Work Text:
Will is so terribly damaged. In many ways, he is Jack Crawford's fragile little tea cup. If you don't look too closely, you will see something slight and precious, something showy. Something exquisite. Something put on display for the most prominant of guests. guests who will gome home and tell their like-cultured comraderies how fashionable and practical it is to have such fine china. Ostentatious Jack enjoys the victory of having the most rakish of accessories.
But not for long, thinks Hannibal. If you look closer at the bone white exterior, past the elegant curves of finery and function, you will discover something flawed. Take such a teacup and bring it to your eyes, you will find millions of tiny cracks. Spiderweb-like hairline fractures that tend to go unnoticed in the subtlety of fading daylight, or easily hidden in carefuly arrsnged candlelit room. When you look even closer, you will find that these cracks are not limited to one small corner of the base, but encompass every surface of the entire structure. If you find yourself this close, you will see something that is terribly damaged.
Dr. Lector takes mental note that the people closest to Mr. Graham often wonder how someone so broken remains, more or less, intact. Alana Bloom likely sees the obstinate little tea cup as a sign of underlying resiliance. Jack Crawford probably sees a miracle, that something in such an incredible state·of disrepair can still be of use. Jack knows how to take advantage of these things, to work it until he sees that it is no longer of any use.
People who see the fractured Will Graham usually stan in awe of his perseverance. They haven't realized the danger of standing too close to someone who could break at any time. They do not understand how very little is truly holding together the fragile little teacup. And when fine bone china breaks in your hands, it will make you bleed.
Hannibal knows this, and when he looks into Will's eyes, he wants him to know it too.