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The thing was, Will was actually good at the whole empathy thing.
Sure, there were a few stumbling blocks and the odd mental breakdown or two early on in his career, but they weren't nearly as often or debilitating as everyone seemed to think they were. If anything, people seemed to overreact and label him as irreparably defective, too emotionally influenced to be emotionally stable. It used to frustrate him to no end when his protests were ignored. Doctors and employers and gossip-mongers were happy to stick him in a neat, little box and throw on kid-gloves whenever he was in the room. Over time, he learned it was easier to just ignore it and do his own thing and then he realized that the professional stupidity was actually helpful.
No one looked too deeply or tried too hard when they thought Will was unstable, a neurotic mess of emotion and social ineptness. It gave the man freedom to simply not care about what others thought, both about him and his actions and behaviors. The seemingly free-pass to say and do what he wanted tickled Will pink and he couldn't help but eventually be grateful for the idiot shrinks the police made him see down in New Orleans.
Will knew his type of crazy and it wasn't nearly the level that everyone around him assumed.
__________________
Jack Crawford was a user. Will picked up on that from the various papers the man wrote. The between-the-lines was just as easy for Will to read as the black and white print the man published. Gruesome serial killers were caught but the fine details of who helped to make it happen were mysteriously absent. Careers like Crawford’s were made off of successful hunts, and acknowledging the help that hauled the carcasses back meant fewer trophies on his wall.
His intensity and drive was matched in fervor by his insensitivity and selfishness. The ‘Evil Minds Museum’ was a living embodiment of that grandiosity that stung in Will like a growing cavity. While the agent was an exceptional profiler, from many third hand accounts that ability was a leashed dog that was as happy to attack victims as it was criminals. A whiff of connection to a case, to a suspect, and his grip on you escalated from gentle, to gently forceful, to bruising.
The man was a user and Will wanted nothing to do with him.
Still, Will’s reputation preceded him and one day Will found himself in the same room as Agent Crawford, avoiding eye contact and packing away his day’s work as quickly as he could get away with. Crawford poked and prodded and Will prodded back, irritated at the insinuations and uncharitableness thrown his way. While he was disinclined to help the man in the first place, the profiler in him was doubly so at the other’s maneuvering.
Will wanted him away from him and he wanted him gone yesterday.
“No,” Will said finally, bluntly.
Crawford gathered his composure from where it stuttered at Will’s rude interruption. “Excuse me?”
“I said ‘no’. I don’t want to help. You’re a profiler yourself, you have a team of agents who are profilers. Use them.”
“I need your mind, Will.”
“No, you want my mind, and I don’t want to give it to you. I’m a teacher, not an agent.”
“You could be,” Crawford offered, an illusionary carrot.
“I’ve failed the physiological tests for field work twice. I can take a hint.”
The older man glowered irritably at Will. “You’d be saving lives.”
“I’m saving lives now. How do you think all these baby agents know what to do to catch the bad guys? I’m not kicking in doors but I’m making sure others can.”
“Look, I need you on this case, Will.”
“Graham,” Will said.
“What?”
“We only met a few minutes ago, Agent Crawford. You don’t have the right to use my first name as if we we’re friends.”
Crawford inhaled deeply, clearly gathering his patience, before letting it out slowly. “Look, Graham-“
“Mister,” Will pushed.
He was sure he heard the older man’s teeth grinding and he definitely saw the narrowed and angry expression.
“Mister Graham,” Crawford corrected himself grudgingly, “I need your imagination. I’ve already cleared it with upper-management so it’s not really up to you. You’ll be coming to Mississippi with me to speak with the family.
The gall of the agent’s presumptions made something mean in Will stir. He had a flash of homicidal urge, an image of a knife buried in smug face, before he tamped it down and glared.
“That requires me to be social.”
“You’ll survive,” Crawford drawled.
___________
Will did survive but neither the family nor Crawford were patient with his ineptness. He did his best to minimize it but he knew his abruptness, his seeming apathy towards the missing girl, unsettled the parents and made it difficult to answer questions.
He was glad to finally be back on the plane home, ready to put the entire day behind him. Even though he missed being in the thick of things, like he was in New Orleans, it was no where near bad enough to put himself in the constant presence of Agent Crawford. That was a level of stress he didn’t need. Still, he knew it would be difficult to get rid of the man, especially now that he’d been able to press Will into service once already. The man was a user and a bully and would do everything he could to get his way.
__________________
Five minutes into the meeting and Will knew exactly who he was in the room with, and he found himself done- so very, very done- with this entire thing. All he wanted to do at this point was go home to his dogs, crawl into bed, and scream into the void.
Fucking Crawford, Will thought unkindly. Only Crawford could go looking for one cannibal and end up with another. The Chesapeake Ripper too.
“Trouble with taste?”
Will buried any and all urges to laugh. Cannibal puns, wonderful. A clever serial killer with a sense of humor.
“My thoughts are often not tasty.” Nor, he hoped, was any other part of himself.
“Nor mine.”
That was a given, seeing as how the man ate people for fun and made their corpses into art. Prettily arranged and with a wonderful sense of irony but macabre all the same.
“No effective barriers.”
Bullshit. That’s what this is... Absolute bullshit. I could be in class right now. “I build forts.”
“Associations come quickly.”
“So do forts.” Really, class would be so much more productive than this.
Lecter, the fucking Chesapeake Ripper who Crawford had dedicated years to hunting, moved to sit beside him. “Not fond of eye contact, are you?”
“No,” Will said simply, unwilling to engage the killer further. He turned his attention to Crawford but was cut off.
“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”
Will stilled, dread filling his gut like heavy weights. If that didn’t sound like more then professional interest from a psychiatrist the empath would eat his shorts. Things were quickly getting out of Will’s hands and he needed to reel them back in so he could escape from both Crawford and now also the serial killer the stupid agent had inadvertently introduced Will to.
“Whose profile are you working on?” Will asked, grabbing at any excuse to get out the room. “Whose profile is he working on?”
“I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off.” Lecter’s words didn’t match up with his demeanor, and Will didn’t know how people couldn’t see the monster under the man’s skin.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t have the right to psychoanalyze me.”
Crawford sighed. “Will.”
“Mister Graham,” Will growled at him viciously and stood. “I’m done with this case. I did what you wanted. I talked with the Nichols, found the girl, and even discovered it was a cannibal. I’m done. Now, I have to go give a lecture, on psychoanalyzing. I suggest you stay away from me.”
He quickly fled from the room but wasn’t quick enough to miss Crawford’s pointed comment to the Ripper.
“Maybe we shouldn’t poke him like that, Doctor. Perhaps a less, uh, direct approach.”
A less direct approach? Will thought hysterically. If he had his way, there would be absolutely no approach whatsoever.
________________________
Crawford called at seven the next morning, pulling Will from his hasty packing. The man’s tone was brisk and no nonsense. It grated at Will’s composure and made the empath’s hand twitch.
“There’s another body. I’m coming to get you.”
“No,” Will said. “I said I was done.”
“You’re done when I say you’re done!”
Will pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment before scowling, his patience completely gone.
“You want me on this so bad that you’re not giving me a choice?”
“Yes!”
“Fine.” Will narrowed his eyes. “I’m driving myself though. Give me the coordinates.”
“Will-”
“Graham!” Will snapped. “How hard is it to remember my last name?! You want my help, then respect at least that one fucking boundary.”
Crawford was quiet for several long beats before there was a long drawn in breathe. “I’m sorry. I keep doing that on purpose, trying to build something you obviously don’t want built. I won’t use your first name without your permission again. But this is important, Mister Graham. Lives are on the line with this.”
“I know,” Will agreed, still angry. “But you bulling me won’t make me more inclined to help you. Now, I’m not getting into a car with you or anyone else. Give me the address.”
After the agent capitulated, Will hung up and finished packing his bag. He dropped it by the front door beside the boxes he had filled the night previous and jogged out the door and down the steps towards his car. As he climbed in, glancing in the back seat for his go-bag and finding it, he dialed a neighbor he was friendly with.
“Mrs. Langton? It’s Will Graham. Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a really big favor? I’m getting pulled out of town for a few days and I need someone to take care of my dogs. Normally it wouldn’t be a big deal. I’d lay out enough food in the barn and keep them in there, but I’ve been getting threats.”
Will smiled to himself at the older woman’s worried tone. “Everything’s alright for now but I’m planning on laying low for a little while anyway. You can’t be too sure. I have some boxes and a bag or two by the front door and I was hoping you could store them and dog sit for me until I get back. That way I don’t have to worry about stopping by the house again to get everything. If you’d be willing, could you have Donny pick them up today? You would? Thank you so much. Please let Donny know I’ll have his favorite beer with me as a thank you. The key is taped under the electrical box in the barn.”
After another minute of assuaging the woman, Will hung up and made his way to the airport to catch the flight Crawford set up for him.
____________________
“May I come in?”
Will blinked at Lecter blearily, wondering if he was really seeing a cannibal on his hotel doorstep this early in the morning.
“Where’s Crawford?”
“Tied up in court. I believe it is just us today.”
The empath ran his tongue between his side teeth once as he thought quickly, knowing he didn’t want the man in front of him in his room.
“Give me a minute,” he said before shutting the door in the man’s face. Pants were at the top of the priority list and after that Will grabbed his wallet and car keys before slipping out of the room, bumping chests with Lecter as he did so. “I need to grab something from the store. We can talk on the way.”
Lecter’s jaw twitched, irritation bleeding through momentarily before it melted away. Will made note that rudeness seemed to set the man off and realized that the Ripper’s patternless victimology probably did have a thread of commonality after all. And Will was now probably a very likely candidate for said list. Wonderful.
“I brought breakfast. I thought we could discuss today’s agenda over a protein scramble.”
“I’m not sure anything but crackers or toast would be a good idea for me right now,” Will said as he made his way to the rental he was driving. He opened the passenger door for Lecter, surprising the man, before slipping into the driver’s side.
“And why is that?”
Will gritted his teeth in fake embarrassment. “Nightmares. Queasy stomach and unpleasant attitude the mornings after. I’m sorry if I’ve come off as rude. I’m not good at social interaction.”
“We’ve all crosses to bare,” Lecter allowed. “And some are heavier than others.”
“Still, I’m not going to be the best company today. Would you like me to stop at your hotel?”
“Why?” Lecter asked. “I’m supposed to be accompanying you in the field.”
Will tilted his head at the bag the man was holding in his lap. “Your food. It smells delicious but I know I’m not going to be able to stomach it right now. I don’t want it to spoil.”
Lecter thought it over. “Perhaps you are right. Depending on how today goes, we could have it as lunch or maybe dinner. I really would like to share it with you.”
“Of course,” Will agreed. “Seeing as how you went to the trouble of making it, it’s only fair that I actually eat it.”
Will didn’t have to worry about making up an excuse to avoid Lecter’s cooking. By lunch time, the first cannibal was dead and the second was ensconced in the hospital with the Hobbs girl. Will took the time to debrief Jack over the phone, putting enough shakiness into his tone that the man had no choice but to send him home to assuage his own conscience. Will pat himself on the back for a job well done and scarpered.
He hit the airport bar before the evening flight. The empath was on his third whiskey when the Ripper slid onto the stool next to him and ordered a high-brow brandy that smelled expensive.
“How’s the girl?” Will asked before Lecter could fill the silence himself.
“Abigail sustained a great deal of trauma and blood-loss. They believe she will regain consciousness but are unsure of when and what damage the lack of oxygen will cause.” Lecter glanced at him over the rim of his glass. “I am surprised that you did not come to the hospital.”
“It wouldn’t be right. I killed her father.”
“All the more reason,” the therapist countered. “We have a responsibility to her.”
Will turned his head and met Lecter’s gaze. “I had a responsibility to catch a killer, which I did. My duty ended when you took over keeping her alive. It won’t do anyone any good for me to get involved. I’m not stable enough to be a rock for anyone. I can’t even keep myself afloat.”
Lecter’s eyes sharpened for an instant before banking back down into a false gentility. “I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Mister Graham.”
“Strength is different than stability, Doctor. And we both know you know that.”
The serial-killer beside him was a black hole of darkness dressed in an attractive, plaid-wrapped package. There were whip-cord muscles beneath that garish suit. Wide, broad shoulders and a narrow waist that made heat begin to pool in Will’s gut, and the empath was reckless enough from the alcohol he’d imbibed to think what followed was an acceptable risk.
“For instance, I’m strong enough to admit that I wouldn’t mind you fucking me in that employee bathroom over there, but that would be poor decision-making on my part. Wouldn’t it, Doctor Lecter?”
One moment Will was seated at the counter, watching as the doctor froze at his vulgar statement, and the next he was being hauled across the room and pushed into the very bathroom the empath had pointed out not half a minute previously. He caught a quick exchange of cash with the bartender along the way before Lecter joined him in the cramped room.
The larger man crowded Will’s space, gripped him by his curls and yanked his head back in order to invade Will’s mouth with a hot, thick tongue. Will grabbed at the other’s shoulders and gasped when Lecter grabbed his upper thighs and easily lifted him off the ground. The younger man wrapped his legs around the slim waist and grunted when his back smacked into the wall behind him. In retaliation, he yanked on the Ripper’s hair and then began messily undoing whatever buttons and knots he could reach.
The next ten minutes were a blur of limbs and sweat and grunting. Will was left a disheveled mess, panting as Lecter struggled to right the utter mess Will had made of the psychiatrist’s clothing. The empath’s own clothing were beyond salvage. His shirt was missing half it’s buttons and his trousers were wet and sticky.
Well, Will thought to himself, stable indeed.
–——–
He reported Jack to Kade Purnell and HR for misuse of authority and a hostile work environment. All the while, he just happened to never be in the right place at the right time for Lecter to invite him to dinner. Or more like make him dinner.
After Jack was pulled in and sanctioned, Will took a personal leave from work to ‘recover from the ordeal’. During which Will used his access to the Ripper files to find a link between the killer and half his victims now that he knew the man’s trigger. He provided his findings to Purnell, after receiving a promise to keep him out of it.
A warrant was served, further evidence found, and Lecter was arrested after killing four agents on his failed way out the door.
And then Will fucked off into the ether, knowing he didn’t want to be found when the cannibal escaped.
Which the cannibal ended up doing.
Will, having discovered the encephalitis after going to a reputable doctor for his headaches, was fully cured and still employed with the FBI at the time. Thus armed.
Lecter entered in through the window in a makeshift murder-onsie and out through the door in a body bag.
Will got drunk and considered it a job well done.
He moved to the west coast to teach criminology and picked up another several dogs. Winston still found his way to Will, the man picking him up on the way out of town.
And he lives happily ever after, with absolutely no further bullshit.