Chapter Text
Quantico, Monday, 11:35 p.m.
Will sighed when he realized this meeting was never going to end. He should have known that his first ‘day’ back from leave would be endless.
Forty-eight hours without sleep and an endless rotation of bad coffee had reduced the team to throwing out increasingly absurd ideas in an effort to catch their latest serial killer. At least he had had the foresight to warn Abigail that he probably would not be home. She would stay with the dogs. With the snowstorm raging outside, it was likely they would all be sleeping in their offices again.
Without Jack or Hannibal supervising, the conversation had devolved predictably.
“We should go undercover as cruise staff,” Jimmy suggested, for the third time.
“Absolutely not,” Brian huffed from his position half under the conference table, eyes closed, a jacket balled beneath his head. “You just want an excuse to parade around in tiny uniforms.”
In typical Jimmy fashion, his response was earnest rather than defensive. “Did you know cruise ship uniforms were originally designed to distinguish crew from passengers, but over time they evolved to indicate rank and department? Red stripes for medical, blue for environmental. They even have symbolic badges to indicate specialty, much like the modern military.”
“That still doesn’t mean we want to see you in one,” Bev said brightly, lifting her mug only to discover it was empty.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to see it,” Brian muttered.
Jimmy flushed and ducked his head. Bev laughed loudly, pulling her feet off the conference table to stalk over and refill her mug with whatever hours-old sludge remained in the ancient industrial coffeepot lurking in the corner of the darkened conference room.
Will rubbed his temples, already bracing for the migraine blooming behind his eyes. He opened his mouth to shut this down when the conference room door slammed open hard enough to rebound off the opposite wall.
Jack Crawford stormed in, Hannibal Lecter close behind him.
“Where are we at?” Jack demanded, his voice booming.
“Apparently, we’re in tight shorts, carrying trays, and hosting a limbo contest,” Bev drawled, deliberately kicking Brian as she passed.
Will smiled despite himself, then looked up and caught Hannibal watching him. The expression was distant, faintly amused. Intent.
Will inhaled sharply before he could stop himself. His gaze slid, traitorous, from Hannibal’s dark eyes to the sharp cut of his cheekbones, to the perfectly tailored forest-green suit and coordinating paisley tie that made his eyes seem almost molten under the fluorescent lights.
When had he started noticing Hannibal this way?
Heat crept up Will’s face as he forced his attention back to the notes in front of him.
“We’ve been gone three hours,” Jack growled. “And you still have nothing?”
Pain spiked behind Will’s eyes. The room went silent, save for the sound of Brian scrambling upright to throw himself back into his seat. Everyone suddenly found the scarred faux-wood grain of the table fascinating.
Their visit with Bella clearly had not gone well.
Everyone knew her cancer was advancing, but no one would dare mention it to Jack directly. The only measure the team had of his wife’s condition came from Jack’s moods and the fragments Will occasionally pried from Hannibal that were not protected by patient confidentiality.
From what Will had gathered, the good days were coming farther and farther apart.
Jack would never retire. Not now. Not with the Chesapeake Ripper still at large. The Ripper’s months-long silence weighed on the entire team, but it pressed hardest on Jack. Being the head of the Behavioral Science Unit during what Freddie Lounds had dubbed the Reign of the Ripper could not have been anything but corrosive. The need to catch him was Jack’s singular focus. Every other case had become a placeholder. Jack spoke as if any crime short of the Ripper should be simple. The solve immediate. Time that should have been spent with Bella was instead burned chasing mediocrity.
Jack was angry, and it showed.
The longer their cases dragged on, the more explosive his outbursts became.
Will was used to drawing Jack’s frustration. Lately, though, everyone looked hollowed out, brittle with tension and exhaustion.
Everyone except Hannibal.
Hannibal had been awake just as long as the rest of them and still looked immaculate. It was as infuriating as it was distracting.
Jimmy raised a tentative hand. “I think—”
“Price!” Jack barked. “If this involves a uniform, you’re fired.”
Jimmy’s hand dropped. Bev slung an arm around his shoulders, murmuring, “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll buy you a captain’s hat,” under her breath.
“Enough,” Jack snapped. “We have work to do.”
No one moved.
“What about you, Zeller? You got some sleep. Any fascinating new revelations to share?”
Brian reddened and stared at Jack, openmouthed and, for once, without a snappy comeback.
Bev met Jack’s stare as if daring him to come for her next.
Hannibal stepped forward, calm as ever, placing a steady hand on Jack’s arm. “Jack,” he said evenly. “We should adjourn and reconvene in the morning. Fatigue is not conducive to insight.”
The tension collapsed in on itself as Jack sagged, his shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he muttered. “Tomorrow. Bright and early.”
He turned and left as abruptly as he had arrived.
The room exhaled.
Will felt a rush of gratitude toward Hannibal. His way with damaged people reminded Will of his own instinct with wounded animals. Hannibal had found his place in the FBI, Will thought, more than once, while observing his interactions within this oddball team.
As Bev and Brian began organizing the photos and documents into some semblance of order, Will’s gaze followed Hannibal’s across the room to Jimmy, still frozen in his chair, eyes fixed on the table.
He looked like a statue.
Someone else would have known what to say.
Hannibal did.
“Mr. Price?” he asked gently. “Are you quite well?”
Jimmy did not answer.
Brian and Bev moved closer, flanking him.
Bev knelt, taking his hand. “What’s up, kid?” she asked, slipping into the big-sister tone she wielded so effectively.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Jimmy said quietly. “It’s too much. Someone has to say something.”
Hannibal pulled out a chair and sat across from him, posture open, voice measured. “What precisely do you mean?”
Jimmy glanced toward Will. “Sorry, Will. I didn’t realize what this must have been like for you all this time. Jack is completely out of control. His expectations are unrealistic. I saw interns collating information for a new case today, on top of this one. What are they calling him?”
“The Cruise Ship Slayer,” they all said in unison.
“Ugh,” Jimmy groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Freddie really needs a thesaurus. She’s slipping.”
Brian lifted a finger in the air and said, “Don’t forget the Ripper.”
“As if I could,” he sighed deeply.
In that brief moment, Will caught Hannibal’s expression and nearly staggered.
Curiosity. Fondness.
And beneath it, something sharp and burning.
Anger.
Not irritation. Not impatience.
Anger.
It vanished almost instantly, but the echo of it buzzed under Will’s skin.
You feel this way.
Was it Jack? Bella? The cancer itself?
Will did not know, but the need to understand that secondhand rage lodged in his chest like a splinter.
Will met Jimmy’s gaze and found himself growling, “Fuck Jack for making you feel like this.”
The vitriol surprised even him.
“Jesus, Graham,” Bev said. “Tell us how you really feel.”
For a beat, the room held its breath.
Then the tension broke.
Laughter rippled through the group, shaky and relieved. Jimmy laughed hardest, his shoulders shaking as tears streamed down his face.
He lifted his head and stood, walking over to face Will. “I’m really sorry I didn’t stand up for you before. When Jack gets like this, we need to be a team. We need to protect each other. From now on, I have all your backs.”
Will’s mouth dropped open, the surprise apparent on his face.
“Well,” Jimmy said, rising and clapping a hand on Will’s arm, “we’re not getting any sleep tonight. We need drinks. Team-building.”
“Who’s in?” Bev demanded.
No one argued.
As they all moved to clean up, Hannibal leaned in close behind Will, close enough that Will felt the warmth of him before he heard his voice. He had not realized, until
this moment, how rarely he allowed himself such familiarity.
“An excellent idea,” Hannibal murmured into the shell of his ear.
Will stepped forward and turned, realizing Hannibal was still comfortably within his space.
“So,” Hannibal said mildly, “am I to assume there is no extricating myself from this charming social invitation?”
“That depends,” Will said, huffing a quiet laugh. “Do you want to be part of the team?”
Hannibal regarded him for a moment, then sighed, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Very well. Where to?”
A discussion erupted at once, the three scientists descending into a spirited debate involving food trucks, dive bars, and the questionable merits of vodka mixed with energy drinks. Will stopped trying to follow it almost immediately.
He could not, however, look away from Hannibal.
The anger was gone now, folded neatly away. Whatever edge Will had glimpsed earlier had been carefully shaded over, leaving only faint impressions of fondness and amusement as Hannibal observed the chaos.
Will wondered, not for the first time, how much of that calm was deliberate. How much was choice.
Hannibal watched the trio bicker endlessly about nothing at all, looking perfectly content to stay exactly where he was.
Will came back to himself when Jimmy accused Brian of putting oil on the forty-power lens again.
“Guys,” Will interrupted, “where are we going?”
“Are we going?” Jimmy asked suddenly.
“Oh. Right. Um,” Brian muttered.
“Well, shit, Graham,” Bev snorted as they all spoke at once.
**
11:50 p.m.
Will: everything ok?
11:50 p.m.
Abby: yup. studying. dogs fed. Buster peed on your tee 😂
11:50 p.m.
Will: s’okay. you eat?
11:51 p.m.
Abby: I washed it. yup pizza. H with you?
11:52 p.m.
Will: hes here. going for a quick break then back to work. get some sleep. it’s late.
11:53 p.m.
Abby: tell H I stole his maroon sweater 💤
11:54 p.m.
Will: YOU tell him 🤣
**