[OOM] a farewell, of sorts

[collects_strays]

Graham had heard the attending call it "lucky." Through and through, one of the cleanest shots she'd ever seen. Nothing inside shattered or torn. Minimal care required, for a gunshot wound. Jack Crawford knew what he was doing.

The encephalitis was less "lucky," but just as treatable. At first, everything was so quiet, so still, Graham thought something was wrong with him again.

Then he realized he had forgotten what it was like to think clearly.

It didn't seem like very much time had passed before Jack came into the room, to tell him he had been deemed healthy enough for transfer. He entered the room with his hands his pockets. He didn't take off his hat, or his long coat. He didn't want to stay. Graham knew why, but it didn't stop him from saying exactly what he knew Jack didn't want to hear –

"We're following up on your allegations against Dr. Lecter, Will," Jack cuts across him, in a stern tone, managing to make Graham feel like a child who has spoken out of turn, but not to make him feel bad for it. "Now do yourself a favor and start thinking less about Hannibal Lecter, and more about yourself."

Transfer happened the next day. Unimpressed with his stealing the last ambulance he was in, the personnel from BSHCI take no chances this time.

At the new "hospital," there was a very different routine. Meals were passed through the food tray at 7:00 AM, 12:30 PM, and 6:30 PM; the tray and plastic cutlery were picked up no more than fifteen minutes later. He had recognized the jumpsuit – an off-putting, pale shade of dark blue – from interviewing Abel Gideon a few months ago. It's stamped with B1327-1. Unlike Gideon's cell, his own is painted bricks, a wall of bars separating it from the hall, a light above his cot that dims for eight hours, but never goes out entirely. Leaving the cell is another careful ordeal, but it hasn't happened very often yet. Graham was told his treatment with Dr. Chilton would begin on Monday.

He doesn't know what day it is. But then, he'll find out soon.

It's still not Monday, and he's sitting on the cot, leaning forward, hands folded between his knees. Or he's not, really – until the now familiar sound of the buzzer at the end of the hall cuts through his mind and pulls him back into the cell. The buzzer goes off when any door on the floor is unlocked. Graham can tell, as the heavy bolt slides back into place and slow footsteps follow, that it's the main door, and someone has entered the hall. Only one someone, not another inmate returning, likely not one leaving; not the food cart.

Graham can also hear that the footsteps have stopped outside his cell, but he doesn't move, and doesn't look up.

Comments

[collects_strays]

In succession, Graham lifts his head, straightens, and rises from the cot. The movement isn't unlike a puppet being tugged up by its strings.

He walks to the center of the room, but stops a little distance from the bars, and looks up to meet the other man's eyes.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter."

[cook_the_rude]

"So we see each other again, at the other end of a long journey," Dr. Lecter says. "How are you feeling, Will?"

[collects_strays]

"I feel like a moth, that's been pinned to a board for display."

Graham takes a breath. "Is that what I am, Dr. Lecter?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Dr. Chilton must be poking around your brain quite inexpertly if that is how you feel," Dr. Lecter says, slowly shaking his head with a disapproval that might have been meant as comical.

[collects_strays]

It gets a small, trembling smile.

"As opposed to expertly, you mean?"

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Dr. Lecter says. "Or would you trust him to treat you with expertise, Will?"

[collects_strays]

"What are you asking me, Dr. Lecter?"

The harsh smile isn't gone yet. He glances up to the low ceiling. "Or are you just reminding me where I am, because if so -"

The smile slips, and Graham looks back to him. "I'm not having trouble with that anymore."

[cook_the_rude]

"Do you feel safe in your bare little barred brick cave?" Dr. Lecter asks, in a tone of voice that might be interpreted as gentle.

[collects_strays]

Graham lets that hang in the air for a moment.

Then he takes one step closer to the bars. "You know, when I was sick, I started pushing chairs up against my doors. To stop myself from sleepwalking right through them."

He knows all he's doing is handing Dr. Lecter the lead with which to shoot him. He doesn't care. "I thought if I could contain myself - what was happening to me - I could stay whole.

"What, exactly, do you think I need to feel safe from, Dr. Lecter?"

[cook_the_rude]

"You want to stay whole, Will?" Dr. Lecter muses, tilting his head questioningly like an auger of curiosity.

"These bars will keep some more wayward parts of you from escaping, won't they? You'll be safely whole inside them."

[collects_strays]

"I don't have any wayward parts," he answers, shaking his head.

"I only have you."

[cook_the_rude]

"You may think you have regained control of all your wayward parts now, but have you?" Dr. Lecter says, smiling.

[collects_strays]

Graham takes a step back, and looks away.

"I'm not playing this game with you."

[cook_the_rude]

"It may be a bit late for stopping, Will," Dr. Lecter says.

[collects_strays]

"Then what do you want, Dr. Lecter?" he asks, his voice rising, loud enough for it to echo over the brick walls.

Graham looks to the floor, and adds, much quieter, "How can I amuse you today?"

[cook_the_rude]

"I wanted to see how you are, Will," Dr. Lecter says, his voice calm, almost pacifying, as if talking to a dog spooked by thunder. "Perhaps I should come back another day."

[collects_strays]

He scoffs, with another slight, exasperated smile.

"Please don't lie to me."

[cook_the_rude]

"Are you sure you have your own gauge for the truth back then, after losing it to the encephalitis?" Dr. Lecter says, gently.

[collects_strays]

"No, I saw the truth."

It's still quiet, but his voice is starting to shake.

"I saw the thread that ran through those murders, Dr. Lecter, but it's not my thread. It's yours."

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh, Will," Dr. Lecter says. "Will, Will, Will. You will still insist on that?"

[collects_strays]

"And - you knew."

He swallows, closing his eyes for a moment, his voice rising again.

"I told you I was connecting the copycat victims and I what, forced your hand?"

[cook_the_rude]

"You do realise you developed those delusions under the influence of your encephalitis?" Dr. Lecter asks, voice mild, almost sorrowful.

[collects_strays]

"When all sense of who I am was um, distorted by my illness?"

Graham looks up, and meets his eyes again.

"That won't work anymore, Dr. Lecter. I know who I am, and I know what I saw in Minnesota."

[cook_the_rude]

"What did you think you saw, Will?" Dr. Lecter asks.

[collects_strays]

Graham saw a dark figure, tall and so lean, like sinew stretched over bone, and high, curved antlers on its head.

He glances down, and catches another flickering smile.

"I saw you."

[cook_the_rude]

"I had driven you there," Dr. Lecter says. "At your vigorous insistence. You don't remember, do you?"

[collects_strays]

Graham nods. "I remember it. I tore down the police tape, and you walked in after me."

And then, he takes a deep breath, his fingers pressing into his palms.

"Are we gonna reenact the crime?"

The work is deliberate, nothing like the soft haze in which he'd echoed the words before. It's his voice, but the rhythm of the words, and the tremor in the last one, is unmistakably Abigail's.

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Lecter gives him a painful look, and takes a deep breath, as if to regain equilibrium after the pain of being reminded of Abigail.

[collects_strays]

Graham doesn't look away, though his hands loosen at his sides. When he speaks again, his voice is low, but it's only his.

"If you're here to convince me of this - theater you've created, you can go now. You're wasting your time."

[cook_the_rude]

"I'm here to see how you are," Dr. Lecter says, "and what I see is that you still haven't separated what happened in the outside world from the theater inside your brain when it was on fire."

[collects_strays]

He looks away as Dr. Lecter speaks, shaking his head.

"Sorry to disappoint," he mutters.

[cook_the_rude]

"I think I'll be back another day, Will," Dr. Lecter says. "You might need more time to sift through you memories."

[collects_strays]

Graham meets his eyes again.

Very quiet, "Oh, I'll do that."

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Lecter holds his gaze.

"I hope you find what you need."

[collects_strays]

It's like standing at the edge of a docck, only cold wind coming in, and the night sky melting into the surface of the water, so that it was all he could see.

He's still for as long as he can stand it, then lowers his gaze. Graham takes another step away from the bars, but doesn't turn.

It's not until then that he realizes, even with the line of bars between them, he's unwilling to turn his back to Dr. Lecter.

[cook_the_rude]

"Good-bye, Will," Dr. Lecter says, his voice calm and level, and then he turns and walks away, quickly vanishing from Graham's field of visions.

[collects_strays]

Graham doesn't look up as Dr. Lecter leaves.

But he waits until he hears the buzzer, and the bolt slide back, before returning to his cot.