infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

"The mistake was not expecting him to keep his mouth shut. The mistake was doing it in the first place. The mistake was keeping it from you."

But not, in Will's mind, keeping it from anyone else. Abigail would probably make that face at him, but she knew. She knew better than Will the power Hannibal Lecter could have over people, even when he was nowhere near them. Chilton had already shown enough unease about what Crane and Graham could be getting up to, and all the explanations in the world might fall on deaf ears.

He hadn't sought Crane out for more than what he could do for Will. He had no personal ties to the man, even if he'd, yes, taken care of him after the fact. There was no love lost, there was no betrayal, there was no severed connection that kept Will up at night and burned and stung and hurt. Crane had test subjects, Will volunteered. It was a mutual using of each other and nothing more.

"And it's not sorry you found out, April. I'm not sorry because I got caught. I'm not sorry because you're upset with me. I'm sorry because my actions have justifiably upset you, and the last thing I've wanted to do, ever since I met you, is cause you any sort of pain."

The version of Will before her now is no longer hunched, slightly straightened as he respects the personal space boundary. With his body, at least, because the way he's looking at her closes enough distance. He's genuinely sorry and watching her intently at the same time, giving the entirety of his attention to April like the world around them is a blur that doesn't matter. Only April matters. Only making sure that she sees, if anything, he's earnest about making sure she knows he's sorry to her. He's recognizing he's to blame and he's owning up to it while keeping her at the center of his shaggy, scruffy universe.

She can't sit still anymore. The comm still abandoned, April fully reverses their position from when this talk started and climbs off the bed to allow a more full range of animated motions as she replies.

"You know when that would've been totally believable? If you'd said something yourself. I don't even know how much else has been getting...edited out that you can be so sorry I had to find out about from someone else later."

He'd had the ability to actually solve that problem of her being being hurt. But no, oh no. He hadn't told her himself for what sounded like months. Not a word. Or even a hint. And that meant no guarantee playing with Crane- Crane who'd just launched a terrorist attack, thank you- was the only thing being kept away from her. Did he only tell her he was chasing White down because thinking of a lie to cover 10 days of no video chats would've been too hard?

For the very first time, thinking back on her 'session,' on the doctor's obsession with her husband, she has to wonder- just for a half second in time before the thought is torn up, burned, and ashes scattered to the wind- if Fredrick Chilton really did know a few more things than her. And that was the most enraging thought of all. One that gets her to stop at the foot of the bed and just look at Will. Because she refuses to believe that's even possible.

"If you want to say sorry, tell me why you didn't tell me."

He watches carefully, none of that predatory quality to him, and leans back on the palms of his hands when she approaches. Any other time and it would be more suggestive, but not now. His shoulders are too tense, and not in the way he's preparing them to move, to wrap his arms around her. Coupled with the look on his face, dread and uncertainty, it's absolutely void of anything that could be considered sexy.

"Because I...I didn't..."

Getting put through the ringer, complete with stop-started thoughts coming out in stammers so much it sounds like Will doesn't even have a good answer. There is no good answer when the answer goes straight back to Hannibal Lecter.

"...know what to say. How to tell you. There's not. It's not—it's not a normal situation, I know that." He knows he's done something atypical, even by his own standards. It's a testament to how much he genuinely does care for her that he'll admit it out loud. "But you're the world to me, and I just—I don't—"

He doesn't want to do anything directly to have April be like the last world he knew. One of bone, and blood, and horror. One where rudeness and insults were punished by being eaten. Tainted, warped, soured, struggling to find light and life and goodness in the midst of a place that made it very clear there was either no God or He was a cruel, ruthless, crazy son of a bitch. He doesn't want to ruin her the way he's been ruined. The way everyone else around him, back home, had been ruined.

He doesn't finish that thought, shuts his mouth after that last little splutter, shakes his head slightly like nothing he has to say really matters because it's simply not good enough, and stares up at her. Giving off waves of apology while pleading for relief, he is, the tilt of his head and the look in his eyes working overtime.

"Babe, if I only wanted normal I wouldn't be here."

In this room, with him. In the marriage, in this life. All of the above. But she frowns and gives a quick head shake as she hears the words outloud, making it clear that wasn't exactly what she meant. She wasn't trying to imply that if he'd told her about his play date with Gotham's finest she'd have been rainbows and butterflies at the eccentricity of it all. It was still a fucking terrible idea. She wasn't here to get some danger kick, either.

While she tries to work that out, his attempt at explaining is apparently more appeasing than the well worded apologies from earlier. So she's at least back to sitting (several inches away from him) on the edge of the bed again, eyes on her hands where they rest on her knees.

"But you've got to give me something. Trust me to stay. So I...god, I don't know. Can trust that when you go to...do whatever you do, you're coming back. I guess. I need to know when you not coming home on time is a really, really bad thing."

He swallows, physically, like doing so will let him taste and savor and better digest, absorb April's words. He'll be able to follow with more ease, understand, work to keeping them fully afloat. A team. Joined, running together as he'd told Frederick not long before April realized how much running around was going on without her knowledge.

He leans forward, running both hands over his face and through his hair. If he were more self-destructive, it would be a key time to just tug, a bundle of nerves, anxiety, frustration, every bit of a horrible feeling and one he knows, he knows, he deserves. His discussion about what to do if Hannibal ever returns plays through his mind. Here's their catalyst, he supposes, if that worst outcome ever flourishes.

"I do. Trust you. God, I trust you with my life."

In the usual way, that is. He trusts that he can fall asleep by her side and not wake upon realizing his throat's been slit open, or he's been shot, or drugged, or she's peeling back his living flesh and going to make a slow, torturous end for him. He trusts that if she found him passed out on the street, the floor, wherever, she'd have him seen to. He trusts that if he was being attacked in her presence, she wouldn't just it happen. He doesn't like to think of that last one much, of course. But he trusts her to step in...he doesn't believe she'd step in as a means to step up, to save his life at the expense of killing together.

"So...what? A word? A...phrase? A promise that I'll just tell you from now on?"

He stops before he can offer the ultimate lie, the epitome of a promise he can keep never keep. Retirement from being the Baltimore mess that he is, from running wild and performing insanity behind the scenes for himself, for men who would never label it insanity.

"You're the man with the plans."

Not designs. Thank you.

"I just can't be a part time wife. That's...not what I do. So if you're in, like really in...do something. What you said. Or leave me sticky notes, I don't know. But. Figure it out."

Because she can't live a life wondering if he's been ported out, murdered, or is just doing some pet project she's not being told about. Knowing he's being held hostage by or having tea a murderer wasn't really going to be great news, but in this world? It was almost close to normal. Just knowing was a big step in handling it. So she needed him to trust her with more than his life. She needed the truth, as much as he was capable of giving it.

Silence.

Well, as much silence as there ever is in their house, of course. There's silence from Will, at least. If the gaze is whispering to each other, if one of the dogs is barking, if the hamsters are contentedly spinning their wheels, then life is going on just as it's meant to and Will can compartmentalize it as regular noise. Because it is.

Because this is the life they have built, together. April is as much a part of it as he is. Leaving her out in the cold when she's never done him that way (to his knowledge) is neither fair nor giving her the sense of equality she deserves, has earned. He has been very discourteous with his actions and April offers him a second chance, one that doesn't come at the end of the knife or in the midst of a bloody mess.

"All right." It's easier to obey when the master presenting choices does not do so with serious injury waiting the wings should he unknowingly pick the wrong option. He pulls a face, straightens back out, and nods in approval. "I'll tell you whatever needs to be said, as soon as it needs to be said. From now on. If I don't, you can feed me to the raccoons."

It sounds light enough to be a joke, and Will glances back at them with amusement on his face like it's just a joke...and yet, considering what she knows about Baltimore, considering she's the one who sees that scar on his stomach more than anyone else outside of himself...

He may expect that betrayal and lies are met with being eaten alive to the point where it's not wholly a joke.

It's a step, one that still gets an out of the corner of her eye look considering just how subjecting 'needs' really is. But she won't deny that it's still something. So her tone isn't sharp or aggravated anymore when she replies, just tired, and she finally falls back onto the bed, feet still on the floor but upper body now sprawled next to and somewhat in contact with Will.

Fucking Baltimore.

"Mm. And the Graham definition of need when it comes to this kinda stuff is?"

Crisis apparently averted, all but the oldest of raccoon guard seem to his accept his offer as good enough and begin filtering out of the room, back to the chores to do and treats to swindle out of people.

That's good, at least, seems the worst is over. The calm after the storm. Will lifts his hands to start undoing the buttons of his shirt, slowly taking it off to change into something more comfortable for around the house. It is not, at all, an attempted distraction via strip tease that could lead to more. Just accepting that the day is at its close, he's not going to back to work, he's going to stay. April can go back to Jeff if she wants, he won't protest that. He probably could use some time alone ("alone") to absorb this all and filter the good from the bad.

"I can't predict the future, April," he says, glancing down at her with a tilt of his head, acknowledging that there are some things in this world even he can't figure out. And since he can't say we'll play it by ear, well. "We'll cross those bridges as they build. Hopefully, there won't be more. But you know how this place is better than I do...shit happens quite frequently."

He sheds his shirt, tossing it lazily on the pillows before he sinks down to settle next to her, mirror image. Mirror image that turns to give her a lopsided smile, hand cautiously reaching out to brush his fingers along her own like with all the hesitancy of a high schooler at the movies with his date finally taking the plunge of halfway first base hand-holding. He knows that's a vague, nearly cop out answer. And she deserves more, so:

"I'll be as honest as possible. With you. How's that?"

(Spoilers: the Graham definition of need is a fluid thing subject to change as he so sees fit, because being completely honest can sometimes work against his agenda. But he will do his best to be as honest with April as he feels he can be if issues arise where keeping her more in the dark seems to be the best option. Old habits die hard, after all, but they can be broken and April is doing a damn good job of breaking the teacup in the most masterful, beneficial way he never imagined he'd be lucky enough to find.)

April snorts at that even as she takes his hand, no hesitation or doubt as her fingers intertwine with his. Steps and more steps and, god, she'd never counted herself as patient before. But that was marriage, she guessed. And no matter what else, April was someone that knew what she wanted, and in this world more than any other the importance of her having that 'what' now and as much as possible before it vanished was impossible to overstate.

Devil have mercy on her soul, this was the life she wanted. Will was. So. She'll take the 'need' and 'as possible' and see where it went.

"God, you're such an ass. If you screw this up, I'm divorcing you, getting the house and kids, then sending the raccoons in the night. For you and your little fish shop."

That 'kids' included all the animals as well as the humans was just too obvious to need to be spoken. April wasn't about to half raze Will to the ground.

Ah, that's better. He can't think of a single place where his fingers fit so perfectly, like this, no dog or fishing lure is enough to take him away. The smile that her acceptance brings turns into a short laugh, he beams at the summary. Such an ass, such a now at peace and content ass with her by his side, eyes alight with love and warmth. Even the threat of having his life razed to the ground won't wash it away.

If it ever happens, he'll deserve it.

"But I'm your ass." Hopelessly devoted, he is, bringing up their hands to press a quick kiss to her knuckles. "And you know what happens in the case of divorce. You told me if you ever broke this off, you expect me to love you enough to seduce you again. I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth. You can't run forever."

Still light, still adoring. And he thinks April knows what he means, exactly, even if his words can be warped. If it's part of one of their games, some test, yes, Will would pursue her without a thought in his head to doing otherwise. But should it stem from something serious, something earnest, a break up of actual rejection...then that's it, and the way he'll show her he loves her is to let them both move on.

He isn't here to rule her to life completely, and should a day ever come where the threads are torn and worn and broken beyond repair, Will won't be that one asshole who can never let anything go, who makes her feel afraid, who makes her worry she'll look out the window of her new place and see dark antlers watching her every move.

He is an ass. He is her ass.

She can cut that cord, in all seriousness, and he won't prove himself worse than an ass. Not in April's direction. Not ever.

Oh, she knew. There were many, many times in this life that April may be afraid for Will Graham. Physically, mentally, emotionally, fashionably. But it never had and, so far as she was concerned, never would enter her mind to be afraid of him. He was an emotional vampire, but he was hers. Secrets and scars and all. And if she demanded a divorce, chances were it was just to get wedding gifts and a honeymoon all over again.

But that would be a sexy wedding anniversary someday. For now, mostly placated by the promises, April gives a small groan as she, somehow without breaking contact with his hand or either of their fingers, rolls up to straddle his stomach and hunch down to look him in the eye, all her weight on her knees as her hair falls down to block the view of the few remaining raccoons.

"I love you, ass. But I skipped out to yell. I've gotta finish some Jeff stuff...so don't cuddle with another shrink or whatever before I get back."

He looks up at her with the same overwhelming adoration, though her position causes the smile that creeps over his face to be the first sign of anything suggestive since he walked in. Can he be blamed? He is naught but a man with the love of his life firmly nestled over a carved smile, hidden through his undershirt. The smile he doesn't even think about, the ugly scar he wouldn't make any move to stop her from seeing even if he was bare. Because in most aspect of his life, he does try to keep himself naked to April's eyes.

That he's managed to fail in one regard he wanted to keep her blind to is not something that will destroy them, he sees. It's something to learn from, to grow. And as he looks all loving and ready to bring her down to the mattress with him for the rest of the day, Jeff be damned, he's not thinking how he'll learn to be guarded in a different light. He's thinking about her face, her skin, the feel of her legs around him, warmth and safety and comfort and everything he never believed he could have, everything he worries at night that he in no way deserves.

"You got it. I'll be here when you get back." His fingers tighten around hers, bringing them back to his mouth for another kiss as his eyes stay on her face, as his mouth keeps its smile. "I love you, too."

Suggestive, hm? She smirks, leaning down...to kiss him on the forehead before rolling off and away. Make-up sex was fun sex, but she's got a little more thinking about that fight to do before diving into afternoon delight. Still, now that the serious parts- the stuff that matters- has been aired out for the moment, she may take part in some over the top dramatic fake screaming and yelling later that night. Just to really get in the full mood, of course. All that good old fashioned pinning to walls, clothes ripping, and other loud things involved in fight/make-up/fight sex that result in the fun kind of emotional scaring of the children hearing them down the hall.

Maybe. Time would tell. For now, she's straightening her shirt with her hands and simultaneously trying to nudge her shoes out from under the bed with one foot.

"Go big with dinner. I'm owed. And might need throwing wine."

So, you know, Will. Don't wear the nice plaid shirt to dinner, either.

Today has been a whirlwind, and there is temptation to just settle back until he effectively melts into the comforter, becomes one with their mattress, and mentally wades into the quiet of the stream. However. April is making her way out and that means Will can get a view of the backside, so he follows her with his eyes, halfway tilting his head off where she's left him (for Jeff, if Will is ever banished, then Jeff taking over would never be a surprise), arms loosely draped over his stomach in the place of anyone else to hold.

"So lots of options. Can do."

Planning his raid of local restaurants while eyeing April on the move, who said a cannibal couldn't successfully multitask, keep things separated? He can do that, no problem, gives her an appreciative smile and a nod.

"Tell Jeff to bring home his own damn salad, otherwise he'll have to deal with real food."

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

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