Chapter Text
"I am awake and this is real."
That was what Will had spoken strongly to Hannibal before stepping out of his office, feeling for the first time clear headed. He could see the connections, the spider webs tangling together, leading black to the black widow waiting at the center. Spiders could be crushed though. Abigail could help, he was sure she could lead him to exactly where he needed to go.
Dr. Lecter's words hung on his mind. As a psychatrist he was of course the most qualified to speak about his mental ... illness as it were. He had confidence in Dr. Lecter's care though something gave him short pause. Perhaps the leaps he was making were a little difficult to grasp for a layman. A layman, as if Dr. Lecter couldn't grasp this level of psychology.
He sat in his car, grasping the wheel and tightening his jaw. He may feel clear headed but only days ago he was losing time, losing his mind. He needed to slow down. If there was any chance this was true he desperately needed to slow down and approach it more carefully. Which meant getting a second opinion.
The positive of working in the field he worked was that he knew a few psychologists, and had access to a few more. Though, this was unofficial so it was better to approach the evil he knew than something strange and new. There was only one other psychatrist he trusted enough to share his brand of crazy with and he started his car to head to her home.
Dr. Alana Bloom was exactly what he needed at this moment, someone who would understand. He pulled into her driveway and took a deep breath. The last time he'd been here resulted in the death of one Dr. Abel Gideon. He couldn't remember a good portion of that night, his mind a fevered haze.
"I'm in Baltimore, Maryland. Its 5:15 pm. My name is Will Graham." Murmured, an old reminder. A habit picked up to counteract madness.
He wasn't feeling mad right now. He was feeling liberated. His mind clear, his eyes open. Georgia Madchen was forced to die a horrible death for those eyes to be opened. Now he needed to be vindicated.
He climbed from the car and strode through the brisk afternoon towards Alana's home and he rapped on the door. His immediate desire was to turn and run, like a teenager playing a game but more out of a sudden loss of confidence in the moment. This was the woman who'd rejected him, a blow that wasn't quite healed.
She opened the door and looked surprised. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating with excitement and that was all Will saw of her eyes before he lost contact with them, glancing down to her collarbone. He refocused on that spot on her forehead to imitate eye contact, though even that put him under pressure.
"Alana.. I needed to talk to you about something."
"Hello to you too, Will." She smiled, a pretty smile, a quite amused smile. She stepped aside to allow him inside, welcoming him into that comfortable abode.
Will didn't even take time to take off his coat, blowing into what he needed to say while he still had the focus to do so. "I think I found a connection between Georgia Madchen's death and Sutcliffe, Cassie Boyle, Marissa Shore, I can see it now. Its clear in my head." He tapped his temple, feeling his blood rise. "Georgia Madchen didn't kill herself, she was murdered, murdered so the one that killed Sutcliffe could get away with more than one murder."
Alana still had that smile on her face, though it had a blank quality to it. The face of someone overwhelmed. She slowly brought her hands together to clasp fingers together and she looked down, taking a moment to process. It put Will on edge. It felt like she was going to blow him off, the same way Jack blew him off.
"Those are.. ... Big leaps, Will. Not only by distance but by circumstances of death." She was speaking carefully, the way people spoke when trying not to rile another. "Three completely separate manners of death, only two linked to the copycat definitively, the other two linked to Nick Boyle and Georgia Madchen..."
"I don't.." He didn't want to say care. "I don't... think that is absolute. The copycat imitated Garret Jacob Hobbs, but not exactly. He imitated Madchen, but not exactly, there was a different feel, a subtly..."
"You're talking about this as if you have evidence to back it up. Do you have the evidence?" She stepped around him, leading him to the kitchen. He followed. She knew he would follow.
"No, I don't have evidence but I can visualize it, I can see their thinking. He attacked Dr. Sutcliffe to frame me, he made it personal. Madchen was just an unfortunate bystander. He framed her instead, but when he thought she could remember his face he removed her as well."
Alana was handing him a beer and he accepted it but didn't open it, just waving his hands as he spoke. It was easier to allow him to extrapolate before interrupting.
"He's focused on me, because I'm on to him, and he knows that I'm on to him. I was blind because of the fever, but now... now I can focus, I can see."
"Well that doesn't sound paranoid at all." She lifted her brows at him, noting that it brought him to a frustrated pause. She hadn't expected the look on his face when she didn't agree with him.
"Will, stop for a moment. Take a drink. Breathe."
"I don't need to breathe, I need someone to listen to me. I can find the connections, I just need to take Abigail back to Minnesota, finding the pattern--"
Alana set her beer down and grasped his hands, forcing them down to his sides. "Will. You've just gotten over a fever. A fever that caused you to lose time, to hallucinate, to feel crazy. You need to take a step back. What you're suggesting can only lead to someone that is close to you, someone you know, or who is in the Beureau and involved with the cases."
Will nodded, his free hand turning, fingers closing briefly around Alana's before she made a small deft move to free them. He did take note of it, a dull ache in his chest. "I can find the pattern. I can make the connections, if given the chance. I just need Abigail."
There was a silence between them for a moment. Alana peered up at him, steady. She reached up and cupped his cheek, then his forehead, which caused Will's temper to flare, taking furious steps backwards from her as if she'd raised his hand to strike him.
"I don't have a fever, Alana! Its broken, my head is clear."
"If I'm searching for your fever, Will, then you must know others will be as well. You're recovering. Jack knows you're recovering, Hannibal knows you're recovering. Hannibal better than the rest of us, as you've been talking to him more than any of us." She picked up her beer again, tilting it slightly towards him. "Take that into account. Find your evidence."
"I'm trying." His voice was almost a snap, his temper twitching. "I'm trying, but I need Abigail."
"As her psychatirst I'm imploring you to wait. Just... wait, Will. Don't pull her into something when most people will doubt your word."
Will looked frustrated. He tightened his jaw, looked away. She doubted him. He should have expected her to doubt him. They all doubted him.
"If I go to Minnesota... If I find the pattern on my own, without Abigail..."
"That isn't waiting. That's rushing in."
Will's response was to crack open his drink. He needed alcohol in his system to deal with all the fucking haterade in this place. He took a long gulp, eyes closing, then he lowered the bottle, giving his head a shake.
"So you want me to find evidence without looking for evidence, is that what you're saying?"
Alana set her bottle down and rested her hand on her hip, turning to face him with her head tilting to the side. "... Will, what part of you've just recovered from a fever are you letting click in your decidedly intelligent, mostly functional mind?"
"I'm not sure how much of that was an actual compliment."
She smiled, and he returned it, slightly, staring at that spot on her forehead. It was a moment but the moment passed as Will looked away from her. He looked at the bottle, then turned, leaning down against the counter, pressing his hands over his face and rubbing them up through his hair before setting his forehead against the cool surface.
No, he didn't feel like he had a fever. Yet they would all believe it was fever talking. It was why Jack looked at him like he was still mad, why Dr. Lecter called him paranoid. Alana was a painful voice of reason.
"I'll wait a few days." He lifted his head, picking up the bottle again. "I'll look further into the evidence, the evidence that we already have. I'll reconstruct, I'll take the time and then I'm going to Minnesota and I'm finding the pattern."
Alana toasted him. "Excellent." She took a drink, Will mirroring her. "Are you intending on staying now? Cozy up by the space heater like promised?"
Will choked on his drink, and quickly pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, giving her a slightly dark look. She was grinning at him, looking pleased with herself to have gained such a reaction.
"That isn't fair, Dr. Bloom. You made it very clear you desire more stability and you just implied I'm still unstable." He saw the look in her eye change a little, looking a little ashamed of herself. Shame wasn't the emotion he'd been seeking when he said that to her.
"You're right."
"Alana.."
"No, you're right, Will. I've been flirting despite my turning you down and that's a bit ... cruel of me."
Will looked down. Looked away. Admired her choice of curtains and what fine cutlery she had in her sink, unwashed. "I don't... mind. Wholly, I mean. It makes me feel a little more human. A little more sane."
Alana's shame dissipated to something warmer, coaxing an equal sense of warmth into Will's mind. "I'm glad that I can bring you some level of sanity then."
"... I should go." Will motioned with the beer, then squinted at the beer, his brow furrowing. "Before I get beyond the driveable limit, I'm going to leave this here."
"I'll be more than happy to finish it. Like a second hand kiss."
Will managed a chuckle this time, pointing at her as he shook his head, brows raising. "You certainly take advantage of the inch given, don't you... Thank you Alana."
Alana took the bottle from him and walked him to the door. "You're welcome, Will. Take care on your drive. Find your connections if they're there."
The door clicked behind him in the brisk air. The beer felt warm in his stomach, and his mind felt more settled. The urgency though had not passed. He was afraid of hesitating, even for a moment. It could mean more deaths, ones he could avoid if he kept moving forward. It was a dangerous balancing act and the blade in this case was sharper than most.