mirrortouch | 01 | 🕐

[ It's not something that really ever becomes routine, it doesn't matter how often he wakes up someplace strange and uncharted. The voice on the line sounds about as scattered as he feels. ]

My name is Will Graham, it's- [ He's pulling back his sleeve to look for a watch that's not there. ] I don't have the time. I don't- I don't have the time.

[ Hang on, don't get too lost. ]

It's not clear to me exactly where I am, but- [ a dry laugh ] you probably already knew that. This isn't even my phone. But you probably knew that too.

[ He's missing details. He's missing plenty. His voice trails off for a short while before he can get his bearings enough to speak again, and even then it's almost unconsciously. ] I don't know. I don't know.

[ It's as if the fact that he has no idea sparks him back into the present. His voice grows more composed, if somewhat cracked. ] So if you're hearing this, if anyone is hearing this - [ is anyone hearing this? ] - any singular indication will be key.

[ Another beat. ]

I feel as though I've strayed a long, long way from home.

[ The air goes dead, and then so does the line. ]

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[Alana can't smile. But she also can't frown or scream and cry. She can barely even register Will's words as intelligible and true much less feel anything at this news. She instead just feels the ground shift out from under her, feels herself fall apart and melt away from the inside out into a void, leaving nothing but a shell or a fragment of herself behind.]

[For months, she has held onto the belief that Will was innocent. She was given validation for those beliefs. She only saw the good in Will because she had to believe that it existed somewhere to make all of this worth it. And it wasn't Hannibal that took that away from her.]

[Alana looks away from Will, eyes wet and a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Is it to keep the bile she feels rising down or to keep any sign that could be construed as a sob tucked away? She doesn't know, feeling all of it at once alongside the nothingness. She's slower in her movement away from him, stopping short of leaving the kitchen and heading back into the living room. She turns to face Will again, gaze pointedly looking down for a moment. Alana opens her mouth to say something, anything, but the moment she looks at Will again she stops.]

[She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't think there's anything she can say.]

[ Oh, Alana.

She's lucky she doesn't know the whole truth. She's lucky she doesn't know about Randall Tier and his face molded jarringly, messily, newly over a skeleton, his jaw in his freezer, Freddie Lounds' hair tangled ruthlessly in his hands -

All he can see is Randall now, that - display, that sort of artwork that makes you feel something viscerally, though you may not be able to identify the emotion. He's somewhere between a strict sense of disgust, the taste of bile in his own mouth, and yet that strange and skewed, cracked sense of pride that wriggles its way into his mind, settles in deep and doesn't let go. ]

If I was his friend - [ he elaborates, carefully, the one person on this entire Barge he'd trust with this information ] Say, if I were to gain his trust, soundly, believably - If even a modicum of evidence made itself known, it -

[ He swallows thick and bites back the joyous smile he finds himself wanting to break out into. Vindictive. It would be worth it. ]

No. [Alana shakes her head and repeats herself, hardly realizing she even said it once already. There is hardly anything thinking required for this because it's not even an option.] No.

Will, Hannibal is dangerous.

The encephalitis is gone. [ As if that changes everything. ] They found it, they treated it, and I'm clearer than ever. I have truly - seen the devil for what he is, and I will not - cannot - let that keep -

[ He sucks his bottom lip between clenched teeth, giving a minute shake of his head. Nope. ] Nah. No. [ It's something stalwart, a clear message that he's not going to be talked out of this. ]

I have been - fastidious. [ In detail, in careful careful words, in theatrical performance that ought to earn him some sort of award, he finds himself thinking. ] I have been successful, I was so close.

[ And then he ended up here. ]

Will, you have to let this go. [Alana steps back over to stand across the kitchen's island from him.] You have to let Hannibal go.

[For now. At least like this. Will can't walk down this path to try and put Hannibal where he belongs. How far down the line can he possibly go before he becomes something he'll never be able to escape?]

[ As if it could be so easy. Snap his fingers and he was gone.

The Chesapeake Ripper. The Copycat Killer, he blamed him for, implicated, he killed Abigail, he -

Will's eyes have skittered again, and he drinks his coffee black just as a distraction of sorts, an extra barrier between himself and Alana both just for a moment. It's bitter all the way down and he doesn't have a single complaint; it suits the situation. ]

I saw Beverly Katz's body divided into individual, human-sized slides. [ His voice shakes and shudders as much as the hand that vehemently sets the mug back on the counter, almost enough to spill. ] Abigail, Alana, he -

[ His tone gets stranger, almost beseeching her to leave it be. ]

What he did to me alone, and your professional opinion - is to take the high road?

I'm not asking you... [Alana pauses, looking down at the counter for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts into something coherent, but it's along the same lines as trying to herd feral cats.]

[She speaks low. Although they're the only two people in the room, her voice is soft and quiet. It's her quiet plea. Her last stand in trying to save Will Graham not just from Hannibal Lecter, but from himself.]

I'm asking you to not take that road, Will. Because I'm afraid, [she admits, looking up as the first tears fall. Alana's lips move in motions to speak, but it takes a moment before she can.] I'm afraid that if you go down that road, you won't come back. And there will be nothing I can do to save you.

[She swallows hard. Alana is already so afraid that maybe it's already too late.]

That's not-- That's not my professional opinion, Will. That's my opinion as your friend.

[ Friend, it's been a long time since he's heard that word out of a voice that wasn't laden with snake venom. She cries and Will can feel every one of the muscles in his shoulders tightening, a harsh and sharp consideration of the facts laid out before him.

He knows where this could lead him, he knows exactly where this could wind up because he's already played the role of social experiment. He knows now, he knows better (he thinks, he hopes, he knows). Keeping himself grounded is no easy feat when walking on tiptoes, across eggshells, taking the tightrope, whatever metaphor one wants to apply.

He doesn't nod, he doesn't agree or disagree, though his brows furrow curiously as both of his hands come to rest on the counter, careful weight being pressed against them. ]

Save me? [ Something broken, fragile, in need of fixing. ] Or stop me?

Is there still a difference?

[It's not a question that Alana really wants to contemplate or ask, but she does anyway. She doesn't know how far Will's gone. He's already tried to kill Hannibal. He's already taken another life. Will's stability was in question long before all of this, but it is now more than ever. She doesn't know if most people could operate in such morally grey areas to catch Hannibal, but she doubts Will more than most though.]

[Even without the encephalitis confusing his reality, Alana doesn't know if she can trust him not to go too far now.]

[ It's not even a question he's sure he can answer. But there's a harsh determination there that he can't help but feel down to a bone-deep level, almost a primal urge to see Hannibal get his proper - comeuppance, whichever form that may come in and whichever way that may end up happening.

He'd do anything to stop him, he's sure. Nearly anything, he's already mutilated one body. He has no idea how far this is going to go. ]

Does it matter now?

[ He eyes her warily, eyebrows raised. ]

All there is from here is - rehabilitation. My impending graduation. What's to be done about Hannibal here other than to just let him - [ Oh, he doesn't know. But the word sounds ugly in his mouth, bitter. ] exist within his realm?

[ The king atop his throne of skeletons. ]

[Alana shakes her head.]

I don't think he's capable of rehabilitating. He'll stay here possibly forever or until the Admiral gives up on the idea.

And then he'll be sent back and he will be dealt with.

[It's a sure thing to Alana. It has to be. She doesn't believe that there's enough trace amounts of humanity left to Hannibal for anything more than that. He can't be redeemed after all that he's done, all that he stands for.]

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