01 | 🕐 | audio

[mirrortouch]

[ 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. ]

Comments

[mirrortouch]

[ 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?

[praesidium]

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.]

[mirrortouch]

[ 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. ]

[praesidium]

[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.]