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As Will’s class filters out, he catches in his periphery nameless bodies and blurred faces. Flashes of exposed forearms either bare or with shapeless red blobs poke at his head causing Will to glance at his own wrist.
Lifelong familiarity with the swoops and curls of Soul font dance along his vision as letters for the name of his soulmate in beautiful vowels and stark consonants.
Hannibal Lecter.
Murmurs die out as the door slips shut and Will is left to his solitude. The tension drains from his shoulders when the constant pounding of his empathy softens to the vague throbbing of everyday use. No longer in the presence of others, the strain of knowing that knocks at his brain with every glance at another finally subsides to a manageable level.
Will exhausts his walls and forts, utilizing them as he does on the daily. He doesn’t want to know that row six, seat two was struggling at home with finances or that row three, seat thirteen is fighting a gambling addiction. He would love it if he could meet the eyes of others without understanding so much about them. Their faces tell him they feel the same as his empathy translates loudly.
‘Odd,’ it shouts at him on a good day. ‘Weird,’ on a no so good day. ‘Crazy,’ on a bad one.
“He can think like any killer,” some agents whisper, awed at the ability. “What an edge!”
“Doesn’t that mean he thinks about killing? Like, a lot? Shouldn’t we be… you know… worried!?” another demands.
Will won’t tell them that they are smart to worry, because what he would mean is ‘That is a smart mindset and that amount of paranoia will do you good in this job.’ What they would take away from it is, ‘I will kill you if you make me.’
Even while keeping his mouth shut, Will is still eyed warily. He tires of hearing the recycled whispers day in and day out. No one treats him normally. Though he supposes there are worst ways to be treated.
A knock sounds before a head pops through. “Hi. You free for lunch?”
‘Speak of the devil,’ Will thinks as Alana Bloom appears. He nods and sets to work organizing the mess of essays splayed on his desk. “Sure.”
He could be treated with a front of understanding that hides unwarranted pity and has him drowning in misplaced compassion.
Alana steps into the lecture hall and pulls up a chair to the opposite side of his desk. Automatically, Will’s eyes fall to her bare wrists. He wonders what her name reads. He supposes if they were more friends than strained colleagues, he might ask. Then again, he’s not that bad at social norms despite how withdrawn he is. It’s why he hasn’t snapped at her before for treating him with the way she does.
“You look busy,” she throws out as she settles.
Will glances up briefly to see her eyeing the stack he shuffles to the side. Indulgent, hesitant of her welcome, determined to be his friend. Why does he keep sitting alone when-
He tears away with finality. “Just last week’s homework. It’s fine.” And it was fine. Mainly because the essays themselves probably aren’t worth the paper they were written on. It’s the beginning of the semester and his students aren’t aware of how high his expectations are. More than a few failing grades will show them swiftly.
A quirk of her lips from the side of his eyes says she knows this. “You are too hard on them,” she says not unkindly.
Will scowls as he grabs his own lunch from his bag. “They are training to be agents of the FBI. There is no such thing.”
“There is when you expect them to be able to read a scene like you do.”
Will pauses in taking his first bite. He looks at her, firmly ignoring the Just want to help him. He’s a sweet guy that presses at him from reading her soft and concerned gaze, open expression, and trailing eyes. “I don’t expect them to do the impossible. I expect them to read the clues that scream at them.” He takes a bite, feeling bitterness well in his mouth as he gazes past her to focus on nothing.
“What is apparent to you is barely a concept to everyone else. What you do is-” she pauses and he lets her find her word choice in silence. “What you do is unique.”
His sandwich tastes sour going down, tainted by anger and irritation. “What I do is see what a killer has done, same as everyone else.” Not exactly true, he knows. His empathy makes connects better than any one person should ever be able to. “My ability is just enhanced observation.”
Her tone is soft when she replies, “It’s really not.” She meant it to be gently nudging, but he read it better. Her words are pitying. You’re not like anyone else. You’re not normal they say clearly.
Clenching his jaw subtly is a skill he is abstractly proud of.
Different. Abnormal. Outcast. Freak.
No matter where he goes or what he does, he is always seen to be what he is – not like anyone else. His empathy sees too much and makes him stand out much in a way that means he always stands alone.
Well, Will thinks with a wry smile. Not entirely alone.
He sometimes wonders if anyone else glances at his own exposed forearms and speculates at what name is there. Do they ever think, ‘Who could be the unlucky one to be the perfect match to freaky Will Graham?’ Do they pity his soulmate?
Maybe they think he doesn’t have a name. Just because it’s never happened before doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen to Will.
There were days he wants to trace the Soul font on his wrist with a pen and show the world he does have a soulmate. That he’s not one of a kind, but one part of a set. Together, they are different. At least, Will figured so. He doubts his other half is so normal as to balance him out. He wouldn’t be able to stand it.
No, his perfect match is an outcast like him. Different. Together, they are uniquely the same in their difference from the world. One day the world will know; the moment he meets his soulmate, their name on his wrist will burn and finally turn visible to the world. Sure, they won’t be able to read it, but the blurred red shape will show everyone he has met his soulmate.
Alana moved on, probably reading his returning tension. ‘Psychiatrists,’ he thinks with a huff of irritation.
“What was the assignment?”
He eyes the stack. “They were to tell me which clues at the first three scenes showed why the Tattooer only killed one when it was proven that he stalked both people in a soulmate bond.”
Alana gave a surprised hum. Either she was surprised at him teaching a closed case instead of a cold case where new ideas would help, or she didn’t expect him to assign something like the Tattooer to his class.
Probably the later. It was too taboo for most people. Everyone gets an uncomfortable feel about that case. It’s part of the reason he assigned it. Agents of the FBI need to be able to overcome the immediate discomfort seeing an exposed black name brings.
It doesn’t matter that soulmates are public pairs, the names themselves are private inherently since they are invisible to all but the wearer and their match. Even when they meet and the red bleeds visibly, the name is not visible; just a swatch of red in an indescribable shape. Seeing the bold black letters displayed in Soul font on another’s wrist just gives everyone a cold feeling.
The public coined the name Tattooer when, after being caught, Jim Kelson bragged about how he can choose which person gets to keep a permanent remembrance. “It’s my choice! You wear their name, but I am the one that marks you for the world to see!”
“That’s a highly publicized case,” she says instead of voicing her opinion.
Will shrugged. “Doesn’t change the facts. Media coverage doesn’t have the whole picture, and there are still things to be learned that will help them become better agents.”
“Ones that can catch the Ripper?” a different voice cuts in.
He and Alana look over to see Jack standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest, a splash of red curling around his wrist.
Alana’s tone voices her confusion. “Jack?”
But Will already knows. Jack’s face practically yells I know it’s him. The monster is back in the tight set of his lips. Suddenly, he is cold. “The Ripper? He’s surfaced?”
Jack nods. “Body was found twenty minutes ago. Let’s go.”
-
Will’s never been to a Ripper scene before. The madman had already gone to ground when Will was accepted as a professor, but he’s familiar with the profile. Sadistic serial killer, narcissist, a psychopath. Male, between the ages of thirty and sixty, a history in surgery. In the ten years since his appearance, the Ripper had displayed eight sounders; a total of twenty-four bodies. He was this generation’s boogey man. The most prolific serial killer to date. Nothing is left behind that could lead them to the Ripper.
Which is why Will doesn’t understand how Jack believes the Ripper’s most recent break from killing was because they were drawing too close. The FBI had nothing on the monster and they desperately needed an edge; an advantage. Which is where Will comes in. The man who can think like any killer.
The Ripper can’t hide if the FBI have a copy of the Ripper on their side.
Will takes a shuddering breath. He’s under no illusions of the expectations laid on him here. He failed his evaluations, but when Jack met him at the Evil Minds Museum and discovered what he could do, Will suddenly had a job close to the FBI where he would be on hand when the Chesapeake Ripper reappeared.
Because it was always a matter of when and not if.
Will wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. He doesn’t tell anyone he’s nervous or scared because there is no point in voicing it. Yes, he is scared – terrified of having the Ripper in his head. All the killers he has put away while helping Jack are in his head every moment, whispering things and pointing out horrible possibilities. He can shut them out most days, but the Ripper isn’t like other killers and Will is afraid of what this monster’s mind will do to his own.
Jack was a tightly bound coil at his side, snapping left and right as they push through the crowd of reporters and curious civilians. Will meets their eyes only so far as to discount them from being his soulmate when nothing happens. He looks away quickly so him empathy doesn’t start loudly telling him more about these strangers who will judge him for what he is here to do.
“What’ve you got?” Jack demands as soon as they pass the yellow tape and reach Beverly.
Despite his desire not to, Will glances at her covered forearms on instinct. He personally knows Beverly lost her soulmate two years ago to a car crash. While she generally wore long sleeves, it had been a hot day in the conference room about six months ago when she had habitually rolled up her sleeves before realizing what it showed and covered them again. He had only made out the first name on her wrist before realizing what he was seeing and looking away.
Jenna.
Will shakes the memory from his brain and focuses.
“The victim is twenty-two year old Kenny Davis. This ID was placed in his mouth between his teeth. The picture matches the body.”
“Is it missing any organs?” Will asks.
Beverly nods. “The brain has been taken.”
Will’s imagination starts building before he sees the body. A shapeless form, spread out and displayed as art like all the others. This one, a missing brain and the ID given. You cannot catch me no matter what you do. Brainless, the lot of you. Perhaps I will be kind and do part of your job for you. Here is the pig’s name. I wonder if you are capable enough to find out on your own.
“Will?”
Blinking rapidly, Will looks in Jack’s direction without looking directly at him. “Yeah, sorry. What?”
Jack glares. “You got this, Will?” He must be repeating himself.
Will nods. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He can feel the pressure spreading as Jack nods and clears the scene.
“Take all the time you need. Let’s catch his monster once and for all.”
Swallowing to wet his dry throat, Will walks around the retreating bodies and glimpses the scene for the first time.
Blood, everywhere. Posts to the right and left, a rope tying the respective right and left four limbs up and showcasing the body. Cuts and bruises and discoloration instantly telling him the victim was alive at the time they were inflicted.
Naked and displayed, the body was present until abruptly, all area above the eyebrows was gone. A clean and surgical cut had taken off the top of the skull and the brain was indeed missing. The top of the head was upside down a couple feet off to the side, tossed seemingly carelessly.
Instead of letting his empathy yell at him about every little thing, Will closes his eyes, sees the body in his mind, and lets the pendulum swing as time turns back.
A filthy pig, good for nothing but a lesson. Show the world I am here. You are brainless just like the FBI. I can expect nothing more from you.
Your body is my canvas, each cut making you scream and beg. Not music, but perhaps another form of exaltation. I am more than you could hope to be.
Will gasps when suddenly his head sings with seeing, understanding, and knowing.
His wrist bursts into painful flames and his eyes snap open. He watches in incomprehensible silence as his Soul font bleeds from black to blood red.
“Oh my God.” Will falls to his knees and grasps his arm in disbelief.
His mate. He had found them.
Dazed, Will pulls his eyes from the now bright red font I have found my mate and meets Jack’s wide and horrified eyes.
-
“Tell me!”
"No," Will firmly tells Jack. He sits under a shock blanket in the back of an ambulance. Beverly is keeping the crowd from getting too close, but Will is sure that the flash of red hair he saw meant it wouldn’t stop the world from hearing the news. His name would probably be posted in TattleCrime tomorrow.
“You can’t be serious! You know who this monster is!” Jack is pacing and throwing his hands up in the air. He is bigger now than Will has seen him before, but Will feels no anxiety or fear.
‘He’s not a monster,’ he wants to say. ‘He’s my soulmate. I’ve found my mate.’
“I can arrest you,” Jack threatens. “You are withholding information-”
“Soulmate names are protected under law. You can’t make me tell you their name or punish me for not doing so.”
The head of the BAU growls and takes a step closer to him. Will simply meets his eyes calmly. His empathy is no longer slamming against his head with information. It’s soft, like an assisting whisper. It was easy to ignore right now. “Jack, you can’t make me tell you anything.”
“You will just let this fucker walk free? You can save lives, Will! How many other people have to die before we get close to catching him?”
Will takes a breath to calm the fear that shot through him at the thought of Hannibal, his soulmate, being locked up and kept from him. Never. Not by his hand or any if he could help it. “I quit.”
Jack stumbles to a stop. “You can’t- You- It’s…”
Will had never seen the man speechless before.
Abruptly turning away, he tells Alana to keep an eye on him while he grabs his phone from his coat pocket and walks off. Will only hears, “Doctor, I need you to join me. I know we planned for tomorrow, but I need you now.”
Will feels his confusion show. “What’s that about?”
Alana, who looks both shocked and worried, hesitates. “We were worried about how the work has been affecting you. We… Jack had scheduled a meeting between a psychiatrist I know and you to see if he could help.”
Will scoffs. “I don’t need help.”
Her face says she doesn’t believe him. “Will, are you really not going to tell him?”
Will glares at her sharply. “I won’t give my mate up for anyone. Least of all for Jack Crawford.”
Her eyes mist over. Sad for him. So weak against the thought of love. Would protect a killer-
Will retrains himself from doing something violent and comforts himself by turning his attention to his wrist. He won’t trace the letters Alana can’t see, but he comforts himself by circling the name.
Hannibal Lecter. The Chesapeake Ripper. His soulmate.
‘I’ve found you.’
Time passes without much input from Will. They won’t let him leave without Jack’s okay, but they can’t arrest him either. He has taken to ignoring the words around him to the point they’ve stopped trying.
One new voice interrupts his thoughts and it is swiftly followed by Jack’s as he returns.
“What would you have me do?” It is accented in a way Will is not familiar with.
“Someone needs to talk some sense into him!”
“I understand, but I have yet to build a relationship of trust with this mysterious agent of yours. I cannot work miracles, Jack.” The man is careful with his speech. He is polite and the chiding is gentle.
“No, but you know minds, Doctor Lecter.”
Will’s heart stops.
“As you say,” the tone dismisses humbly.
Doctor Lecter.
“It would certainly help if I knew what I was walking into.”
Lecter.
Jack comes into view. His attention is held by a man taller than him, dressed in a full suit that looks both ridiculous and expensive. His profile is refined with a sharp jaw, an aristocratic nose, plush lips, and a cheekbone sharp enough to kill with.
Will wonders if he is losing his mind.
His mate is here.
He hears Jack continue. “I had our consultant look at the crime scene to verify it is the Ripper. And he…”
Hannibal Lecter stands there and waits patiently for more because No matter what this agent has done, they will not catch me. It is absurd. “Yes?” He is certain of his inability to be even considered as a suspect because he has made sure of it.
Jack finally gets his words out. “His soulmate mark turned red, Doctor.”
Will was able to watch subtle emotions play over Hannibal’s face. The whisper made it easier, though it was still more work than on anyone else. Confusion first. He had to make the words make sense in his head before they formed a clear image. And once they did, Will felt his nerves turn giddy. Will was practically vibrating out of his own skin when he saw the confusion change to understanding. Hannibal’s whole body tightened and his posture straightened from where he had leaned over to speak to Jack. “What?” he asked, tone dead.
Jack, too lost in his own revelation, didn’t notice. He nodded. “Yeah, apparently the Ripper is an ‘artist’,” he quoted angrily. “His murder can be registered as a piece of Soul Art. It spoke enough about who he is intrinsically that it called forth the meeting of his soul to Will’s.”
“Will…” His name was mouthed by lips Will didn’t know but would give his heart to someday be acquainted with.
Jack angrily gestures toward Will, eyes burning in rage as he stares at the only thing stopping him from catching the Ripper. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him!”
Hannibal follows the motion and the moment his eyes meet Will’s, his arm twitches in his full suit.
No one but Will notices because he was looking for it. His name was now burning itself colorfully across Hannibal’s wrist. Should Hannibal lift up his sleeve, he would see a splash of red where only he and Will would see William Graham displayed in Soul font.
A connection to his consciousness springs up in Will’s mind. Not unlike knowing, but yet entirely different. He felt an awareness of Hannibal’s presence he hadn’t before experienced. It was like a compass, pulling him towards the other. Or perhaps it was like gravity, as Hannibal seemed unable to do more but fall into his orbit as he approached despite not seeming to make the choice to.
“Hello,” Will said, fighting hard to not smile. There were too many people around that could read into their interaction. “I’m Will Graham.”
The other paused. “A pleasure,” he smoothly intoned. His eyes feasted on Will. “I’m Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”
Will, despite not wanting to look away, casts his eyes onto Jack who is hovering. “Some doctor isn’t going to change my mind, Jack. I quit. And I am not telling you anything.”
“Will-”
Hannibal cuts in masterfully with, “Jack, maybe I can talk with Mr. Graham alone? It may be beneficial to be around a separate party.”
Jack scowls and throws his hands out in clear disgust. “Whatever it takes, Doctor. I need that name.” He stomps off, calling away Will’s watchers.
Immediately, Will and Hannibal are reabsorbed in each other. They are silent and Will doesn’t have to fight his empathy for once, free to take in Hannibal’s face like a man starved. “Hi,” he whispers.
Hannibal tilts his head forward and to the side, slightly reptilian in his study of Will. “Hello,” he answers back.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” It’s what most people said to their soulmates, but Will had always though it cliché. Now that he was here, those words were all he could manage.
Hannibal leans down further and Will’s heart hammers away as he thinks for a second that Hannibal is about to kiss him. Instead, Hannibal inhales deeply.
Will, now that he knows just sits contentedly. “What are you going to do?” he asks softly.
Hannibal freezes minutely before abruptly standing tall to put distance between them again. “Why won’t you tell the FBI, Will? Surely, Jack would offer you anything in exchange for the name on your wrist.”
Will watches him. “I never wanted a serial killer as a mate.” He snorts suddenly and tacks on quietly, “Especially one that eats his victims.” His empathy pulses like a muscle behind his eyes, connections being made almost before he recognizes it. He shakes his head firmly. “But either way, they are my mate. My literal other part.”
Hannibal’s pupils expand as he continues to speak though he doesn’t reach out or interrupt.
“I have been waiting my whole life for the one person who could give me understanding and acceptance. I’d be a horrible soulmate if I didn’t offer the same in reciprocity.”
“One would argue,” Hannibal starts, “that asking for understanding over a quirk is vastly different than asking for acceptance of murder.”
“Maybe for another person. Not for my soulmate.” Will won’t be swayed. He glances off to the side as people tried to be subtle in their approach. “I won’t be swayed, Doctor Lecter.” He stands and drops the blanket from his shoulders. The different position brought him closer to the other man who hadn’t bothered to step back.
Jack appears, having not gone as far as Will had hoped. “Will, please. You can’t- It’s dangerous for you. The Ripper-”
Will steps around Hannibal’s body as if it doesn’t pain him to be so close and not touch him. “If the Ripper decides to end my life, then that is a decision I doubt he will be swayed from.” Will shrugs. “I hope he doesn’t.”
“I will put a couple agents at your house.”
Will interrupts Jack before he can get on a roll. “I refuse protective services.” He turns and walks away.
Alana’s terrified frame comes into view along the way. He smiles at her, confident and even gives a little wave. She goes from terrified for him to being terrified of him just like that.
Will smiles. It was bound to happen eventually.
He makes it to the parking lot before remembering he had driven with Jack. Sighing, he grabs his phone to call a taxi. A hand comes out and covers it.
Will jumps and spins around. “Jesus! I hadn’t even heard ya!” his Louisiana accent slips out in surprise.
Hannibal doesn’t smile, those his eyes are mischievous. His head tilts like he wants to catch more of Will’s voice. “Apologies.” Without taking his gaze from Will, he gestures to his own car. “Allow me to take you home.”
Will looks up at him. The height difference isn’t much, but it’s enough. “Does Jack want you to keep trying?”
Hannibal gives a shrug that doesn’t lift his shoulders. “Of course, though I offer my services freely.”
Will takes the man – the monster – in. He nods and follows Hannibal to the passenger side. He only hesitates a moment when Hannibal opens the door for him.
The drive is not silent for long.
“What are you planning, Will?”
Will turns in his seat and stares at Hannibal eagerly. “Nothing.” He opens his arms wide. “I am completely free of plans.”
Hannibal eyes him pointedly.
Will laughs freely for the first time. His soulmate is beside him. There is nothing else he wanted. “Well, I guess I should tell you that I don’t want to die,” he says with a smile that shouldn’t accompany those words.
Hannibal hums noncommittally. “And?”
Will thinks about it. “And I guess if I have to, I ask that you find good homes for my dogs.” He thinks of this pack fondly. “There are seven of them and they are great animals. They don’t deserve to be neglected.”
The car falls into silence and Will doesn’t bother to turn from Hannibal.
When Will begins to recognize the surrounded area of Wolf Trap, he doesn’t know what to say. “Did Jack tell you where I live?”
“Alana was kind enough to inform me.” Hannibal pulls along the dirt road before stopping. He doesn’t turn off the car before turning to meet Will’s gaze. His fingers tap once on the steering wheel. I have made my decision. Plans need to be made.
Will blinks at the hand as his empathy whispers. He looks back into Hannibal’s admittedly gorgeous face as he awaits that decision.
Something sparks behind Hannibal’s expression. “You have two weeks to get your affairs in order.” Will holds his breath. Hannibal’s lips quirk the smallest amount. “I have always wanted to show my soulmate Venice.”