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He had made friends with suspect people. [Replied Chilton, his tone notably arch. While Rincewind did so for the sake of survival amidst an unforgiving dreamscape, and while the friend in question was just Jorah Mormont (conceivably not a frightening man to those who considered him a friend), Chilton's judgement withstood the argument like a stubborn stone clashing against more skeptical rains.

Such was Frederick Chilton's reactive insecurity.]

But he does feel badly about it.

[And there it was -- the crack in the stone. Sentimental relenting.]

He's made a habit of that.

[Both those thats, really — friendly with suspect folks and feeling badly about things. But Will leaves it vague, the twist of lips giving away nothing. Despite all their appearances, Frederick Chilton and Will Graham were suspect people, even if only they and handful of others, past and present, knew it. Will more than his once psychiatrist, really; Will could harvest a man's organs, clean off, then go about his day without a soul being any the wiser. Chilton...he could possibly get there someday. And God save Will Graham if that ever happened.]

I woke up... [He looks off as though he has to actively think about it, as though the topic change is answering an earlier question about what he had to eat for dinner three nights before, and now he's finally remembering.] ...Sam was a very angry bull. I'd, uh, provoked him.

[Subconsciously, a hand comes up to gently rub over his chest, a gesture common with heartburn or feeling the heat or being crushed beneath angry bull hooves.]

Not my best idea.

[Chilton can put two and two together because hoo buddy Will has had a lot of bad fucking ideas and they both know it.]

You and Sam... [Chilton eased off the meat of the phrasing, his teeth sought the marrow. Will and Sam had a fight, likely a brutal one. Will had been the agitator.

Chilton swallowed, trying hard to restrain his hunger for the detail.]

Oh, Will. What have you done?

[It wasn't rhetorical.]

[Will appreciates the restraint. Appreciates it so much, he figures maybe he hasn't talked more than he needs to already. Maybe Chilton deserves answers all at once, rather than doling them out like some sort of truth rations.

He keeps his eyes up, body relaxed.]

I killed Sookie first. Wanted to really get his attention. Bit off more than I could chew, he came out the victor.

[If anyone could be considered victorious in that mess. Will nods, lips twisting like he's tasting something quite sour.]

Didn't realize it then. Everything was so distorted. But I, uh. Felt like him. Felt like I was who he'd always wanted me to be. Closer to it, anyway.

[There's only one him in Baltimore.]

[He looked at Will in a way that he had not looked at him for a long, long while now; eyebrows drawn together, mouth a sharp line that dipped down only in the corners of his mouth. Focused, unrelenting, curious.

The last time Chilton peered into Will like that, he had been under the impression that he had the Chesapeake Ripper in his hospital.]

Why did you kill her?

[Context, context. Motivation meant so much to him.]

[Up goes the chin, his eyes narrow. It's rather instinctive. He knows that look so Chilton gets the first sign of rising walls in return.]

I needed his attention. If I didn't have it, he could...turn into a condor and all that time spent tracking him down would be wasted. [Simple, really, an old, tired way of doing things that still proved effective. Like taking a shower to get clean, only with more blood involved.] And I liked killing.

[Masterful use of the past tense.]

Liked.

[Observed use of the past tense. Chilton tilted his head a few degrees to the left, his eyes still on Will.]

You succeeded. You got his attention. You made someone powerful obsess over you.

Again.

[A parallel to Will's role with Hannibal, except the positioning had been exchanged. But Will Graham wasn't Hannibal, even if the geometry forked similar angles -- he was still more feral, still more chaotic.]

[Are you jealous, Frederick? Don't be jealous. There are downsides.]

And I died because of it. Again. [He never would have ended up on that bluff with that idea in his head if not for Hannibal's refusal to leave him alone. Still, curiously, Will has to add...] You think Sam's as powerful as Hannibal?

Oh, no, no. Not yet. [It would take a significant amount of refinement.] But I cannot say I see him necessarily in Hannibal's role.

So he murdered you?

It was in self-defense.

[Super casually admitting if Sam hadn't gotten the upper horn, Will would have eagerly bitten his throat out. That's how they're rolling today. Will goes so far as to bring his fingers up, laced midair. It lends him a more cultured air...]

How often do you see me as him? Generally speaking.

[Does he hear Hannibal's voice come out of Will's mouth? In dreams or awake? He wonders.]

Before today? Not very often at all. I drew a definitive line the moment I was convinced of Hannibal's true identity.

[Chilton had been the first to believe Will, the first to see the logic of his argument. They were akin to blood brothers, brutalized and humiliated by the same man -- yet triumphant. Somehow, triumphant.

That's how he saw it, anyway.]

This is something of a revelation, Will.

[He blinks. His chest rises, falls, a deep breath that doesn't have any real sound accompanying it.]

You know, best of all, what I'm capable of when I need to be. That morality and ethics can be pushed aside when they'll only get in the way. Hannibal made a massacre of Verger farms to save my life, and I came back to him of my own accord. I am not an innocent man. My hands are soaked in blood.

[He swallows, eyes never leaving Chilton as he speaks. He wants to see how the raw and blunt hits him.]

This isn't a revelation for you, Frederick. You're smarter than that. This is confirmation.

[That given the right wrong pushes, and the means, and the motivation, Will can be a batshit nutter butter MURDER MAN. Until he comes to his senses, if ever, at any rate. Gonna have to test that tolerate meter before it can really really turn into an enjoyment bar.]

[Chilton dipped his chin towards his chest, his eyes clear and knowing. Hannibal had sunk deeply into Will -- Hannibal himself had marked his territory and intention to Chilton, even if the full brunt of his meaning was only transparent well after the fact.

All that parallel between Abel Gideon and Will, Chilton and Hannibal, Will and Hannibal. All that mirroring, all that mimicry, all that blood that soaked into foreign veins.]

You have boundaries you will not cross.

[It was not a statement of fact. It was a plea.

Chilton wanted to be that boundary.]

[Silence. The twitch of an eyebrow. Then both knitting together, lines appearing near his eyes, his cheeks, lips twisted and teeth showing enough that the very idea of really harming Frederick Chilton* for any reason that was not to save his own life or April's was entirely horrible a taste.]

Yes. Hannibal has boundaries. [Not a reassuring statement he realizes, and his face gives that away as well.] Different. We have different boundaries. For the most part.

[*the very idea of really harming Frederick Chilton here in this world is one Will does not like to consider, mystery gifts being non-lethal as they were.]

You would not do what he has done to you -- not in your current state, your relevant circumstance.

[Chilton had to quickly amend his statement, knowing full well that everything Will had done in that nightmare landscape came from something within him, something dark and gnawing. Memory directed behavior, but even memory had to be experienced through some vessel of personality.]

And the fact that you will not deny it is promising. Uplifting, even.

[He swallowed.]

Reassuring.

[Was it really? He hoped. Chilton felt equal parts concern and attempting to quell that concern — but whether that was due to Will being so open about the whole murder thing and thoughts of being unsafe or due to Chilton being interested in that aspect of him, he couldn't be sure. Not immediately.

This is entirely intimate. Will lifts a hand to scratch his neck, the gesture more awkward than necessary.]

Is this where we hug?

[or do men just nod silently and cry alone]

I am not Alana Bloom.

[He meant it as a nostalgic tease, but it sounded weighty in his mouth. He was no Alana Bloom, he was not Will's almost-romance, he was not Will's steadfast psychiatrist.

Chilton was, whether wanted to recognize it or not, stepping before the firing range. And while Will maintained a mutual sense of brotherhood in this world, their shared adventure was destined to be forgotten the moment they once more set foot upon Baltimore's streets.]

I... Am simply glad. That you told me. This is not something you need to solely burden yourself with.

[Things would have taken a super different turn if he had been, and the idea of a colder, crueler stay at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane flashes behind his eyes. Imagining it. Instead of having been mere acquaintances for work, having been intimate, and therefore a more personal betrayal. What Alana had for Hannibal, only Will wouldn't be getting any fancy cages, any books, any art supplies...it's a brutal thought. Unappetizing.

Of course, rather than focus on the kinder aspects, his minds jumps to the horror immediately. Conditioning.]

Thanks for listening. [Abruptly, he looks at his watch, face that usual, neutral mask. It's not been long at all, but he seems to be showing all the signs he's ready to leave. And on the tail end of confessions! Yikes. Except...] You have dinner plans? Saw a promising little diner on my walk here.

[It's basically a fancier Waffle House and that's part of the charm. Also part of the charm? Frederick Chilton in his fancy clothes asking how Will can really sure that the seats are not sticky, why would take me here, yes. That sounds great. Better than going home in a half hour or so to stew some more.]

[Chilton could only imagine how Alana would have treated Will in Hannibal's stead -- but he would have agreed with Will that the bitter heel of her reign over him would have been colder, crueler. The stark difference between her favoritism of Hannibal over Will.

She had told Chilton that she would find herself thinking differently. She blamed the broken marrow that had spilled into her bloodstream, but Chilton knew better. She had always possessed a dagger in her smile -- it was what he liked about her.

It was what he would come to regret about her.]

A diner, Will?

[The pained look on Chilton's face underscored that he understood the humiliation implied.]

Edited 2017-05-12 00:38 (UTC)

A diner.

[Confirmation comes as Will pushes himself to a stand, nodding along in case the words aren't enough. He's smiling, though. They're all friends here. The two of them. And any stag-shaped statues. Probably.]

Come on. Where's your sense of adventure? [He checks his pocket, making sure his wallet's there.] We can go somewhere normal for once.

[Spicing it up with salt and pepper instead of sage and oh my God is that a tongue, Hannibal please, why, who hurt you.]

I am still vegan.

[Well, reluctantly and only most of the time. But Chilton possessed a medical need to watch his protein intake -- if he lapsed to often in that regard, then he would be forced to reduce his alcohol intake.

One kidney could only withstand so much.]

Do they have a vegan option? [A, singular (as if any rustic diner couldn't exceed beyond that much), and spoken with a sneer. Frederick Chilton wasn't going down without a fight, Will might have to unleashed the collar.]

I dunno.

[A rare phrase to come out of Will Graham's mouth. It's accompanied by him ever so helpfully moving to shut any window curtains that might need it — if not, perhaps a lamp is on? Or maybe he left a pen uncapped. Or maybe nothing and Will ends up meandering like a lost little lamb. It's an easy flow. No rush, no stumbling. Comfortable. If Chilton imagines Will doing this with Hannibal's desk lamp, with those sinister curtains, he wouldn't be wrong. Some habits die hard — he who runs the space will always be the one who shuts it, who locks it, of course, but small gestures of aid within another's domain are simply helpful, aren't they?]

One way to find out. [And then, if the idea of friendly ADVENTURE is not enough, he adds:] You chose that brunch place. S'my turn.

[This for that, forever.]

[Will had him there.

Chilton sucked at his lower lip, his eyes cast downwards. He chose that brunch place, now was Will's turn.]

I suppose.

[Chilton, while deeply unethical when his personal ambition was concerned, nevertheless maintained a sense of fairness in all other social regard. He invested in his image, and therefore how his image reflected his relationships; it would have been rude to act hypocritically. And there were some reflections that Chilton didn't want to see staring back at him.

With a mock gesture, his elbow at a right angle and his flat palm pointed at the door, Chilton said:]

Lead the way.

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