infomodder | IC contact [Mask or Menace]

[There's the briefest of pauses, before he speaks.]

Will Graham -- this is Doctor Chilton, I was hoping to, ah, speak with you.

[There's no hesitation on Will's end. His voice is firm, missing any overt hostility.]

Now's your chance, Doctor Chilton. What's on your mind?

[It's not like Will hasn't openly stated where he lives. It would be stupid to just hang up on him when he could be easily tracked down.]

Did you seek medical attention?

[Does our agreement stand still, is the subtext.]

Yes. They found it immediately. Strange. Just another MRI like I had before.

[He's still not suspicious of it; doctors made mistakes. The equipment might have needed checking, or something with the wiring was off. If he'd had another back home, it would have been found, wouldn't it?]

I'm on a cocktail [He's not letting that go, no.] of various pills to take daily and I go back for check-ups frequently. The outcome's favorable.

[He never imagined saying these words to Frederick Chilton of all people, especially not after knowing he'd end up in his hospital, but he did do him a favor, even if one was expected in return. Whether it sounds feeble because Will doesn't want to say it to Chilton or he just doesn't say it often in general is difficult to tell.]

Thank you.

[It's a relief -- perhaps unnecessary, as Chilton was already familiar with the outcome. But nevertheless, ever since his return from Baltimore, he hasn't been able to depend on all variables.

There's an ongoing shifting.]

So then our deal stands.

[A beat.]

Have you since spoken to Gideon?

Doctor Gideon and I spoke when the two of you came back. Told me he came back to your hospital because I wanted him back. Something about helping me remember. [It's very clear that this information is still just as confusing to Will as it was when he first heard it.] It was my idea, not yours. He asked me to tell him if my doctor [Because Hannibal was always Will's doctor (unofficially, but still), not Chilton—couldn't that be worked out to be the same in the hospital?] ever showed up.

[He's also just as confused as to why Hannibal was such a big deal for the both of them fresh out of the...whatever the hell had happened to the two of them.]

Deal's a deal, Doctor Chilton, as long as it doesn't get...dangerous.

[If there's a string of Ripper murders, for instance, then someone's going to have to say something, aren't they?]

It won't get dangerous. [He says it firmly, every syllable measured in assurance.]

Gideon ought to no longer be a concern, given the amount of eyes on him now.

Eyes on him because people here like you? That Kenzi girl. I talked to her when she found your office. Little bit beside herself.

[It was part actual concern (what the hell happened to cause that?) and part, selfishly, covering his ass. They were from the same place. No matter the issues between them, Will not showing his face in some way would have looked bad on him later down the line. Doing what he felt he had to.]

She seems nice. Good catch there.

[Fishing!]

[Chilton hesitates. His private life back in Baltimore was significantly more private -- nonexistent, almost, as his work so ardently consumed his hours. But it was nevertheless a slim realm never before breached upon.

This Heropa was so much more intimate. Every imPort had access to the business of their peers, somehow, some way.]

She is quite lovely, yes. Quite the solid. Friend.

[Chilton, wary of the lure, swims around it. But it was still distracting enough.]

That's what I meant.

[He doesn't care to hear about Chilton's romantic life (or anyone's, for that matter) or lack of it, doesn't need to get personal details. It's a slippery slope, isn't it? People start offering up bits of themselves and expect him to do it in return. Obviously that's different in some relationships, like with doctor/patient. Patients have to give up information even if they find it too personal to get the help they need.

Abruptly:]

How sick was I when you got me? [That's not fun to say, and there's a rattling of pill bottles.] I have antiviral pills, antibiotics, sedatives as needs arise, steroids, [He is not at all sure what to think about half these pills; why can't he just take a few injections and be done with it?] and then anti-seizure meds. Some of them don't make sense to me.

You were, well, your frontal lobes were inflamed. [He's wary about going into detail, wary about how any information might resort back to Hannibal. While Will was far more clear-headed now, it would be... Inconvenient. For him to know what Hannibal truly was, at least at this point, lest he connect the dots between Hannibal and Chilton himself.

The dots marking unethical psychiatrists, and how they coalesced together.]

You were delusional, hallucinating. You lost time, you blacked out. It was all because of the encephalitis.

[Not. All.

But mentioning psychic driving? From this professional source? It didn't seem to suit Chilton's goals.]

You, ah, no longer manifested any of those symptoms. After having been medicated for that particular infection.

Good to know I won't be sleepwalking off the roof anytime soon.

[Being locked away for crimes he's sure he didn't commit (but who did then, who else knew all of it, could have gone into that level of detail to put him behind bars?) is an awful thing to go home to, yes. One small bonus of him being medicated so he didn't end up walking off a roof, off a cliff, into oncoming traffic while he slept? Might as well take what he can get. Even though Chilton didn't mention sleepwalking specifically, if he was his doctor, he'd have to know all of that. He'd have to. Even if Hannibal hadn't wanted to give up the notes of their therapy, wouldn't he have had to? He might have wanted to protect Will as a friend (closest thing to friend Will had), but there were some things that the law just would not allow.]

Are you afraid of me? I'm not paralyzed and missing a leg. You worried I'll hurt you?

[He wouldn't. It's not in a tone that implies he would or that Chilton should, in fact, be afraid. It's him wanting to knock this out of the way as soon as he can. He's no physical danger, and he won't be a danger to whatever reputation Chilton has here as long as things don't get...as out of control as they did before.

Which wasn't solely on Chilton, in some regards. They might get to that later.]

Why would I be afraid of you?

[He had reason to fear Will Graham's actions, certainly, but not for the surface-level implications, not from the point in time when Will knew him. It felt like simultaneously a half a year ago or just a couples of weeks prior was the era when Chilton would have leapt away from any therapy containment center that held the man he spoke to. Bars were only so thin, after all.

But now? He didn't fear the assumption of Will as some reaper, no. He feared the more informative scythe the man could use against him: the truth of what he had done to Abel Gideon.

Even here, his unethical practice haunted Chilton. Even a universe away.]

I doubt your encephalitis will taunt you much longer. Who could you possibly hurt?

[It was a purposeful exoneration. Without committing to it in so many words, Chilton dodged considering Will Graham the Chesapeake Ripper any longer.]

I—

[Ripped out Cassie Boyle's lungs while she used them and mounted her on a stag head. I impaled Marissa Schurr. I nearly decapitated my neurosurgeon's head at the jaw. I burned Georgia Madchen alive. I slaughtered Abigail Hobbs and ate at least part of her. would be the end to that if he could bring himself to say it out loud. That's what he was accused of, and there would be more, wouldn't there. What had happened to Cassie's lungs if he was so stuck in the mindset of a cannibal? What had happened to Abigail's body after she'd told Will, Hannibal, and Alana that her father would have used their bones for putty and...

But it's all cut off by a short laugh, because he gets it now. Or, he thinks he gets it. Either Chilton's gotten some amazing powers here that make what Will is accused of (was accused of?) doing look like child's play, or Will's innocent. He's innocent, just like he thought. Innocent legally, or just in Chilton's eyes? Did he convince him, if no one else?]

Didn't do it. Wasn't me. You know I didn't do it. You know. [What a strange thing if that's the case, to have his "caretaker" believe him when the ones he considered close couldn't look past evidence and...] This is— [Great news? The best news. Almost the best news. "Abigail Hobbs was found alive and missing an ear, but she's alive," would be great news, but that's a stupid hope. His innocence is the most he can hope for at this point in time, it feels like. For as little as he's saying, were a word count stacked up, he's saying a lot in his tone. He's happy, happier than he's sounded in a long time, certainly the happiest he's ever sounded around Chilton that he can remember.] —feel like I owe you a dinner.

[It's all fish cooked in beets.

Dishing dirt on what he did to Gideon isn't going to happen. He let Nicholas Boyle's death go without any real sort of justice to keep Abigail's innocence intact. He's not exactly the most morally upright of people in the first place. This news is a bit more important to him than going to whoever Chilton's superior might be and talking about what he did to one patient out of the many he's got under lock and key.

(See? Rational! Chilton could have plenty of success cases, what does Will know, right? He just met one, the rest of them could be totally rehabilitated and upstanding citizens at this point. He'll go with that.)

Everyone makes mistakes, don't they. Surely keeping hush on Gideon's mistreatment isn't a mistake that will carry over to anything bigger in the City. Surely.]

Owe me a dinner. You?

[The skepticism rings like tin, hollow and somewhat flimsy. It isn't that he doubts Will's prowess to conjure a meal, especially one involving high quality fish -- it's the context. Oh, sure, the man was definitely not the Chesapeake Ripper, definitely not a willing cannibal.

But they, presumably, had all been unwilling parties to cannibalism, and Chilton couldn't easily shake that nausea. It was almost an ironic blessing now, that he couldn't consume much protein -- there was no reason to feel that Hannibal had manipulated his acquired tastes.

It was severe enough that Abel Gideon had wielded such power over the psychiatrist.]

Perhaps a coffee would do. It would be suitable for us to catch up -- once you're assuredly better, mind. I won't be keen to interfere. [CHILTON wouldn't be keen to interfere? Red flag.]

Don't you agree?

[Of course, "catch up" is a phrase entirely edited by Chilton's own whims of what Will should and should not know; while the urgent fear of Hannibal pounded in his heart, cognitively Chilton realized the benefit of lording information over Will. His own unethical depth was... Resounding.

Will himself had told Chilton to confess.

Chilton refused.

It would be much, much easier for the former Chief of Staff to engage on his version of history, lest Will recant his promise given variables yet revealed.]

[Funny how things changed, and he might have said as much until the—

—red flag he wasn't expecting.

Something was wrong, so wrong, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Understanding whatever it was might be too much effort or stress on someone with a brain as inflamed as his. Chilton might have known as much and decided it better to let Will get himself back together before they went further over...whatever it was that had happened. There was no real time to think about it before he was asked a question, and his answer came quickly.]

Yes. [What else was there to say, really? They'd had an agreement, Chilton hadn't lied, Will got the help he needed. He wouldn't open his mouth against him without just cause, and with Gideon as he was, if a string of Ripper murders sprang up out of nowhere—who truly knew them better than Will himself? It served no one to say anything about influence. Yet.] I've got a small coffee place near the shop that's. Good. [Horribly insulting by Lecter standards. Fine by Will standards. Possibly somewhere in between for Chilton, depending on how he lived in his own home (did his wealth extend to his every bite of food, or did he take delight in the occasional crappy meal he simply had to stick in the microwave for a few minutes and it was done, even if something was too hard or a little cold, so what, he hadn't had to put any real effort into it?). They could find out.] Second week of June, maybe. If nothing happens before. [Like his office being splattered with blood.] Good with you?

[It's not that Will needs that long to get himself together, and he would clarify if that was implied.

No, no. Something more mundane than that; red snapper fishing season opened soon. He'd be really, really busy.]

June is an amicable month.

[A fairly pompous response, something verging on the poetic (but not quite committed); it was so often that Chilton hide in his pomposity. When he felt inadequate, when his ego shackled him to the conceit of proving himself. Quite frequently he mistook haughtiness as a shield.

But in this extent, his anxiety wasn't one born from a thrusting social hierarchy. In this moment, his Byronic words flowed from the uneasiness that manifested from truth kept quiet. Some part of him knew Will Graham would figure it all out, and that he only had dwindling time -- that's what mounted the wariness, the tension. Chilton had yet to experience the all-loss bleakness (and consequential liberation from his own anxiety) that he would know, intimately, when he sat across Alana Bloom in a slate-hued interrogation room. He had yet to appreciate the irony of being torn from one cage into another; but at least the latter wouldn't be the teeth caving from his own personality disorders.

In Heropa, he was still mired in fear of full exposure.]

At least it's unlikely anyone would overhear us. Or want to.

[While more a comment on Will's knack for seclusion than his taste in dingy eateries, both sentiments could apply.]

[Will's got no idea what happened back home, what happened between him and Chilton and Gideon in that hospital of his. There's things he knows he must not have confessed to on behalf of Abigail, determined to protect her innocence ("innocence") at all costs. An immoral move, something that left a family and circle of loved ones with no justice for two children killed within a short span of time—better or worse than whatever Chilton had done to screw Gideon's head up so much?

Psychopaths helping each other out, or two men who have a loose grasp on ethics coming to an agreement?]

If we get there and you don't think it's isolated enough, my shop's a block away. [My. It's his. He's going to hold onto it as long as he possibly can.] Back room's spacey. Cameras only pick up video. Coffee to go. Dog'll leave you alone if I tell him to. It's safe.

[More or less.

The idea of Chilton pissy because he's got dog hair all over one of his suits, how dare Will let that slobbering beast come near him—it's amusing. He keeps a lint brush if it ever happened. He's not that cruel.]

Anything else on your mind?

Graham.

[Because he doesn't really know Will, last names is the best option for how to address Will.]

You said you wanted to speak to me when I was out of confinement.

I did—

[Wait, that sounds wrong.]

—do. Everything work out all right in the end? You're out and about. Talking. Assuming the scolding wasn't too. Harsh.

[He hopes he didn't take that job. His experience isn't everyone's, but the government can be one hell of a cruel mistress.]

Everything worked out. Your fear of torture so far has been unfounded. The only punishment I faced was from my own teammates. I appreciate your concern though.

[He totally took the job. Sadly, he only sees pros, not cons.]

["So far"—did the kid have experience with the government back home to negative degrees or had Will (and perhaps a few others) instill worry about it?]

Take the job? Comes with a title, I imagine.

[A nice title and, hopefully, not losing his mind. A title that people respect, even.]

[His own father is his negative experience with the government, but mostly it was Will.]

I took it, yes. No title, outside of just security management.

[Totally not losing his mind. Not even a little!!]

You really have been scarred by something, haven't you?

[There's a moment of silence before he answers. He's made his job clear publicly, not sure if anyone else read along (who would care?), and unless certain people have been spilling anything about him, he could get away with it. Could. Maybe?]

Dunno if you'd say scarred. Been burned might be more appropriate. [Even though burns lead to scarring, there's a difference there. Burning implies he just got tired or had too much. Scarring implies...damage. Ruined. Broken. He doesn't like that.] Worked with the FBI for a long time. Had a bellyful of everything. My job, the way it was run. That would be more. Accurate.

[Not. Really.]

[He's read along. He's read and listened and watched everything he could, honestly. A stalker... yeah, maybe a little. Although he hasn't read much private information (despite easily being able to hack it), unless it was entirely vital for him to. Which, there hasn't been much.]

I see.

[Burned, scarred. Whatever answer Will gives, he gives for a reason. Inumuta has no reason to doubt him... so far.]

Burned, then. Regardless, if you're worried about me being burned as well, you don't have any reason for concern. One, I don't plan on staying long enough to get tired of it. Two, I believe being burned means I'd have to have loyalties to who I'm working for to begin with. I'm using them, as much as they are using me.

IC contact [Mask or Menace]

05.05.2014

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5-30-14

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