Chapter Text
Responsible
It was not much more than two years after the death of Francis Dolarhyde, the mauling of Will Graham's face, his physical recovery and subsequent divorce from his wife, the early retirement of Jack Crawford on account of feelings of guilt over what kind of harm he had managed to inflict upon his somewhat-friend over the course of only five years; it was then that a new face entered Will's lecture hall after class.
Strangely enough, the decision to take up teaching again had come to Will more easily than he had expected. He had expected to find himself in a corner of his home with a bottle of whiskey to make sure no part of his mind ever reached the surface of his consciousness again for the rest of his life. But as is, he felt too jaded - or strong, depending on who you asked - to truly wallow in misery the way he had wanted to. A bottle of whiskey did help in the evenings though, if nothing else then because the prominent scar on his face still tended to hurt like a bitch sometimes.
He also had to admit that he missed his family. Yet at the same time, he knew it was for the best to let them find a life far, far away from him. Oftentimes, he felt as though he had merely taken a family anyway, rather than built one. When Molly had left, he had decided to be honest and told her just that, much to her incredulity. "I just don't understand you!" she had cried, visibly hurt, and Will had felt an inclination to say "I believe you can join the world about this", had he not felt so heartbroken in that moment on behalf of her broken heart.
Will was either jaded, or strong, but he was here. He was teaching, continued living as best he could and used his mind only in limited quantities at a time.
"Will Graham? My name is Special Agent Drew Benson, I head the Behavioral Science Unit." the man introduced himself and Will faintly wondered if that was a given introduction specifically taught to them during their inauguration. Other than the flowery phrase, though (because that was what it was; no one could possibly mistake Will's face now), the man had very little in common with good ol' Jack. He was young and obviously new to the job. Eager to impress, eager to persuade, two things Will Graham had learned to be very wary of.
"In case you're confused, I could turn around a little so you'll have a better view of my cheek. What is it?" he asked, mostly unperturbed while he put papers back in his bag.
As intended, it stumped the other enough to tone down the eagerness. Benson cleared his throat and sounded a lot more professional when he opened his mouth again.
"That won't be necessary. There is something I would very much like your help with."
Now here was a sentence Will had honestly never expected - nor hoped - to hear again. Nowadays, those who knew who he was always seemed to approach him with utmost caution, as though he was a wounded animal that might break down and cry if he was ever reminded of what he had been through. Perhaps they forgot there was a mirror in his bathroom.
"You need a profile? I won't do anything that requires me in the field but I might assist you if you can convince me." he finally faced Benson and made deliberately indifferent eye contact.
"Uhm, this is not about a profile per se...", Benson beat around the bush. "Have you heard about a killer commonly known as 'Buffalo Bill'?"
"Yes." Will answered sceptically, wondering where this was going if he wasn't needed for a profile.
"Turns out, there is a... former psychiatrist who has subtly indicated that a patient he once treated might have something to do with it, but he refuses to give any more information." the agent explained.
And really, that was all the explanation Will needed. He raised his gaze to the ceiling in a disbelieving manner and the bitter laugh he let out was so humourless that it merely served to come across as a snarl.
"You are fucking kidding me, aren't you." he asked Benson and the universe.
"Believe me, I wouldn't ask if I felt there was any other possibility at all." Benson assured him.
"Oh, I believe you. Belief is not the problem, neither is obligation, it is the sheer nerve of you." Will growled. He was not really angered - too jaded for that -, but damn if he wasn't aggravated. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "It's been more than two years since my last visit - this" he motioned towards his face, "is what I got out of it last time he felt I'd neglected him for too long."
"It... was a punishment for that?" Benson asked confusedly.
"No no, punishments are for the petty and the rude." Will replied airily. "He's just fond of proving a point."
Ignoring the raised eyebrow of the agent, he continued "So since I assume your question is whether or not I would like to see what I can get out of him myself, the answer is: No. I really don't."
However, persistence was apparently one of Benson's finer and infinitely more annoying traits. "But you are the only one who can."
Will shook his head "He wouldn't talk to me."
"From what I've heard, you two have a long history of talking."
"We do." the empath retorted. "Back in the day, shutting him up was the far bigger problem." On a more serious note, he added "It's not what I meant."
"Then what do you mean?"
Having packed up the very last of his things, Will leaned back and sighed.
"To be honest, I believe his interest in me has long since died down. For which, I'm not sure if I should feel slightly offended or incredibly grateful, but... yes, that's why he wouldn't talk to me. I'm exhausted ressources to him." he finished.
Benson nodded in understanding, or a semblance thereof, and only spoke up again after a while of silence. "Is there really nothing you could possibly do to assist us in this?"
Will was about to shake his head apologetically when a thought entered his mind. He contemplated it for a few moments, then asked
"...Could you show me your newbies?"