

(An aside – Jim, I know Sofia’s just about wearing her breasts as earmuffs this evening, and you’re easily distracted, but really? After all the cruel things she said about Harvey? Your best friend? Who’s put himself in danger’s way for you so often? Risked his career for you? Made an enemy of every other person in the precinct for you? Engineered your jailbreak? Really really? You still accept a kiss? It’s unclear where that situation went – he seemed to be stepping back, but – if not – he’s putrid right now.)

Oswald waits outside in car. Martin gets in, and Oswald asks if he found anything out. Martin looks conflicted, but writes in his pad and shows it to Oswald

I saw Sofia kissing the policeman

Oswald reads this and – wide-eyed – looks back at Martin for confirmation, who nods.

Oswald is tearful. He smiles and tells Martin that he is a good friend, and Martin smiles back. Turning to the window, his face is twitching with rage and pain.

As for Sofia - she will answer for what she has done. I swear it.

He stares out the car window, on the point of tears.

General Observations

That isn’t what happened, though, is it?

It is now

There’s a bit of a running theme this week on what you choose to believe. Thomas gives Alfred a new story. In choosing to accept it, he began a new life. Jim refuses to fully accept that he got the captaincy by dishonest means, stubbornly reiterating that he deserves it anyway. Sofia gives Oswald a choice – what does he want to believe: is she a friend, or enemy?

There’s variation, though, on how healthy that is. Thomas’ lie offered Alfred a way to a better life, and a way to get out of the mess he was in. Jim’s lie makes him a hypocrite. He’s uncomfortable in his own skin, under the bluster, and he’s lost his only friend. Believing Sofia’s lie could prove deadly to Oswald.

All that aside – to be honest, I just find this whole Sofia/Oswald storyline frustrating. Oswald has swithered between mistrust, threats, and tearful vulnerability – but now we’ve definitely landed on friendship? When did that happen?

And even if you leave to one side the fact that his brain must be operating at about 75% efficiency to have decided that the daughter of Don Falcone has shown up in town and magically become his bestie – you still have the Ivy mess. If Oswald was so vulnerable and needy for affection and connection, then the way that whole relationship played out just made no sense whatsoever. He doesn’t squander friendship. He’s more likely to smother it by holding on too tightly – but he doesn’t throw it away.

And, for reasons discussed earlier, I just don’t buy that he’s emotionally attached to Sofia. He’s tearful in this episode, but I think it’s as much anger and humiliation as anything. I just don’t see a bond there: there’s never been enough trust. I likewise don’t really believe that he’d dither for this long – it’s too dangerous.

Likewise, I’m feeling almost done with Jim/Sofia. Jim’s wallowing in a big mucky pool of hypocrisy right now, and it’s very much time for him to be taken down a peg or two. Sofia’s feelings towards him are a little grey. If it turns out she’s now nursing genuine feelings for him, then I’ll be pretty bored. Just let her be unapologetically malign.

All in time – it’s time to rip off the bandaid, I feel.

Thoughts?

#gotham commentary #let them eat pie #gotham s4e09

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elfnerdherder · 7 years ago

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Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 2

You can read Chapter 2 on Ao3 Here

If you’re interested in becoming a patron on Patreon for my work, click Here

Huge shout out to @hanfangrahamk, @matildaparacosm, and Andrea! You guys are the best!

Chapter 2: A Descent into the Maelstrom

Having FBI agents in and around his home wasn’t so much a comfort as he thought it’d be.

Next to a frazzled, hungover Molly, Will sat on the couch and watched Jack pace, his heartbeat keeping time with Jack’s fingers that tapped against his pant leg.

“We can escort her home-”

“I’m not leaving Will,” she said fiercely. Clad in Will’s pajama bottoms and a spare t-shirt, she was a force to be reckoned with. Her arm was looped through Will’s, and she’d tossed her hair up into a messy bun on her head to keep it out of her face as she glared at Jack. “This is a bad situation to be in, and I’m not leaving him to go through it alone.”

“If Hannibal Lecter-”

“There are four agents just outside of the apartment and two inside, Agent Crawford. I think we’ll be alright.”

Her protective instinct was soothing, if Will was being honest. There was something calming in the way she traced idle doodles into the soft spot of his wrist, just over his pulse. He didn’t deserve someone like Molly, but there she was. Even hungover, she was placing his needs and problems over her own. He was pretty sure she had an online test to take.

“Will,” Jack said wearily. Molly had been stubbornly resisting him for the better part of the last ten minutes.

“If she wants to stay, I’m alright with it. I have a roommate, too, named Beverly Katz. You can’t keep them all out,” said Will with a shrug.

Jack looked half a breath away from a slew of filthy curses, but as his mouth opened to vehemently object, his eyes traced over Molly’s arm looped through Will’s protectively, how she leaned into him and how he leaned back.

“I’ll… let Agent Dolarhyde know,” he said, and his shoulders slumped in defeat at Will’s acquiescence.

“How did he get out, Agent Crawford?” Will prompted when he said nothing more.

Jack suddenly looked ten years older. Subconsciously, his hands passed over his stomach where a lopsided, unhappy smile resided, raised and discolored beneath his crisp button-up shirt.

“He complained of stomach pains, and he was taken to the infirmary to have tests done. God knows why, and I’m going to be questioning Chilton about this once I leave here, but security was lax. They stepped out to take a smoke break, and when they came back in, they were ambushed.

“I don’t know he paid these people off, but one nurse loosened his straps. When the other nurse turned, Lecter got a hold of her.” Jack let out a world-weary sigh, and he placed his hands on his hips. “They managed to save one of her eyes, but the other is gone, and so is her tongue.”

“Oh my god,” Molly whispered.

“Two guards entered the room, and seeing the scene in front of them, one rushed to subdue Lecter. The other shot his partner in the back of the head. Lecter was strapped into a wheelchair and wheeled out through the back where two visitors had a van waiting. They loaded him into the van and had pulled away by the time another nurse entered the infirmary.”

“How long did it take?”

“Under five minutes,” Jack replied.

Will nodded, accepting that information. Dr. Lecter had always been meticulous, down to the second-hand on his watch during sessions. He never hovered over it, watching the time tick away, but he always knew the exact moment that it was time to begin their session, and without ever having to look, knew the moment that it ended. Time in a prison cell would ensure that he wouldn’t waste a single second in getting out.

“What makes you think he’s coming for me?” he asked. “Did he say something?”

“I have agents and local police officers going to check on all of his patients that still live in the general vicinity,” he assured Will. “Where you were one of the main testimonies during his trial, though, I’m not taking any chances.”

He stepped out of the room when someone called his name, and Will slumped back into the couch, squelching down the bubble of laughter that crawled up his throat. It was a hysterical sort of laugh, one he didn’t want to frighten Molly with.

“You were the main testimony in his case?” she asked. Her hold on his wrist tightened, then relaxed.

“Just one of them,” he said quickly. “…It’s because I found Jack in his office, and I knew personal details about his life that he’d shared. There weren’t many testimonies because they caught him with forensics and sheer, dumb luck, so mine just…stood out. It was more of an emotional testimony to present the kid that was stuck finding an FBI agent bleeding to death in Hannibal Lecter’s office.” He gestured with his free hand and stared morosely at the television. He didn’t want to turn it on and see the news panicking about Lecter. He didn’t want to take what little shred of self-control that he felt like he had and toss it out the window.

“That must have been horrifying,” she murmured.

“You don’t have to stay, Molly,” he said. He tracked her hand as it slid down, fingers interlacing with his and squeezing tight.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” she snapped. “Alone with no one but Jack Crawford to keep you company. He stresses you out, even I can see that.”

“He sometimes can,” Will agreed.

“You stress him out, too.”

“I think that there are some memories he’d probably like to forget.” Things like being stabbed and all. “Every time he sees me, he’s forced to remember. Those are things I’d like to forget, too.”

Jack returned with a man that exuded calm, quiet confidence. Despite being dressed in a suit similar to Jack’s, he wore it with a sense of purpose that made his shoulders straighter and his back stiffer. His dark blonde hair was close-cropped, his jaw square, and apart from the faint scars reminiscent of a cleft palate, he was relatively attractive. Matching brown eyes rested heavily upon Will with an intensity that made the back of his neck prickle.

“Will, this is Agent Francis Dolarhyde. He’s the head of your security detail, and he’s going to make sure that everything is alright until we can get this situation under control,” Jack said.

Will stood up to shake his hand because he felt like it was proper to. There was a hesitation, then after a beat Francis followed suit, shaking his hand with a firm, steady grip. Will could feel callouses from hard work and ease around weaponry, a slight comfort in case of violence to come.

God, he hoped that no violence would come.

“We’re going to keep you safe, Mr. Graham,” he said. He spoke slowly, mouth fumbling over the ‘S’ with a painful attention. “Nothing will happen to you.”

“Thank you, Agent Dolarhyde,” Will replied. He couldn’t look at his face for very long, disquieted as he was by the intensity. He could feel utmost sincerity rippling from his skin, a hungry desire to do his job with no mistakes. Underneath Will’s skin, the responding emotion curling out from him chafed.

“I’ll have four men patrolling the area outside, one by the door, and I’ll remain here,” he continued when Will sat down once more. “Try to pretend I’m not here.”

“Okay.” He bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood and tried again. “Thank you,” he said to the both of them.

“I’m going to be heading to the crime scene to get a head start on the manhunt, Will. If you need anything, just let Agent Dolarhyde know.”

The look he gave Will said more than words could. Will blinked, he was kneeling before him, trying to hold his intestines in. He blinked again, and Molly was back to drawing soothing designs against his clammy skin.

“Thank you, Agent Crawford,” he managed to say.

It was going to be a long day.

He tried to watch the television, but he couldn’t concentrate on it. He tried reading, pacing, and playing cards with Molly, but thoughts slid away like rain down a windowpane, collecting at the bottom to turn stale and muddled. Try as he might, he couldn’t focus on anything in front of him. Every creak of Agent Dolarhyde’s shoes on a faulty spot in the carpet made his muscles clench, and every breath that huffed from him sat in the air and made everything sour.

When Beverly got home, Will had to visually confirm that it was her before they’d let her come in. She broke through the defensive stance of two agents at the door, and she dropped her backpack in order to properly give Will a spine-stiffening hug, her arms tight and her mouth pursed.

“Leave it to me to finally bring Saul here for you to meet, and this happens,” she groused, pulling back to look Will over critically.

“Saul is here?”

“You were complaining that you hadn’t met him, and I thought that now was as good a time as any.” She glanced to the agents standing in the doorway, then looked over Will’s shoulder where Dolarhyde waited near the kitchen. “Will they let him in, or…?”

Will looked back to Francis. “Can her boyfriend come inside?”

The look that Agent Dolarhyde gave Beverly could have melted butter. He mulled the question over with a dark, foreboding expression verging on almost hostile, before he came to a decision and gave a slow, even nod.

“Bring him up.”

Saul was a wiry, red headed mess with one bright green eye and one black like Beverly’s. Unlike Will, whose discomfort gave way to monosyllabic words and internalizing, he spent the better half of the afternoon commenting on just how ‘wild’ all of this was. It was bad enough that even Beverly had to kindly ask him to shut up, and by then Will had made his escape to the kitchen where he feigned hunger and hid behind a tall glass of Jack and Coke.

“Sorry,” Beverly apologized, leaning against the counter. Will took a long sip of his drink and shrugged, his smile nothing more than an awkward grimace. In the living room, Molly made awkward conversation and tried to keep an eye on the news for any new information.

“He’s charming and honest,” he said.

“Charming? Telling lies to make me feel better?” She snickered and made herself a drink as well, much more Jack than Coke. “I don’t need you to tell me what you think right now. I wouldn’t put you in that position.”

“Does he make you happy, Beverly?” he asked. She studied her glass with far more intensity than was necessary, turning it about before she turned her back on Will in order to add ice to it.

“I didn’t think I’d be happy with a soulmate,” she said. With her back to him, the words were hard to catch, and he moved closer. “When I met him, I…was so angry. He wasn’t angry, but I was, and he could feel it. He tried.”

“Five years now and you’re still together,” he noted. “He must be doing something right.”

“Five years now and I think he makes me happy, yeah,” Beverly replied. She closed the freezer and looked at him, taking a sip of her drink. “Do you ever think about yours? What it’d be like to have one?”

“…I don’t think I’d be a good soulmate. I can hardly maintain a normal relationship with Molly, and we’re not soulmates.”

“Maybe it’d be easier with one than to try and have a relationship without.” She wrinkled her nose lightly. “Especially since you usually just end up turning her into some kind of booty call.”

“She came into my room last night,” he protested.

“Had you messaged her, first?”

“No,” he snapped. At her shit-eating grin, he added, “I even told her we weren’t good together.”

“If you still had sex with her, though, that makes your point null and void, to be honest.”

Beverly was right, but he didn’t always like it. They eyed one another over their drinks before her pleased, shit-eating grin placated him, and he sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry about this,” he murmured. “I’d have liked to meet Saul when he had a chance to be…”

“Less cringy?” she offered.

“He’s pretty cringy,” he agreed, and they both laughed, time kept staggered by the occasional clinking of the ice inside of Beverly’s glass.

He was woken in the middle of the night by Agent Dolarhyde. It didn’t take much; Will’s dreams were such that he slept in a mostly semi-conscious state where there was awareness about him, even as he dreamt of Lecter taking a linoleum knife to his skin just to see what the muscle looked like underneath.

His hand touched Will’s shoulder, and he instantly sat up, concern a knot that twisted inside of him, ugly and cloying. The side of the bed that Molly had been sleeping on was cold, the sheets twisted up in a pile.

“We need to go,” Agent Dolarhyde said, and as Will stretched, he let go of him and stepped away, tucking his hands behind his back.

“What’s happened? Where’s Molly?” His voice dropped to a whisper, an odd sensation of the air around him pressing until it felt too heavy push through.

“Molly is okay. I need you to get your bag and come with me.”

His urgency shook through the fog, and Will twisted out of bed to follow his lead. When he went to grab the light, though, Francis stilled his hand, and the dark shape of his head shook slowly.

“No light, Mr. Graham,” he said quietly.

“Where’s Beverly?”

“Beverly is okay, too.”

“Agent Dolarhyde-”

“Mr. Graham,” he interrupted, tone firm, “there is no time. We need to go. I will keep you safe.”

His mouth fumbled with the ‘S’, uncertain of it. Will thought of the way he’d stared at him before, as they shook hands and considered one another. Focused was a good word for it, as well as desperate –that sat just underneath, lurking within his awkward speech. He was desperate to keep Will safe.

“You’ll tell me on the way?” he asked, shuffling through the dark to grab his bag.

“I will.”

When they left the room, the hallway reeked of wet pennies. Dolarhyde kept them pressed tight to the wall, shuffling down it with Will just behind him. When an odd noise tried to escape from Will’s lips, he pressed a fist to his mouth to silence it. His tongue sat heavy, and spit pooled just beneath it at the taste in the air. The urge to gag was strong.

The smell grew in the living room, although in the darkness Will had to depend upon Agent Dolarhyde to lead him through whatever had happened while he’d slept. When his shoe slipped into a particularly spongy part of the carpet, he cringed closer to the man and shuddered. Blood. He’d just stepped in blood.

Once outside, he gulped in the cool night air and scrambled after Francis, grip tight on his overnight bag.

“What about Winston?” he asked, voice grating.

“He will be okay.”

“I want to take Winston,” Will protested.

“I will get him if I can, Mr. Graham.”

Will thought about running back for him, but when they hit the bottom steps, Francis’ hand slid to the dip of his shoulders and urged him forward to one of the SUV’s. The sound of shouts carried across the parking lot, and shots rang out, muted, odd things that spit at the pavement around them. His gait shifted from a harried walk to a run, heart stuttering.

“Get in and put your head down,” Francis urged him, and he shoved him towards the car as he whipped around and returned fire.

Heart pounding, eyesight narrowed with the fear that stepped on his shoulders, Will dropped to a crouch and skirted around the car. It took far too long for him to realize that the wheezing, rattling noise was his breathing, and when another bullet ricocheted just beside his feet, he jumped and climbed into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Will?”

“Beverly?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Where’s Molly?”

A hand touched the back of his shoulder, and he jumped.

“I’m here Will,” Molly whispered to him. Her voice quavered with mortal terror.

“This doesn’t look good,” Saul commented. If his voice hadn’t sounded so strained, it’d have almost been funny.

Seconds passed like hours before Dolarhyde climbed in and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot with a steady grip on the wheel. As they took a corner, he turned the lights on, the reflection from streetlights bathing his calm expression with streaks of reds, yellows, and oranges from passing signs. He made no mention of the gunshots in the parking lot.

“Buckle up, Mr. Graham,” he prompted in that same strange, calming voice.

Will managed to buckle himself with only the most minimal of trouble, his hands shaking.

“What the fuck just happened, Agent Dolarhyde,” he asked when he trusted his voice.

Agent Dolarhyde’s face twisted, became ugly as he tried to find the right words to say. When they passed under another wash of streetlights, it took the shadows and colors from his skin, leaving him sallow and foreboding.

“They tried to take you, Mr. Graham,” he said at last, rounding his words up. “And I do my job very well.”

“Where are the rest of the agents?”

The grief-stricken look Dolarhyde gave him was his answer.

“Where are we going, then? Have we called Jack?”

“We’re going to the house where you will be…safe.” He struggled with the word, although it seemed to stem more from a lack of desire to use any word that didn’t have the letter ‘S’ in it. “Then we will make the call.”

“Agent Dolarhyde-”

“Do you trust me, Mr. Graham?” he asked lightly.

“I trust Jack Crawford,” Will replied after a while. “If he trusts you, then I trust you.”

“Jack Crawford trusts me to keep you alive. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

“And my friends?” Will pressed.

“And your friends,” Dolarhyde agreed. “I apologize that we didn’t have time to retrieve your dog, Mr. Graham.”

Despite the situation, Will found himself heaving a short, dry laugh. “They’re not animal killers, are they?”

“No, Mr. Graham.”

“You can call me Will, Agent Dolarhyde,”

“No,” he said, and his grip tightened on the wheel. “That’d be…rude.”

Will was too tired to fight that. Off to the side, in the far distance, he saw the beginnings of sunrise, fingers grasping to peel away the layers of the dark in which Hannibal’s followers had used. Followers. Somehow, Hannibal had gotten himself some followers.

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably to Beverly and Molly in the back seat.

“It’s alright, Will,” Molly said. Despite the tremor in her voice, it came out stronger than he’d expected. “It’s not your fault.”

“As long as my teachers get an e-mail, I think we’ll be okay,” Beverly said dryly. “And hell, Will, Saul is already asleep.”

Will turned around to see, and sure enough, Saul lay with his head sprawled in Beverly’s lap, fast asleep.

“Your presence releases serotonin,” he informed Beverly.

“That’s what I’ve been told, Dr. Graham.”

“It’s ten hours to the safe house,” Francis informed him. Will turned back around and adjusted his seatbelt. “Try to…rest.”

It would be a futile effort, Will knew, but he’d try. Rather than force dreams where he knew he’d wake with the sensation of what it’d be like to bleed to death, Will tracked the rising sun, each blink of his eyes a gunshot that’d just narrowly missed both him and Francis.

It seemed he hadn’t run out of time just yet.

He dozed between two gas station stops, and by the third the sun was well into the sky. When they stopped again, Saul was finally awake, although the chatter that’d filled the apartment before was sorely missing. Will wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

“Do you want anything inside?” Beverly asked. They were climbing out of the back seats, herding around Dolarhyde as he gassed the SUV up. Will watched them, expressions varying from exhaustion to grim determination, and he shook his head.

“I’m not sure that I can eat right now,” he admitted.

Francis didn’t like him waiting alone in the car, but Will promised to lock the doors and slump down in his seat. He wasn’t entirely confident that someone had managed to follow them all that way, but Francis’ paranoia was something to wonder at. In between bouts of small, two-minute naps, Will would watch his face. The calm, steady assurance remained, but he glanced to the rearview mirror for more than just cautionary checks of the traffic around them. More than once, Will noted how he’d grip the steering wheel so tight his knuckles would whiten. He wondered how many agents had given their lives, just so they could get away.

He wondered why anyone even thought he was worth the effort.

Once the doors were sufficiently locked, Will slumped down in his seat. The silence pressed in, heavy with accusations at him, and he let out an uneven breath of air. He counted seconds by the muted clicks of his eyelids. He counted minutes by the sensations that crawled along his skin, reminding him that even if he lived through this, many more would die as a result. Was his life worth it? Who was he, in the grand scheme of things?

Needing some sort of distraction that didn’t involve people, he turned on the radio.

“…and that’s all for the weather today! Right now, we go to Darren and Clara for our news reports during this noon hour.”

It wasn’t just the FBI agents. Will glanced down to his shoe whose rim was red with the blood he’d had to step through to get away. Beverly, her soulmate-boyfriend Saul, and Molly were in danger because of him, because he’d saved Jack Crawford’s life so long ago. It wasn’t right for them to be in danger, nor was it right that they were stuck in a potentially fatal situation.

God, who was going to feed Winston?

“Thank you and yes! I mean, they’re kids, but come on…”

The shock must still be strong for them not to complain about what he’d inadvertently done to them. That, or they were far better people than he deserved, to have their lives at stake and still find the grace to smile.

“You know, Darren, I’m hearing a lot of complaining about millennials, but let’s talk about baby boomers, shall we?”

He shouldn’t overthink it, but he’d once gone to therapy due to his horrific ability to internalize to the point that the emotions were his and his alone. He’d once sat across from a serial killer who spent a good half of his hour-long sessions peeling away the dark thoughts from his head in order to organize them in neat piles for discussion. The tools given then to compartmentalize his feelings were put to use now –not with much success, but at least he could say that he was trying.

“Y’know, I’ve got a rebuttal for that, but right now we’re getting something from federal authorities, a follow-up to our earlier discussion. There is currently an east-coast wide search for the missing Will Graham of GWU in Washington, DC.”

The sound of his name from the radio pulled him from his dark, roiling thoughts.

“-where authorities are telling us that early this morning, Will Graham was abducted from his apartment complex by people who are suspected as accomplices to the escape of Dr. Hannibal ��The Cannibal’ Lecter yesterday morning.”

“Now, wasn’t it just the other day that a woman in Baltimore, Maryland murdered someone in Hannibal the Cannibal’s ‘name’? I think I remember her gutting someone, right?”

“Yes, and it looks as though several federal agents lost their lives this morning trying to protect this guy from the same fate. Listeners, we’re going to put the photos of these wanted people on our website, as well as the last vehicle they were seen in. If you happen to see these guys, give us a call, give authorities a call, but do not engage them. They are considered armed and dangerous. Let’s bring Will Graham back to safety, yeah?”

“Can you imagine being a victim of a kidnapping like that?”

“I can’t! I mean, the closest I’ve gotten to that was a girl in a bar that just wouldn’t let up, you know? She kept asking for my number, wondering if I was single…”

“I’ve seen you in bars, buddy, and I’m going to call bull on that one.”

Their words rebounded inside the bone arena of his skull, left Will reeling as he realized that it wasn’t a joke. Once they sunk deep enough to bruise, he didn’t hesitate. He was out of the car before he could process what his next move would be, the radio turning off as the door opened. He closed the door behind himself, heart pounding each and every word further and further into his skin as he was forced to realize the truth:

Dolarhyde was one of them.

“Will-”

“We have to go,” he interrupted Molly, whirling around to face her. “Molly, we have to go.”

“Will, what’s happened?” She looked frightened, her brow creasing as she took in his shaking hands and sallow skin.

“I just heard the radio, Molly. Dolarhyde is one of them. He’s working for Lecter.”

“Oh, Will,” Molly said with a sigh. She suddenly sounded nothing like herself, her tone shifting as her expression of dismay fell. “Why’d you have to turn on the radio like that?”

Her words made his skin go cold, his muscles tensing. “…Molly?” he ventured cautiously.

“Get back in the car, Will.”

He hesitated, his mind refusing to accept what he was seeing, what he was hearing. When he didn’t move, she sighed and stunned him further when a gun was removed from her purse. With perfect, calm assurance, she leveled it at his stomach.

“Please get back in the car, or I will shoot you.”

#LiaS scribbles #hannibal #hannibal au #hannigram #will graham x hannibal #soulmate au #hannibal soulmate au #half connection #someone help will graham #hannibal fanfic

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