❝You were just c u r i o u s what I would do. Someone like me. Someone who {thinks} how I think. W i n d him up and w a t c h him go❞
[[Independent Will Graham rp for the TV show, Hannibal]] [[please read FAQ]] +
I am crazy;
❝You were just c u r i o u s what I would do. Someone like me. Someone who {thinks} how I think. W i n d him up and w a t c h him go❞
[[Independent Will Graham rp for the TV show, Hannibal]] [[please read FAQ]] +
“She’s making good progress.” Alana’s hands curled against her lap as she thought about the girl. “Made it into a few more group therapy sessions.” A nod followed suit with her shorten explanation, unsure as to what to fill him in on. His growing personal interesting in Abigail was concerning as it and the last thing she wanted to do was to add fuel to the fire.
Her fingers unfurled from one another, making their way from folds of her dress back onto the polished surface on the desk. The psychiatrist digits did not make contact with the wood though, but rather, with something soft and much more flushed. There was a full minute before the realization of what she had exactly connected with run through her mind. It was Will’s hand. “I-” she began, biting back her small moment of panic; knowing how the profiler reacted to such a situation. Her arm hurried to pull itself back to her side. “-Sorry. I’m sorry about that.”
“That’s good to hear –” he breaks off and holds his tongue. Alana had made it clear that she did not want his personal involvement in Abigail’s affairs and though he understands where the doctor is coming from, he finds it hard to hold back. He feels a staggering amount of obligation towards the girl; he had killed her father, after all.
The last time Jack sent me to a dark place,
I brought something back
A surrogate daughter?
The feeling of softer flesh against the back of his hand bring him back to present day and he stiffens under the contact. His eyes drop down to Alana’s hand which was now placed atop his. He purses his lips, but says nothing against it. It felt nice.
She was quick to drop the hand, though, and he fails to ignore the sudden emptiness the lack of contact left behind. He keeps his eyes trained on the wood beneath his fingertips instead of on her clear blue hues.
“It’s okay.”
“It was,” she admitted with a nod. “But I think Hannibal can offer a world more of help than I could.”
This was a mixture of lies and the truth. It was not the fact that Alana felt incapable of helping Will, it was that exact notion that she could that kept her at arm’s length. She was the first to always remind and cation about the falls of a close personal attachment in a professional situation. Which is where the introduction of her former mentor to assist came into play. All of this because sh considered Will Graham to be her friend, above any and all else.
Alana allowed her fingers to drift across the top of the desktop with a quiet laugh; nails carefully tracing a non-existent pattern mapped out on it’s surface. The fact of their companionship did not exactly stop her from knowing what she could about him when the information was available from one source or another.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Alana,” he tells the truth. He knows what the doctor is capable of, having studied her just as she studied him during her time at the FBI Academy. They had never been alone in a room together, true, but that had not stopped the profiler from attending some of her lectures and keeping a tab of her as well. He had a professional curiosity about her just as much as she did him.
Are we starting n o w ?
Oh, the session wouldn’t be with { me }
It would be b e t t e r if your relationship wasn’t personal.
“How is Abigail Hobbs doing?” He finally breaks the silence that hung over the two as he looks back at the psychiatrist.
“I don’t want to be in your head, Will.”
At least, it wasn’t her goal to be. So many times the opportunity to dissect the traits of Will Graham had come across Alana’s path and every time, she found herself turning it down. Though, it did not steam from a lack of interest in him; it was, in fact, a differing notion. It was because Alana found herself in enormous standing of respect for the man who empathize with serial killers. An instance where her respect and desire for friendship won over any ideas of professional curiosity.
“Besides-” Her arms fell away from across her chest in the defensive pose she held. “-There might not be room for someone else in there,” she teased lightly, hoping it didn’t come off nearly as scathing as it did in her head.
“And I believe you.” And he did. Of those he keeps in company, Alana seems to be one of the very few who do not seem interested in picking apart his brain; and if she did, she was good at hiding it, which the profiler appreciated.
His laugh was tense and sour at Alana’s jab. He finds himself also relaxing more into the conversation as she drop her arms from her chest. He sometimes wondered how, for two people who considered each other friends, they had never been in a room alone, nor spoken to each other without a third party. Perhaps that was the definition of friendship – he did not know.
“Ah, because of Dr. Lecter, yes?” the questions is rhtorical. “It’s also come to my attention that it was you who suggested him to me?”
A sigh escapes from Alana. One that was much louder than she ever intended it to be. Her head hung a little lower with the use of the formal name. Doctor Bloom. In most cases, she fought to be addressed by the title she had earned but coming from Will, it sounded increasingly bitter; so displeasing. In front of students and colleague, it was common to call each other by Dr. Bloom and Professor Graham but this treatment from the profiler? It made her nails curl around the fabric of her dress sleeve when it came from him without another soul standing around to hear.
“I’m not here to interrogate you.” Her temperament and inflections stayed constant to one softening tone. “We’ve know each other for years now. I’d hope you thought better of me by now.”
Realizing that he’d crossed a line, Will purses his lips. Forcing his shoulders to relax – if only just – he tilts his head up and blinks at the harsh florecent lights that hang on the ceiling of the lecture hall.
“I’m sorry – Alana. That was rude.” Reaching up, he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, eyes squeezing shut. The week had been a busy one for the Profiler, Between the Blood Eagle case and trying to deal with his sudden paternalistic behavior towards Abigail Hobbs, his nerves were strung too tight.
“I– appreciate your concern. But I already have one person in my head; I don’t necessarily want another one in there.”
“Me?” There was the trace of a smile begin to appear at Will’s tactic; to pull the focus of the conversation from himself onto something else. Which, of course, ended with her becoming the center of the attention. “Well, I like to think I’m doing pretty good, if I say so myself.” It was a partial truth but Alana like to keep a professional, and when around Will, pleasant air to herself. Though, the recent events of nearly everything between the murders to Abigail’s well being to then back to Will. It all was beginning to take much more of a toll than she was comfortable with allowing.
Her arms moved in favor of folding across her chest as her smile began to fade a bit once again. “Actually, no. That was a lie,” Alana admitted with soft, nearly hollow sounding laugh. “I’m worried.” She tilted her head just enough to meet his gaze. “I’m worried about you, Will.”
His mouth curls up and a humorless chuckle escapes his throat as he shakes his head, eyes downcasted once more. “Of course you are,” He mutters quietly, more to himself than to Alana. He couldn’t seem to avoid the attention, no matter where he goes or who he’s with. With his students is the never-ending chain of questions (he genuinely hopes they make up for the analytical skills that they lack with field work), around collegues it was distain and precaution, Crawford still treats him like a fragile little teacup, he didn’t need Alana’s pity, either.
“Well, Dr. Bloom,” He switches back to formality, voice stiff. “There’s no need for you to be worried. I’m fine.”
Alana wasn’t positive on the answer she would receive given the current setting of the bare classroom around then. Still, the possibility of no answer was a present concern and one she prepared herself for regardless, but to some sense of relief, the psychiatrist did receive one. Even if it was a fairly limited.
One foot over her bag and then another, she carefully stepped closer into Will’s company as his eyes casted along the floor. Body language betrayed even the best of them and, despite everything, he was no exception to the rule. Knees slightly bent with fingers trailing along the edge of the desk, Alana leaned backward and rested herself next to the profiler.
“You don’t know?”
There was no sharpen tone to her voice. Only a gentle press instead. She held no position to shove Will into answering anything nor would she ever want to force that upon her friend. In either standing, it was nice to hear an answer directly from him rather than a middle medium.
“I don’t know.” He repeats, shrugging once more. It is the truth, more or less. His dreams – or nightmares, as others might call them – still keep him up at night, but that has never been an uncommon thing. They had gotten worse, but the profiler was not about to tell anyone about it just yet. Alana and Jack both treat him so gently, as if he was to break the minute the drop him. He appreciates the thought, but it is still annoying.
He turns to face her again, eyebrows now raised. “How are you doing?” he asks, turning her question on her. Friends they may be, but being psychoanalized was still something Will disliked. Having Hannibal Lecter as his theropist is enough, he didn’t want Alana inside his head as well.
The notion of standing in a room alone with Will isn’t lost on her but she doesn’t mention it. This wasn’t exactly the first time it was brought to her attention either. Alana gave a small shrug accompanied with a tip of her head and an all knowing smile. She knew better, especially coming from Will Graham of all people.
Her head straightened and the smirk subsided, she gently dropped her case at the toe of her heels. “How are you today, Will?” There was no point in hiding behind an array of false phrasing and questions; because this is what it simply boiled down to, even with his meetings with Lecter. She wanted to know how he was holding up from Will in person rather than a file or passing.
This wasn’t due to professional curiosity or anything of the sort. Alana wanted to know and hear every word spoken for herself because, above all else, Will Graham was her friend.
He watches as her posture changes from that of a friendly matter to a more serious one. His own smile falters as she drops her bag at her feet and his back stiffens as if to anticipate the worst to come.
He had expected a new case, another murder by their copycat, something to do with Abigail Hobbs, but instead, she asks how he is. Sucking in a sharp breath, he tries to think of an appropriate answer for her.
Why does it matter? “I’m – I don’t know.” His shoulder drop and his eyes turn towards the ground as he answers her. Constantly feeling as if there were dozens of voices and lives in his head, he finds it hard to focus on his own – often too focused on someone else’s life instead.
With recent events concerning Garret Jacob Hobs, Abigail Hobbs, and their copycat killer, the profiler had barely gotten a wink of sleep, haunted by the corpse of Abigail’s friend and the sheer sloppiness of the murder.
“I can’t stop by for a visit?” Alana feigned innocence under the guise of a rhetorical question, acutely aware of how Will felt about dropping in for small talk. Her mouth curled into a warming smile. That wasn’t the reason she walked into his classroom though.
Her brow raised at the catch of the profiler looking over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t followed. At least, not this time.” She shifted her case from one hand to other as the free appendage gave a flippant wave through the air, letting it fall back to her side in soft pat. “But Crawford will be by later in the afternoon. I figured you would like a heads up as to avoid another ambush.”
“No, you can,” He manages a small smile at her tone. “But I also know that coming in here isn’t exactly on the menu – perhaps as a side dish, but not an entree.” He nods as she mentions Crawford and his coming later that afternoon. It was helpful that she thought to tell him beforehand, but he had a feeling the Agent would drop by for a visit sooner or later.
Leaning back on his desk, he looks up expectantly at his old collegue. “I’m sure you didn’t come in here just to notify me of Jack’s visit. So what can I help you with, Alana?” It was, he notices, the first time the two have been alone in a room together, as the last time they were together one Abigail Hobbs had also been there. But he chooses to keep silent about that.
Guest lecturing, she had decided, wasn’t so terrible. It was a chance discuss new ideas, to look out at a sea of faces; some new and some old. Alana enjoyed the experience all the same. The sound of shuffled papers and chair being scrapped against the floor was the tell-tale sign that her time was up. Just as the crowd began to push their way out of the door, she found herself following suit with her case clutched into her hand.
It was a short trek to building sitting just across the courtyard but Alana kept a quicken pace all of the same, almost keeping up with the recruits running drills. From there, it was simply another slip past a pair doors and into the classroom of one Will Graham, announcing her arrival with a soft tap against the plaster walls of the entrance.
“Knock, knock.”
He didn’t like the sudden attention he was getting now that he agreed to go back in the field. He didn’t like the sudden sense of popularity and celebrity that he got. The students applauded again when he walked into the room, which was completely unnecessary. He had only just managed to avoid some of the first years as they scurried up to him after class to ask questions when footsteps could be heard entering the lecture hall once more.
Turning around at the sound of the footsteps and the ‘knock knock’ that follwed, Will is surprised to see Alana Bloom standing before him once again. Glancing over her shoulder quickly to see if Crawford was coming, he raises his eyebrows at the doctor.
“Doctor Bloom,” He greets, nodding in her direction. “What can I do for you?”
