Chapter Text
They're at the shooting range when Beverly asks him, putting a finger to to her lips and flicking her eyes to the door.
Will doesn't object. It's nice to be in on The Capital S Secrets, every now and then.
"You need a vacation?" She phrases it like a question, but it is a question, without power behind it, not like Jack, not like Hannibal, not even like Alana, sometimes.
"Uh."
"Think about it. Don't tell anyone, not even Hannibal. Especially not Hannibal. This is all you."
And Beverly drops it. Just like that; No prodding, no reasoning. She shakes out her hair, puts the hearing protection back on, and leans back, watching Will do his thing.
…
Will asks Jack for three days off, following a Saturday and a Sunday. He says he needs it, and he isn't lying. Jack doesn't object, only narrows his eyes, almost imperceptibly. The devil is in the details, but Jack knows when not to push. Will's been a key component in Jack Crawford's team ever since he pulled him out of he classroom, but no Will is better than a frayed Will.
Truthfully, Will isn't really sure when he last felt felt together on all fronts. He's together like puzzle pieces in the wrong place, jammed so that they fit, but they still don't make a picture. A Vacation. It's an alien concept to him, and so is Beverly Katz. She doesn't seem to have any ulterior motives, and she's not pushing him in any particular direction. Will wants to ask Hannibal, but if he's gone along with Beverly this far, he might as well honour her requests. When he sees her alone, leaving the autopsy room, he gives her a half-aborted little wave, not meeting her eyes, but she smiles, and makes her way over to him.
Beverly stands with Will like she does with anybody else. Unapologetically tall, but not looming. Close, but not invasive. In colloquial terms, Will thinks Beverly is nice.
"Hey, Will. What's up?"
"I asked Jack."
"Asked Jack what?"
"For… some vacation time." Will stares at his shoes. He should've known that this wouldn't be the only thing on Beverly's mind, that he'd have to clarify. But Beverly looks around to make sure no one's listening, like this is important, and Will feels a little better.
"Will, I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Do you trust me?"
"Well, I can't imagine things getting much more uncomfortable than the creative minds we get to wrangle daily."
"That's not really what I meant. Do you trust me?"
Will blinks slowly. Beverly has her arms by her side, her right hand toying the the hem of her blouse. "I- Yeah."
"Do you know where the Washington Dulles airport is?"
"Beverly… what is this about?"
"I'm not your psychologist. It's not my job to tell you what you need. But I am an older sister, Will, and I know a thing or two about caring for people. You need time away, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to be on your own right now."
Will stays quiet.
"We should get out of here, for a little while."
"Alright."
"Can Alana feed your dogs?"
"I can ask."
"Okay. Call me on my personal cell, okay?"
Beverly grabs a pen and some paper from her bag, scrawling her number, folding it, and handing it to Will.
"What's your plan?"
"Pack for time in the city and some basic camping gear. Dulles is about eleven miles from here, get a cab or keep your car in the airport lot. Meet me at the domestic gate at seven on Friday night. Is this okay?"
Will nods, shoving Beverly's number in the back pocket of his corduroys.
"And Will?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not a psychologist. If anything feels wrong, or upsets you, you have to tell me. I don't have the savvy to figure it out."
"Uh. Okay. Should I still not be telling anyone?"
"Yeah."
"I can do that."
Beverly gives him a small smile, hoists her bag higher up on her shoulder, and is on her way. No prodding, no reasoning. Just Beverly.
…
Will drops by Alana's office, lingering in the doorway. She invites him in as soon as she notices him, and he awkwardly hovers around the chairs in front of her desk. It still feels weird to be alone with her.
"Can I ask a favour?"
"Depends what it is."
"I'm… uh, going on vacation for a few days. Do you think you could check up on my dogs? Like, feed them. And uh, you know- look after them? If it's not too much trouble, or anything."
"Sure, that'd be no problem. Might I ask where you're going?"
"Uhm. I'm actually… not sure yet. Just away, I guess."
Alana looks curious, but she doesn't ask, and Will is grateful.
…
Will stares at his suitcase, unsure of what to bring. He calls Beverly, and she picks up after the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Uh, hi, Beverly. It's Will."
"Oh, hey!"
"Alana said she'd watch my dogs."
"That's great. What's up?"
"It just occurred- uh, I don't know where we're going. What should I be packing?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you in the dark. It just seemed like the less anyone knew about anything, the better. I don't mean just you. I mean Alana, too. How does Northern California sound to you?"
"I've never been."
"I was thinking we could hang out in San Francisco for a bit, and drive up to Big Sur for some easy camping. There's also some pretty killer food- wow. Fucking FBI. There's good food. Fantastic food. In Big Sur. Shit, I need this vacation, too."
Even though it had been semi-discussed before, it just occurs to Will now that Beverly is coming with him. He's not sure how to feel, but he doesn't think he was lying when he told her he trusted her. "Any good fishing?"
"Oh, yeah! Plenty of parks. I never knew you were a fishing guy. Even if you dress like the outdoorsy type."
"Uh."
"Well, I play the violin, and I guess I don't seem like the type, either. So I'll see you on Friday?"
"But what about the tickets?"
"I got them covered."
Will frets, and it seems like Beverly can tell.
"Don't sweat it. You can pay me back."
"Uh, cool. I'll see you on Friday, then."
"Sweet. Bye!"
"Bye."
Will puts his phone on the receiver, and it occurs to him that that was probably one of the longest conversations he's ever had on the phone. It's easier than just talking, you never have to look anyone in the eyes, but it still isn't pleasant, generally.
He figures he doesn't really need any special clothes, apart from some shorts and maybe a fleece. He tucks his tackle box under his clothes in the suitcase, along with his disassembled fishing rod.
He doesn't sleep deeply, but he sleeps, and his nightmares are small and faded, like old photographs, trapped by small margins and obscurity.
…
Will hovers around the domestic flights gate, backpack carry-on, rolling suitcase in one hand, and cellphone clutched in the other. It's five to seven. He knows he should call Beverly. He's the one with her number, she doesn't have his, so it'll be fine. It's not weird. He can call her.
He does, standing stiff with his phone pressed against his ear. The phone rings five times.
"Hi!"
"Hey-"
"This is Beverly. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message or call me back."
Beep.
Will hangs up, his skin feeling hot. He shouldn't have called her, he should have just-
His phone rings. It's Beverly.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Will. Sorry I missed your call, my phone was, like, buried at the bottom of my purse."
"Uhm, no worries." Will bites his lip, willing his breathing to slow down. It's fine. Of course it's fine, it's a normal thing, not always keeping track of your things. He has no reason to worry.
"Are you at the domestic flights door?"
"Yeah."
"I'm just walking up, I'll meet you at the American Airlines counter for San Francisco. See you in two?"
"Yeah, see you."
Will sees Beverly through the sliding doors, a large purse over one shoulder and a duffel bag over the other, cellphone in hand. He's not used to seeing her outside of work clothes. She's wearing cuffed denim capris, with a white, airy blouse, a burgundy cardigan, and leather sandals. Her toenails are painted a bright coral, and she has sunglasses folded and hooked over her shirt. Will feels uncomfortable in his hiking boots and cargo shorts, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not calling out or waving to her. Beverly spots him soon enough, and he looks down, hoping she didn't see him staring. She waves, and calls out his name.
"Will!"
"Er. Hey, Beverly."
"Those're nice hiking boots. It's so hard to find good ones. Are those Meindl?"
"Yeah. Yeah, they are." Will peeks up at Beverly, and she's still looking at his shoes. He feels better.
"Those will be perfect in Big Sur. We can do some small hikes, if you like. I brought a two-person tent and a good sleeping bag, some utensils, and a camping stove."
"Oh, I'd like- uh, I'm not really prepared." Will feels his posture sink a little. So much for feeling better about his get up.
"Don't worry about gear, we can rent all that stuff. You've got practical clothes and the best boots out there." Beverly talks like she's reassuring him, and honestly, it makes Will feel really good.
"I, uh. Brought fishing stuff."
"I looked up a list of good fishing parks, and we can ask around Big Sur. I've never really been fishing before, but I know a few simple recipes with light ingredients to carry. We can cook them on our camp stove!"
Beverly seems genuinely enthusiastic about the whole thing. It makes sense, it was her harebrained scheme, but Will supposes it will just take some getting used to. It's not bad, though. It's just different. He finds himself looking forward to this trip, not just as a getaway. It's a destination, too.
…
Will's steps falter when they reach security. It's just a domestic flight, but Will feels nervous. Scanners, everyone scrutinizing, staring, touching, even. He makes to remove his shoes, follow the protocol, and Beverly slips off her sandals so easily, and his boots have so many laces-
And Beverly isn't moving to go through the scanner, she's just standing next to him, and it doesn't even look like she's waiting for anything. Will loosens his grip on his laces.
"Will, remember what I said about telling me if anything's wrong?" Beverly's voice isn't a reprimand, and her concern doesn't sound like Jack's concern, or even Hannibal's.
"Er, airport security makes me… nervous." Will toes off his boots, and Beverly pulls her FBI ID card out from under her shirt on a lanyard. She grins when he gives her a questioning look.
"They'll make sure not to hassle us too much. They're wary of rank."
Will smiles, in spite of his runaway nerves.
Beverly goes through the scanner first, slow, like she's setting an example, and when Will follows, nothing goes off, and even though there's no real stares, and Will feels okay, like he's not under a microscope. Beverly stands with him when he laces up his boots again, turning off her phone and finding a book for the plane.
"Ugh, there's no chance they'll feed us anything up in the air. Wanna grab a bite to eat, or something?"
"Yeah, sure."
They eat pizza off paper plates, with paper-cup Coke with too many ice cubes. Beverly asks Will about fishing, and he tells her that he makes his own tackle. She's keen to know more, and Will is happy to talk about it. He doesn't get many chances to. He tells her how he shapes the wood and metal, how he paints it with tiny, horse-hair brushes and a magnifying glass, how he wraps the wire, the little pincer stand he built to keep them upright while he works. It's nice to talk about something other than work, Will thinks, and he tells Beverly as much. She agrees, muffled around the crust of her pizza.
"So, what's the plan when we get to San Francisco?" Will feels his speech patterns becoming easier, more casual. It doesn't scare him.
"I booked a middle-ground hotel for a couple of nights, near the downtown core. Nothing fancy, don't worry. You can pay me back."
"Jesus, I'm running quite the tab." Will jokes, and Beverly laughs, doesn't seem scared of him, either.
"I booked two joint rooms. Sound good?"
"Yeah. Sounds great, actually." Will means it. Beverly's giving him space, but she's not leaving him completely alone, either. It's a nice balance, and Will really appreciates it.
"We can rent a sweet ride and drive up to Big Sur. Convertible sound good?"
"Best make it red, go all the way."
Beverly grins. "I like the way you think, Will."
Will offers her a small smile. It's weird to hear that. Attention to his thoughts, especially recently, usually only occurs on the job or in the medical field. Will figures even Hannibal has a professional outlook on him, even if he treats him like a friend, but Beverly is just Beverly, and she doesn't seem afraid, or interested in a book deal.