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Entry tags:
.i can reach any star. -2-
Pairing: Hannibal/Will
Rating: T for poorly described gore
Word count: 2K+ (fic total: 7K+)
Summary: Will is a human with unheard of empathic abilities. Hannibal is a Betazoid whose telepathy is stunted due to childhood trauma. It works, somehow. Or Hannigram--in SPACE!!
[Read on AO3]
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
--Tattlecrime, Star Date 48411.2--
Dr. Hannibal Lecter is a psychotherapist hailing from Betazed. He is famous across the Federation for his publications on interspecies variations in psychopathy--and for his elaborate dinner parties. Dr. Lecter is also known for being the victim of a rare condition among Betazoids which has left him psi-null--that is, unable to project or be the recipient of telepathic or empathic communication. Despite this disadvantage, Dr. Lecter has risen to the top of both his chosen profession and the elite of Betazed--and beyond.
Just recently, Dr. Lecter was invited to consult on an ongoing investigation headed by Director Jack Crawford of the FBII. Also consulting for this investigation is Special Agent Will Graham, chosen for his investigative role due to his ability to “think like a killer,” and who is known to be unstable and, indeed, “terrifying.”
Exactly whom is Dr. Lecter--specialising in the study of the psychopathic mind--investigating?
--
Somewhere on a northern continent of lush, luxuriant Betazed was a massive, elaborate dwelling of design that was antiquated but interspaced with tastefully integrated modern accommodations. The decor was shocking to the point of scandal, with macabre paintings and sculptures, including a bouquet of some sort of antlers resting in a vase depicting ancient war scenes. The antlers had to be replicas, of course--it was beyond imagination that they could be real--but the display nevertheless harkened back to primal, vicious histories that most Federation citizens would shy away from, that the Federation’s charter professed itself determined to overcome. This reminder of darkness in the soul made Will’s skin crawl. He told himself that it was out of fear, not excitement.
Will wasn’t sure what he had expected in the home of Dr. Bloom’s mentor, but this was definitely not it.
They hadn’t met their host yet. “He invited us to meet him in the study,” Dr. Bloom had explained, leading them inside. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the corridor toward a huge, carved wooden door. Dr. Bloom stepped forward when Jack floundered before it, searching for a panel in the wall with which to announce their presence.
“He’s very old-fashioned in certain ways,” she said, smiling fondly. She folded her hand into a loose fist and knocked it firmly against the door.
“Please, come in,” called a voice from inside. Though muffled by the thick door, the voice carried a soft curl of accent that hinted at the use of a non-native language. He has his translator turned off, Will realized, and felt his stomach clench in interest.
Before Dr. Bloom could stop him, Jack stepped forward and walked right into the door.
Dr. Bloom made an effort to hide her laughter, but Will could feel the amusement and satisfaction pouring off of her in waves. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she shrugged, biting her lips. He wondered, not for the first time, how much of her mutual respect for Jack existed despite their equally mutual dislike for one another.
When she was calm enough to speak without her mirth being obvious, Dr. Bloom told Jack, voice commiserating, “I did the same thing the first few times I came here.”
Will blinked in surprise. She was telling the truth. “We have a few places that still use these on New Orleans,” he volunteered as Dr. Bloom gestured Jack aside and reached out to operate the manual door handle.
“Oh? I didn’t know you’d lived on Earth, Will,” said Dr. Bloom, stepping into the room beyond and holding the door open for Jack and Will to follow.
“I didn’t.” Will shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, wishing that he hadn’t spoken. He tried to share as little personal information as possible with Dr. Bloom. She knew enough about him from his file already. “New Orleans II, I mean. Teyljar VI.”
“Alana, I’m so glad you could make it,” their host announced, stepping around a massive wooden desk to greet them. “I hope the door didn’t cause you too much trouble.”
Will’s eyes shot up to trace the teasing smirk on the handsome face in front of them. Of course. Why would someone this wealthy have a ridiculous, antique door other than for the satisfaction of baffling his guests. Something about the expression sent pings of alarm through his mind, though he couldn’t place the source.
“Oh, not at all, Hannibal.” Dr. Bloom smiled at her companions in a show of solidarity. “We were simply admiring the decor.”
When Dr. Lecter looked at her, it was with a sort of fatherly pride. “You’ve become very talented at prevarication,” he said approvingly.
“Excuse me?” said Jack, offended, but Dr. Bloom laughed.
“It can be difficult for Betazoids to interact with other species,” Dr. Lecter explained, gesturing for them to be seated in the visitors’ chairs facing the desk. “Our culture is one of deep and unapologetic honesty--somewhat by necessity, given the strength of our inborn telepathy. Myself excluded, naturally.” He had acquired four lovely, delicate glasses that seemed to sing as they moved through the air, and he placed them on the desk in front of his guests. “Could I tempt you to sample some of our local wine?” He asked, brandishing an unlabelled bottle which he had seemingly produced out of nowhere. “I assure you, it is excellent.”
Dr. Bloom gave a sort of laughing sigh. “I haven’t had this for years, Hannibal.”
“Then it has been far too long,” Dr. Lecter replied, gallantly pouring her glass. “Director Crawford? Agent Graham?”
“How could I refuse?” said Jack, granting the doctor a grudging smile. “I can see that it comes highly recommended.”
“It does indeed.” As he filled Jack’s glass, Dr. Lecter raised his brows at Will in another, silent enquiry. Will shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed, and nodded shortly.
As Dr. Lecter leaned over him to pour the final two glasses, he said, “Thanks.” Despite his intentions, it came out as soft as a whisper.
“Not at all.” Dr. Lecter carried his own glass to his seat on the far side of the desk and settled there, looking at them thoughtfully. “And so, what can I do for you, Director? I’ve been led to understand that you would like me to consult for you on a case.”
Jack’s head shot up, and he turned to Dr. Bloom, furious, but even Jack could see that her expression as she stared at Dr. Lecter was too full of shock for the information to have come from her.
Will snorted. “Sounds like you’ve been reading Tattlecrime, Doctor,” he drawled, taking a sip of his wine. It was delicious.
“I must confess that I follow many news sources, including some of the less scrupulous ones.” Dr. Lecter smiled, and Will realized with a start what had been bothering him since he’d entered the room.
“Lounds wrote that you’re psi-null, and you basically confirmed it while you were getting the wine,” Will said, letting his eyes trace over the doctor, the lines of his suit, the slant of his shoulders, the sharp curves of his cheekbones. “Doesn’t that make it difficult to hold a practice on Betazed?”
“Will,” hissed Dr. Bloom, horrified. Anger, humiliation, curiosity, they were flowing from Dr. Bloom and Jack, but the air around Dr. Lecter was silent and calm.
They had a point, Will knew. That had been rude. Nosy. Still, “What happened to deep and unapologetic honesty?” he muttered.
Dr. Lecter, from what Will could observe--from what he let Will see, and the implied mystery made Will feel heady with excitement--was not overly bothered by Will’s question. “It can, and it has,” he replied calmly. “I spent my youth living on many worlds, experiencing many cultures, in part to escape the consequences of my… disadvantage.” He smiled ruefully. “Nevertheless, the time came when I felt the draw of home once more.”
It could have been the truth. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was all a lie. Maybe it was a twist of lies and truth. Will had no way of knowing.
He took another sip of his wine, trying to distract himself into calm.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so invigorated in his life.
Jack cleared his throat. “We’re not exactly here for a consult, necessarily,” he said. “We have reason to believe that a case may relate to an ancient Terran artwork,” he had to force the final words out. He was disgusted, Will knew, with how ridiculous it all sounded, but he had been in the business for long enough to know that motives weren’t always logical. “Dr. Bloom thought she remembered it from your collection. The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in the Sun. Or The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun. We haven’t been able to verify the title, and sources seem to vary.”
Dr. Lecter looked at them thoughtfully. “Yes, they would vary, I suppose,” he said. “They are each the correct title for a different painting. Both are from the Blake collection. You wish to see the paintings? Mine are only copies of copies, I’m afraid. I believe the originals were destroyed some time ago.”
“A copy should be fine,” Jack said firmly, though Will wasn’t sure that was true. He needed to be able to see what the Dragon had seen.
Dr. Lecter stood up. “Excellent,” he said. “Please, follow me.”
Dr. Lecter’s collection of artworks was as enormous as Dr. Bloom had implied. It was on display throughout the palatial home, with additional wings which appeared to be dedicated galleries.
The pieces of the Great Red Dragon collection were hanging side-by-side in one of the galleries. When Dr. Lecter showed them in, Jack and Dr. Bloom stopped near the doorway to take in the whole display, but Will kept walking until he was standing directly in front of one of the paintings. He couldn’t stop himself. He was shaking.
“Yes,” he said. “This, yes, this one.”
He felt Dr. Bloom come up beside him. He was aware of her emotions--nervous, conscious of her mentor observing her and perhaps weighing her skill as a practitioner, but conscious too of her duty to serve as Will’s collar--but they were muted, background noise, next to the roaring coming from the painting.
“The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun,” Dr. Bloom observed softly. “What does it mean to the Tooth Fairy, Will?”
“Not the Tooth Fairy,” Will snapped, and Dr. Bloom took a step back, startled. “The Dragon. He’s the Dragon.”
“The Dragon,” Jack repeated, stepping up beside them. “Is he this dragon, Will?” He gestured to the painting.
“Yes,” said Will. “Yes.” He was shaking harder, now. The Dragon hadn’t been here, in this room, this air had never touched his mind. But this painting, the shapes and colors, they were what had been glowing in his thoughts as he had walked the decks of the Zephyr, as he had orchestrated its crew’s destruction.
“Fascinating,” said Dr. Lecter. Will wondered if Dr. Lecter was looking at Will when he said that. Will hoped that he wasn’t. Will hoped that he was. “Who, then, is the woman clothed with the sun?”
Will stiffened. “I--I don’t--she’s--” He couldn’t stop shaking.
“It’s okay, Will,” Dr. Bloom soothed. “Let’s take a step back, okay?” She tried to lead him away from the painting, but Jack’s hand landed on Will’s shoulder, heavy and unyielding.
“Where is he now, Will?” Jack asked. “Where is he going next?”
Will shook his head, pain shooting through his temples. “I don’t--the painting.”
Jack and Dr. Bloom exchanged glances. “What about the painting, Will?”
“He needs it, he has it burned into his mind, he has pictures of it on his computer, but he needs the actual painting, he needs to see it all the time.”
“The actual painting was destroyed, Will, remember?” said Dr. Bloom gently.
“Yes, I know, but some of the copies, they’re like this, right? I mean, they’re not just copies, they’re, they’re--real, like his digital pictures aren’t.” He looked at Dr. Lecter, pleading with him to understand the question that Will didn’t know how to articulate.
Dr. Lecter tilted his head to one side, dark eyes locked on Will. “It is not a popular painting, these days,” he said. “While I’m sure there are other private collectors, such as myself, the only public display I know of is in the Brooklyn Museum, on Earth. It once housed the original, and it now houses a copy. It is a painting of the original piece, and it is what I used to paint the piece you see before you now.”
“You did this?” Will asked, looking between the painting and the doctor in surprise. “It’s perfect!”
Dr. Lecter’s lips curled into a smile. “While I appreciate the sentiment, perhaps you might hold your judgment until you’ve seen my inspiration.”
“Will, where do we go from here?” Jack interjected. The air was thick with his frustration, and Will wrinkled his nose slightly.
“What does the Brooklyn Museum look like?” Will asked Dr. Lecter. “Do you have any photos?”
“Not personally, I’m afraid. There may be some in the archives.”
Will chewed his lower lip in thought and felt a thrill when Dr. Lecter’s eyes flickered down to watch. “It could be a private collector,” he murmured, looking at the painting again. “But maybe… He’d need it to be as close to the original as possible. Jack, is there a way we could get a copy of the visitor list to the Brooklyn Museum? Everyone for the last few months. He’ll need to see the painting often, and more frequently the closer he gets to his Becoming. The visitor logs should give us the names of any especially frequent visitors, and we can track their movements from there, see if any of them happened to be in the same sectors as the crime scenes at the same times.”
Will felt dizzy with exhilaration. It felt like this was it. He felt like the Dragon was so close he could touch him.
“I’ll contact the Museum, see what we can find out.” Jack nodded to Dr. Lecter. “Thank you for having us, Doctor. You’ve been a great help to our investigation.”
“It has been my pleasure, Director,” said Dr. Lecter pleasantly.
As they left the behemoth of a building behind them, Dr. Bloom looked at Will meaningfully from her seat beside him in the transport vehicle. “What do you think of Hannibal, Will?”
For a moment, Will panicked that he hadn’t disguised his interest, his attraction, well enough. But then, buried in Dr. Bloom’s nervousness and determination, he found the true reason for her question. “I already have enough of you headshrinks digging around in my brain as it is,” he snapped. “Why, did you think you needed a second opinion on my sanity?”
Dr. Bloom glanced quickly at Jack. He was fully immersed in his conversation on his COMM. “Not your sanity, Will,” she said softly, reaching out to pat his wrist. “I’m worried about your well-being. This job isn’t good for you. You empathize too deeply with both the criminals and their victims for it to be healthy. I know that your job is important to you, that you feel the need to help people, but there are other ways you can do that. You know that, right?”
He sighed, letting her compassion roll over him. “I do know. It’s just--hard. There’s a lot of pressure to continue.” He didn’t look at Jack. Neither did Dr. Bloom.
Her fingers wrapped around his wrist more tightly. “There doesn’t have to be,” she said firmly, but then she pulled away and turned the conversation to a less combative topic--Dr. Lecter’s absurd taste in ancient architecture.
It wasn’t the first time Will had been party to Dr. Bloom’s quick wit and friendly jokes, but it was the first time he let himself laugh with her.
Rating: T for poorly described gore
Word count: 2K+ (fic total: 7K+)
Summary: Will is a human with unheard of empathic abilities. Hannibal is a Betazoid whose telepathy is stunted due to childhood trauma. It works, somehow. Or Hannigram--in SPACE!!
[Read on AO3]
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
--Tattlecrime, Star Date 48411.2--
Dr. Hannibal Lecter is a psychotherapist hailing from Betazed. He is famous across the Federation for his publications on interspecies variations in psychopathy--and for his elaborate dinner parties. Dr. Lecter is also known for being the victim of a rare condition among Betazoids which has left him psi-null--that is, unable to project or be the recipient of telepathic or empathic communication. Despite this disadvantage, Dr. Lecter has risen to the top of both his chosen profession and the elite of Betazed--and beyond.
Just recently, Dr. Lecter was invited to consult on an ongoing investigation headed by Director Jack Crawford of the FBII. Also consulting for this investigation is Special Agent Will Graham, chosen for his investigative role due to his ability to “think like a killer,” and who is known to be unstable and, indeed, “terrifying.”
Exactly whom is Dr. Lecter--specialising in the study of the psychopathic mind--investigating?
--
Somewhere on a northern continent of lush, luxuriant Betazed was a massive, elaborate dwelling of design that was antiquated but interspaced with tastefully integrated modern accommodations. The decor was shocking to the point of scandal, with macabre paintings and sculptures, including a bouquet of some sort of antlers resting in a vase depicting ancient war scenes. The antlers had to be replicas, of course--it was beyond imagination that they could be real--but the display nevertheless harkened back to primal, vicious histories that most Federation citizens would shy away from, that the Federation’s charter professed itself determined to overcome. This reminder of darkness in the soul made Will’s skin crawl. He told himself that it was out of fear, not excitement.
Will wasn’t sure what he had expected in the home of Dr. Bloom’s mentor, but this was definitely not it.
They hadn’t met their host yet. “He invited us to meet him in the study,” Dr. Bloom had explained, leading them inside. Their footsteps echoed as they walked down the corridor toward a huge, carved wooden door. Dr. Bloom stepped forward when Jack floundered before it, searching for a panel in the wall with which to announce their presence.
“He’s very old-fashioned in certain ways,” she said, smiling fondly. She folded her hand into a loose fist and knocked it firmly against the door.
“Please, come in,” called a voice from inside. Though muffled by the thick door, the voice carried a soft curl of accent that hinted at the use of a non-native language. He has his translator turned off, Will realized, and felt his stomach clench in interest.
Before Dr. Bloom could stop him, Jack stepped forward and walked right into the door.
Dr. Bloom made an effort to hide her laughter, but Will could feel the amusement and satisfaction pouring off of her in waves. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she shrugged, biting her lips. He wondered, not for the first time, how much of her mutual respect for Jack existed despite their equally mutual dislike for one another.
When she was calm enough to speak without her mirth being obvious, Dr. Bloom told Jack, voice commiserating, “I did the same thing the first few times I came here.”
Will blinked in surprise. She was telling the truth. “We have a few places that still use these on New Orleans,” he volunteered as Dr. Bloom gestured Jack aside and reached out to operate the manual door handle.
“Oh? I didn’t know you’d lived on Earth, Will,” said Dr. Bloom, stepping into the room beyond and holding the door open for Jack and Will to follow.
“I didn’t.” Will shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, wishing that he hadn’t spoken. He tried to share as little personal information as possible with Dr. Bloom. She knew enough about him from his file already. “New Orleans II, I mean. Teyljar VI.”
“Alana, I’m so glad you could make it,” their host announced, stepping around a massive wooden desk to greet them. “I hope the door didn’t cause you too much trouble.”
Will’s eyes shot up to trace the teasing smirk on the handsome face in front of them. Of course. Why would someone this wealthy have a ridiculous, antique door other than for the satisfaction of baffling his guests. Something about the expression sent pings of alarm through his mind, though he couldn’t place the source.
“Oh, not at all, Hannibal.” Dr. Bloom smiled at her companions in a show of solidarity. “We were simply admiring the decor.”
When Dr. Lecter looked at her, it was with a sort of fatherly pride. “You’ve become very talented at prevarication,” he said approvingly.
“Excuse me?” said Jack, offended, but Dr. Bloom laughed.
“It can be difficult for Betazoids to interact with other species,” Dr. Lecter explained, gesturing for them to be seated in the visitors’ chairs facing the desk. “Our culture is one of deep and unapologetic honesty--somewhat by necessity, given the strength of our inborn telepathy. Myself excluded, naturally.” He had acquired four lovely, delicate glasses that seemed to sing as they moved through the air, and he placed them on the desk in front of his guests. “Could I tempt you to sample some of our local wine?” He asked, brandishing an unlabelled bottle which he had seemingly produced out of nowhere. “I assure you, it is excellent.”
Dr. Bloom gave a sort of laughing sigh. “I haven’t had this for years, Hannibal.”
“Then it has been far too long,” Dr. Lecter replied, gallantly pouring her glass. “Director Crawford? Agent Graham?”
“How could I refuse?” said Jack, granting the doctor a grudging smile. “I can see that it comes highly recommended.”
“It does indeed.” As he filled Jack’s glass, Dr. Lecter raised his brows at Will in another, silent enquiry. Will shrugged his shoulders, embarrassed, and nodded shortly.
As Dr. Lecter leaned over him to pour the final two glasses, he said, “Thanks.” Despite his intentions, it came out as soft as a whisper.
“Not at all.” Dr. Lecter carried his own glass to his seat on the far side of the desk and settled there, looking at them thoughtfully. “And so, what can I do for you, Director? I’ve been led to understand that you would like me to consult for you on a case.”
Jack’s head shot up, and he turned to Dr. Bloom, furious, but even Jack could see that her expression as she stared at Dr. Lecter was too full of shock for the information to have come from her.
Will snorted. “Sounds like you’ve been reading Tattlecrime, Doctor,” he drawled, taking a sip of his wine. It was delicious.
“I must confess that I follow many news sources, including some of the less scrupulous ones.” Dr. Lecter smiled, and Will realized with a start what had been bothering him since he’d entered the room.
“Lounds wrote that you’re psi-null, and you basically confirmed it while you were getting the wine,” Will said, letting his eyes trace over the doctor, the lines of his suit, the slant of his shoulders, the sharp curves of his cheekbones. “Doesn’t that make it difficult to hold a practice on Betazed?”
“Will,” hissed Dr. Bloom, horrified. Anger, humiliation, curiosity, they were flowing from Dr. Bloom and Jack, but the air around Dr. Lecter was silent and calm.
They had a point, Will knew. That had been rude. Nosy. Still, “What happened to deep and unapologetic honesty?” he muttered.
Dr. Lecter, from what Will could observe--from what he let Will see, and the implied mystery made Will feel heady with excitement--was not overly bothered by Will’s question. “It can, and it has,” he replied calmly. “I spent my youth living on many worlds, experiencing many cultures, in part to escape the consequences of my… disadvantage.” He smiled ruefully. “Nevertheless, the time came when I felt the draw of home once more.”
It could have been the truth. Maybe it was. Or maybe it was all a lie. Maybe it was a twist of lies and truth. Will had no way of knowing.
He took another sip of his wine, trying to distract himself into calm.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so invigorated in his life.
Jack cleared his throat. “We’re not exactly here for a consult, necessarily,” he said. “We have reason to believe that a case may relate to an ancient Terran artwork,” he had to force the final words out. He was disgusted, Will knew, with how ridiculous it all sounded, but he had been in the business for long enough to know that motives weren’t always logical. “Dr. Bloom thought she remembered it from your collection. The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in the Sun. Or The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun. We haven’t been able to verify the title, and sources seem to vary.”
Dr. Lecter looked at them thoughtfully. “Yes, they would vary, I suppose,” he said. “They are each the correct title for a different painting. Both are from the Blake collection. You wish to see the paintings? Mine are only copies of copies, I’m afraid. I believe the originals were destroyed some time ago.”
“A copy should be fine,” Jack said firmly, though Will wasn’t sure that was true. He needed to be able to see what the Dragon had seen.
Dr. Lecter stood up. “Excellent,” he said. “Please, follow me.”
Dr. Lecter’s collection of artworks was as enormous as Dr. Bloom had implied. It was on display throughout the palatial home, with additional wings which appeared to be dedicated galleries.
The pieces of the Great Red Dragon collection were hanging side-by-side in one of the galleries. When Dr. Lecter showed them in, Jack and Dr. Bloom stopped near the doorway to take in the whole display, but Will kept walking until he was standing directly in front of one of the paintings. He couldn’t stop himself. He was shaking.
“Yes,” he said. “This, yes, this one.”
He felt Dr. Bloom come up beside him. He was aware of her emotions--nervous, conscious of her mentor observing her and perhaps weighing her skill as a practitioner, but conscious too of her duty to serve as Will’s collar--but they were muted, background noise, next to the roaring coming from the painting.
“The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun,” Dr. Bloom observed softly. “What does it mean to the Tooth Fairy, Will?”
“Not the Tooth Fairy,” Will snapped, and Dr. Bloom took a step back, startled. “The Dragon. He’s the Dragon.”
“The Dragon,” Jack repeated, stepping up beside them. “Is he this dragon, Will?” He gestured to the painting.
“Yes,” said Will. “Yes.” He was shaking harder, now. The Dragon hadn’t been here, in this room, this air had never touched his mind. But this painting, the shapes and colors, they were what had been glowing in his thoughts as he had walked the decks of the Zephyr, as he had orchestrated its crew’s destruction.
“Fascinating,” said Dr. Lecter. Will wondered if Dr. Lecter was looking at Will when he said that. Will hoped that he wasn’t. Will hoped that he was. “Who, then, is the woman clothed with the sun?”
Will stiffened. “I--I don’t--she’s--” He couldn’t stop shaking.
“It’s okay, Will,” Dr. Bloom soothed. “Let’s take a step back, okay?” She tried to lead him away from the painting, but Jack’s hand landed on Will’s shoulder, heavy and unyielding.
“Where is he now, Will?” Jack asked. “Where is he going next?”
Will shook his head, pain shooting through his temples. “I don’t--the painting.”
Jack and Dr. Bloom exchanged glances. “What about the painting, Will?”
“He needs it, he has it burned into his mind, he has pictures of it on his computer, but he needs the actual painting, he needs to see it all the time.”
“The actual painting was destroyed, Will, remember?” said Dr. Bloom gently.
“Yes, I know, but some of the copies, they’re like this, right? I mean, they’re not just copies, they’re, they’re--real, like his digital pictures aren’t.” He looked at Dr. Lecter, pleading with him to understand the question that Will didn’t know how to articulate.
Dr. Lecter tilted his head to one side, dark eyes locked on Will. “It is not a popular painting, these days,” he said. “While I’m sure there are other private collectors, such as myself, the only public display I know of is in the Brooklyn Museum, on Earth. It once housed the original, and it now houses a copy. It is a painting of the original piece, and it is what I used to paint the piece you see before you now.”
“You did this?” Will asked, looking between the painting and the doctor in surprise. “It’s perfect!”
Dr. Lecter’s lips curled into a smile. “While I appreciate the sentiment, perhaps you might hold your judgment until you’ve seen my inspiration.”
“Will, where do we go from here?” Jack interjected. The air was thick with his frustration, and Will wrinkled his nose slightly.
“What does the Brooklyn Museum look like?” Will asked Dr. Lecter. “Do you have any photos?”
“Not personally, I’m afraid. There may be some in the archives.”
Will chewed his lower lip in thought and felt a thrill when Dr. Lecter’s eyes flickered down to watch. “It could be a private collector,” he murmured, looking at the painting again. “But maybe… He’d need it to be as close to the original as possible. Jack, is there a way we could get a copy of the visitor list to the Brooklyn Museum? Everyone for the last few months. He’ll need to see the painting often, and more frequently the closer he gets to his Becoming. The visitor logs should give us the names of any especially frequent visitors, and we can track their movements from there, see if any of them happened to be in the same sectors as the crime scenes at the same times.”
Will felt dizzy with exhilaration. It felt like this was it. He felt like the Dragon was so close he could touch him.
“I’ll contact the Museum, see what we can find out.” Jack nodded to Dr. Lecter. “Thank you for having us, Doctor. You’ve been a great help to our investigation.”
“It has been my pleasure, Director,” said Dr. Lecter pleasantly.
As they left the behemoth of a building behind them, Dr. Bloom looked at Will meaningfully from her seat beside him in the transport vehicle. “What do you think of Hannibal, Will?”
For a moment, Will panicked that he hadn’t disguised his interest, his attraction, well enough. But then, buried in Dr. Bloom’s nervousness and determination, he found the true reason for her question. “I already have enough of you headshrinks digging around in my brain as it is,” he snapped. “Why, did you think you needed a second opinion on my sanity?”
Dr. Bloom glanced quickly at Jack. He was fully immersed in his conversation on his COMM. “Not your sanity, Will,” she said softly, reaching out to pat his wrist. “I’m worried about your well-being. This job isn’t good for you. You empathize too deeply with both the criminals and their victims for it to be healthy. I know that your job is important to you, that you feel the need to help people, but there are other ways you can do that. You know that, right?”
He sighed, letting her compassion roll over him. “I do know. It’s just--hard. There’s a lot of pressure to continue.” He didn’t look at Jack. Neither did Dr. Bloom.
Her fingers wrapped around his wrist more tightly. “There doesn’t have to be,” she said firmly, but then she pulled away and turned the conversation to a less combative topic--Dr. Lecter’s absurd taste in ancient architecture.
It wasn’t the first time Will had been party to Dr. Bloom’s quick wit and friendly jokes, but it was the first time he let himself laugh with her.