Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“No.” Will said as he saw Jack approaching, determination thundering through each step. Will grabbed the pile of papers he had to grade that night and shoved them haphazardly into his brown leather bag in an attempt to make a quick escape. Jack, ever the predator, was quicker.

“No to what?”

“Whatever it is that caused you to seek me out after avoiding me for almost a year. It was a very restful year, Jack, let's not ruin it now.”

Jack's frown deepened. He hated it when Will was 'rude'. It was un-Omega like and in his eyes reflected badly on him as an Alpha. Will knew that his wife, a beautiful beta who worked for NATO, was both physically and socially graceful. Honestly, Jack couldn't have found an Omega who clashed with his wife as much as Will did.

“This year was a waste of your talents,” Jack insisted.

Will winced. “I'm just a teacher.”

“Most teachers don't think the way you do.”

Will scoffed. “Most teachers aren't prescribed medication to dampen their hormones. Most teachers aren't the subject of mandatory outpatient mental health treatment.”

“I need you on this case.”

“I'm not FBI, Jack, never have been. You know I wouldn't pass the screening. If nothing else my biology is against me.”

“And I know I could never make the intuitive leaps you make.”

“I'm not looking at your homework and giving you the answers any more, Jack. It didn't work for us when we were together and it sure as hell isn't going to work for us now.”

“Says who? Besides, we didn't finish things because of your mind.”

Will's jaw ticked but he let Jack have that one, it was true enough even if it wasn't the whole truth. It certainly didn't help matters that Will could get himself wrapped up in the head of whichever serial killer Jack was chasing at the time. Jack's career may have benefited, but his marriage had taken a toll. Bella, or Phyllis as Will had been permitted to call her, had been very understanding of her husband's infatuation with the unkempt Omega up until the point where every time Jack was called away for business Will would be brought along to accompany him. To the outside world it looked like favouritism, and to Bella it seemed like a threat. That paired with Jack's unwillingness to mate with Will put them on a path for self-destruction. What was even less true was that it was anyone in particulars decision to finish things. Things came to an end, certainly, and rather messily although Will didn't remember much about that.

“I have to go,” Will said, but his feet stayed behind his desk as if he was waiting for Jack – for the Alpha's – permission to leave. The drugs they had him on may dampen his hormones, just a temporary measure they assure him although nine months didn't feel temporary, but they couldn't suppress three years worth of ingrained training.

Jack stepped forwards and Will tried to hide his shiver, only knowing he was unsuccessful when the corner of his eye caught the satisfied lift of Jack's mouth. God, the man was so arrogant in his embodiment of Alphaness. It would be cringe worthy on anyone else, but Will knew that Jack had the balls, the cock, the stamina and the gun to back it all up.

“Where exactly is it you have to go, Will?” Jack asked, softening his voice even as he delivered the insult. “Home? To your empty house with its barren bed and inadequate blankets?”

“Home,” Will repeated firmly, lifting his gaze to linger somewhere to the left of Jack's ear as close to eye contact as he could manage right now. “Where my dogs will be pleased to see me, where I can grade my papers in peace, where my personal space is sacred and... untainted by violence.”

“You'd protect the purity of your personal space over the lives of others?” Jack sounded disappointed and Will flinched.

“If I don't protect myself then who will?” He bit back, his tone even but the words held their own venom attacking the basis of every Alpha's primal urges.

“You don't trust me to protect you?”

“I don't think either of us are under any illusions that your motivation is to protect me. Not after the way things ended.” Will understood enough about what had happened from his psychiatrist's ineffective probing to know it was ugly in the end. Perhaps the ugliest thing that Will had ever had to deal with, which was, in Dr Chilton's opinion, why Will had blocked out the memories.

“You think it was my fault?” Jack's voice rose in anger.

Will found his feet, instinctively wanting to escape the Alpha's loss of control, and moved away from Jack towards the door that Jack had presumptuously closed upon entering. It wasn't that long ago that Jack wouldn't have dreamed of a closed door when he was alone with Will. The things it would imply... but he guessed they were at least safe from those rumours. After all everyone knew that they had endured a messy and painful split. A reconciliation was not on the books in any form.

“I think we should draw a line, Jack, and never cross it. Me working for you, that would be crossing it.”

“I don't like being told no,” Jack said, making no move to prevent Will from leaving.

“I remember that much, Jack!” Will called back as he left the room. The air on the other side of that door felt fresher and Will took a deep breath, allowing his pulse to settle. Jack no longer evoked the Omegan spike of adrenaline and lust that Will had been afflicted with early on in their acquaintance, what his heart was pounding with was pure prey instinct. In his relief Will failed to realise he was not alone.

“You look attacked, Will,” Hannibal Lecter observed, his accent thick with his own tiredness.

Will straightened and sought out the other man with his gaze. Lecter was, as always, well presented in a suit that even Will could tell was expensive and stylish in Lecter's own odd way. On any other being, Alpha or not, the colours and patterns of Lecter's outfits would clash, but somehow the man made it work for him. Something to do with his European charm and impeccable manners.

“Dr Lecter,” Will began, stressing the formal address. For as long as Lecter had taught at the academy he had found it permissible to use Will's first name with a sense of familiarity that Will did not reciprocate. He was unsure if Lecter assumed he had the right to use Will's name because Will was an Omega or for another reason, but Will never let it stop him from reminding Lecter of their lack of relationship by using the man's correct title. “I didn't expect to see you.”

“Are you seeing me?” Lecter mused. “I believe that would require a great deal more eye contact than you are capable of.”

Will bristled, his bad mood worsening at the Alpha's analysis. “Eyes are distracting. See too much, not enough.”

“Ut imago est animi voltus sic indices oculi,” Lecter murmured gently, and Will was only half convinced that the other man meant him to hear it at all.

“I don't know Latin but I can hazard a guess as to what you are saying.”

“My apologies for being so predictable. Judging by your accent you may be more familiar with the expression 'les yeux sont le miroir de l'âme.'?”

Will snorted. “I spent just enough time in Louisiana to pick up boatyard slang and an appreciation for crawfish.”
“Did your mother make you crawfish etouffee?”

“My mother-,” Will bit off what he had been about to say. The conversation had become far too personal. Will's emotions still on the surface after his exchange with Jack. “My mother is none of your business, Dr Lecter. Now if you'll excuse me I'll be leaving now.”

“Then I wish you a safe journey home,” Lecter said graciously, stepping to the side of the hallway so that Will could pass without making contact with him. Will spared him a brief glance at his face, features carved in stone that told him nothing about what was going on beneath the surface, before striding off towards the exit. He would be home soon and then maybe he could sort through the mess of the last half hour. Maybe.

Chapter Text

Will arrives home at 7:23. The first thing he does is press the 'play' button on his old fashioned answering machine. Ninety percent of the time its blank and he only hears steady intonations of the pre-recorded 'you have no new messages' that eased the anxiety that would seize him upon seeing the machine. Nine percent of the time he had already been made aware of the message; either an over zealous student had gotten hold of his personal contact details and left a message only to see him in class before Will even had the chance to see that there was a message left for him, or it would be Jack. One percent of the time it was someone with a respectable reason to be contacting him. Tonight was a one percent.

“Will! It's Margot, you have to call me. Now. Urgent. Please!”

Margot Du Maurier nee Verger was one of Will's closest friends. They had bonded over a shared experience and ever since had never been out of each other's lives. She was happily married to Bedelia Du Maurier, a refined woman with whom Will had nothing in common with but Margot smiled when she said Bedelia's name and that was enough for Will. Margot had had enough reason to forget how to smile in her life and he wouldn't begrudge her the strange romance that brought her happiness.

Margot wasn't one for theatrics, and so urgent must mean urgent. Still, Will couldn't bring himself to call her back. Not yet. He needed to walk the dogs. That's how his day went when he got home from work; press the play button, walk the dogs, feed himself. Any deviation would be pointlessly stressful. Will reasoned with himself that Margot couldn't possibly know what time he would press play so another thirty minutes wouldn't hurt. After all if it was anything catastropic then she would have called him at work.

Buster barked and Will let his routine take over. He greeted each dog individually, checking them over for signs of deteriorated health or injury and giving them a good rub to let them know how happy he was to see them. Finally, when all seven dogs had been checked over, Will grabbed his rain coat and released them into the fields that surrounded his house. They ran and jumped and nosed around for interesting scents. He gave them half an hour of play, reminding them with a whistle or a call of their name to do their business. It was early autumn still but dark enough that he didn't go far, guided back home by the light from his little house.

Once they were all safe and sound inside he grabbed a ready meal from the fridge, something that promised to be 'hearty' although he would settle for something that stayed down long enough for him to get a good nights rest.

Finally, with a bowl of something brown and tasteless in front of him, was Will able to honour Margot's request and call her back. The phone rang a few times and anxiety climbed in Will's stomach and up his throat, making him doubt the decision he had made. Had it been fair for him to push aside her 'urgent' simply so he could relax at having completed his routines? What if something bad had happened? What if she had split up with her wife and this was the wrong number. What if Bedelia was dead? What if-

“Will! Thank you for calling me back.”

Will released a great sigh. “How are you, Margot?”

“Happy. Can you believe it, Mason finally agreed!”

“He did?”

“He did. Will, I'm going to be a mother!” Margot sounded ecstatic, like she was high on a drug even though Will knew she never touched the stuff not even when her brother tried to force it down he throat.

Will knew how much it meant to Margot to be a mother. As a beta she was low in fertility to start with, unlike her Alpha brother who seemed to have the whole world gift wrapped and on a platter. Since she was a lesbian it made procreation even more difficult, not in the least because there were no Alpha females, at least not in the sense that most people understood Alphaness; the knot was paramount. Will first met Margot at the Chilton Recovery Centre, both of them had suffered a loss. Ever since Margot had been desperate to convince her brother that if only he would donate his sperm then she would be the perfect mother for the future heir to the Verger dynasty, after all not even Mason could live forever. Mason, being the unkind individual he was, had spent the last year making her jump through ridiculous hoops and manipulating her desire for a child until he had her exactly where he wanted her. Will only hoped that once she got what she needed from him, with Bedelia's help Margot would be strong enough to walk away from her sadistic brother.

“Congratulations,” he said, his own voice oddly hoarse.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound-”

“It's fine,” he cut her off immediately. She had her reasons for being at Chilton's Recovery Centre; Will had his own. It didn't do to dwell on the past.

“We're having a dinner party, to celebrate. You're coming,” she demanded.

A smile tugged at his unwilling lips. It was good to have demanded friends. Sometimes Will feared that if he did not have demanding friends then he wouldn't have friends at all, he'd simply let them drift out of his life and it would be months before he even realised they were gone. People like Margot and Beverly didn't let him drift.

“When is it?” He asked.

“Tomorrow, at eight thirty so you'll have time to go home and see to your dogs, at the estate. Bring wine, I'll text you which type.”

They had discerning tastes, Will was more grateful for the heavy handedness than he was embarrassed to be reminded of his lack of class and sophistication. “Tomorrow then.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight, Margot,” he replaced the received to end the call and quickly ate the bowl of mush in front of him. It was cold now and he could tell from the greasy slide of it down his throat and the ugly pounding of his head that it wouldn't be inside him for long, but at least he wouldn't be throwing up bile and blood. It was always best to line the stomach first. He learned this from experience.

Will finished the meal with a cup of water, refilling it to place it by his bed. Changing his day clothes for a pair of fresh boxers – almost a waste as he was bound to ruin them with sweat and fear before the night was through – and a plain t-shirt. He pulled the thin layered blankets over his chest until his chin was all that was bared to the world and closed his eyes. He was tired despite the early hour and if tomorrow involved a great deal of being social then he would need the extra rest, but sleep did not come easily. He seemed to loose consciousness for short bursts of time only to wake up groaning as if he was in pain, phantom pain perhaps. He changed the bedding twice that night, once from sweat and the second time from the vomit he'd known was coming. In the morning his complexion was ashy and his eyes bloodshot but he couldn't recall a single nightmare that had taunted him all night long. Sometimes he felt that it was a blessing, but other nights he longed to know what thoughts caused him such terror and fear, so at least he'd be able to try and work through the issues and eradicate them from his sleep. At least he'd be able to say he'd tried.