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“I just don’t get what the problem is.”
”Yeah, what could it be?” Jimmy singsonged as he loaded the centrifuge.
It was the last Friday in October and they’d all been at the annual FBI Halloween party when the local PD tagged their killer’s latest victim, freshly exhumed from the mucky depths of Baltimore Harbor. They weren’t the only agents to get called away for work mid-pumpkin spice martini, but there was something particularly galling about just moving a few corridors away. If Brian listened hard enough, he could still make out the spooky strains of Monster Mash in the distance.
As soon as Brian had a few drinks in him, he got whiny. He knew this about himself. And Jimmy usually indulged him. But they’d been debriefing his most recent dating failure for ten minutes and so far, all he’d gotten out of his supposed best friend were snarky asides and a few pitying smiles that made his chest sting.
So he ignored the sarcasm. “Our last date was nice. I picked a spot with tablecloths and candles. Appetizers and dessert. We had a good time. And the moonlit walk along the Potomac. It was romantic! But now just. Nothing. She hasn’t responded to my texts in five days. Blew right past our date tonight.”
”To her credit, ghosting someone on Halloween is kinda festive.”
Brian glared at Jimmy, who was dressed as Dracula from the old timey movie — the high collar and white bow tie, red face paint dripping from the corner of his mouth, he’d even dyed his hair and greased it, giving it that distinctive widow’s peak. He looked good. Whereas Brian looked like an asshole, wearing the salt half of the Salt and Pepper couple’s costume that Amazon wouldn’t let him return. “It just doesn’t make any sense. She liked me.”
Zeller was busy collecting toe nail scrapings from the week-old corpse that stank to high heaven, but he didn’t miss the little look Bev and Jimmy shared across the room.
“What?” He called from where he was crouched, just for Jimmy to turn back to the laptop, pretending to type something into a spreadsheet.
“What?”
Bev smirked into her microscope, her cat ears sliding as she leaned to adjust the dial. “Do you think you might have come on a little strong?”
”No.”
”How many texts did you send her the day after your last date?” Jimmy sighed, voice already resigned in a way Zeller didn’t appreciate.
Straightening from his bend, and tossing his gloves before he went anywhere near his phone, Zeller opened to her name. Then he scrolled. And scrolled, wincing slightly at the final count. “Around… five.”
Bev snorted, and Jimmy literally palmed his face.
“I spaced them out!” Zeller defended. ”Seriously, what’s wrong with that?”
“You bored her to tears with a date out of a romcom, then spammed her.” It was Will Graham’s gravelly voice that answered him. The guy hadn’t said a word for at least twenty minutes. Up until now he’d been doing his usual thing — holing up in a corner, staring into the middle distance like he was slowly descending into madness.
Brian was honestly surprised he showed up to the party at all. Jack must have threatened him. But he was wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans that no one could possibly mistake for a costume or any kind of nod to the season. Still, from what Brian saw, he’d taken full advantage of the open bar. He hadn’t seen Graham without a whiskey neat in his hand all night.
“Harsh,” Jimmy chided, but it was undercut somewhat by how he was snickering into the keyboard.
An ugly flush charged up Zeller’s throat at having his romantic shortcomings pointed out by Will fucking Graham of all people. “Oh now you want to weigh in on my love life?”
Graham was glaring down at the polished lab floor like he was plotting its demise, which was more or less how he looked at everything. ”I really, really don’t.”
”Sounded like an opinion to me.”
Graham shut his eyes with a pained grimace, pinching the bridge of his nose like he regretted wading into this. Good. He should. ”Not an opinion. An inference,” then, “And not an especially hard one to make.”
The blush deepened, hot and prickling like a fresh sunburn. Or maybe that was just Zeller’s pride smarting. ”Because you know so much about how women think?”
Graham’s eyes were still closed, but his face wasn’t relaxed. It reminded Zeller of the look people have when they’re trying to block the glare of the sun while driving. “Not women in particular. Most people just aren’t that hard to figure out.”
Brian’s answering bark of laughter was just a touch manic, and he blamed it on the tequila shot he’d taken with Jimmy about fifteen minutes before they got called in. “Yeah, you know, when I think, ‘people person,’ you’re always the first guy that comes to mind.” Across the room, he saw Bev roll her eyes at that little dig and opted to ignore her too. “Human interaction isn’t that simple, Graham.”
“I didn’t say it was simple. But you can tell what someone wants, or doesn't want, if you care to,” It was said with that immovable certainty that never failed to get under Brian’s skin. “Most people make it obvious,” he finished, leaning back into the wall.
Obvious. It reminded Brian of how Graham rattled off the internal workings of a killer’s mind based off the murderer’s fucking shoe size and preferred brand of cigarette or however the hell his mind worked — brusque and frustrated that the rest of them just weren’t seeing it. And arrogant. Always so goddamn arrogant.
“So, what, you think you can talk to someone and just know how to get them into bed?”
With a beleaguered sigh, Will rubbed his temples hard enough it had to hurt, as he did so often, and Zeller knew it wouldn’t be long before his trusty, seemingly bottomless aspirin bottle made an appearance. “Can we please just focus on the case without the postmortem on your romantic inadequacy?”
As always, it was just a touch too sharp for the conversation, plowing past friendly ribbing and shoving a knife between them instead. Whenever Graham spoke it was like that. And Brian didn’t know if he just couldn’t tell or didn’t care. Didn’t make a difference for how much it stung though.
”Oh no please keep lecturing me on the ins and outs of dating, since you’re clearly doing so well for yourself.”
Zeller hated to admit it — truly, deeply hated it — but if Graham put any effort whatsoever into attracting a partner, he’d probably make a killing (not literally).
The guy was unfairly — ugh — pretty for lack of a better word. Chocolate curls framing the kind of face you only ever saw on TV or in magazines. And those fucking eyes. Almost cerulean one day, forest green the next depending on his shirt and the light and how homicidal he was feeling at any given moment. Always peering out from under eyelashes that would make any woman cry with envy.
Not that he spent much time considering Will Graham’s eyes, but it was impossible to miss. Even though the man spent his life glowering at the world from behind those stupid glasses that everyone knew he didn’t really need.
And speaking of those eyes and that glower, they both landed on Zeller now. Or near his shoulder. Graham never really looked directly at him, like he couldn’t be bothered to make the effort. “Look, just forget I said anything, okay?” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face.
But for whatever reason, Brian couldn’t. ”Not sure I need tips from a guy who spends most of his time skulking around murmuring to himself.”
Bev shot him a warning look. “Hey. Don’t be a dick, Brian.”
And this was a new thing: Bev coming to Will’s rescue like he was a wounded baby sparrow, when the guy had a tongue like a viper and existed in a state of unveiled contempt for almost everyone he encountered. “He started it!”
“I’m not usually trying to pick people up at crime scenes,” Will returned, and something about the way he said it felt pointed.
It made Brian wonder, for the zillionth time, if Graham knew he’d unintentionally leaked all that information to Lounds for her hit piece. The way he just.. knew things was supernatural sometimes. If he had figured it out, he hadn’t told Jack so far, and the threat of immediate firing if he changed his mind was just one more reason to resent the guy.
But from the way even Jimmy was frowning at him now, this wasn’t a fight worth continuing.
He turned back to his little pile of yellowed nail shavings with a sigh, throwing over his shoulder, “Big talk, Graham, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”
”I dunno. Dr. Bloom sure does seem to like him..” Jimmy pointed out, typing again, and Brian had a lot of thoughts on that actually—
”Pick someone.”
He glanced back and found Graham staring directly at him for the first time in Brian’s memory. And Brian immediately wished he’d go back to looking past him or through him or ignoring him entirely. Something about having all of that brain power fixed on him made Brian feel like an ant being slowly cooked under a magnifying glass. Then Graham’s words caught up with him.
“What? For you to, like, demonstrate on?” The question tumbled out in a tone that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be a laugh, his brow pulling in disbelief.
Graham just blinked slowly at him, and though he was far from drunk, the glassy sheen of his eyes told Brian he wasn’t quite sober either.
“Like now?”
Graham rolled his eyes in that long suffering, I’m-surrounded-by-lesser-beings, way of his that never failed to make Brian feel about two-feet tall. “Yes. Now.”
Jimmy had spun the swivel stool around to watch and Brian knew without checking that he was champing at the bit to be the sacrificial seductee. Will Graham was exactly his type. More baggage than you could unpack in a decade, tortured, gorgeous. If Brian had to listen to one more drunken rant about how Graham was probably a wild thing in the sack…
Meanwhile, Bev’s eyes were wide as the Petri dishes she was filling, darting back and forth between Will and Brian, the pen she’d been tapping against her lips now hanging limply from her fingertips. Then a Christmas morning grin broke across her face and he could see her hands twitching, as if aching for a bucket of popcorn.
Graham’s scowl was just deepening with impatience as the seconds passed.
“You’re serious,” Brian confirmed because it felt like someone should. It wasn’t really a question and Graham didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t react at all, just waited out Brian’s waffling.
“Fine.” Then in a spontaneous burst of poor decision-making, “Do me.”
Jimmy made a choking sound somewhere to his right and Zeller winced at the unfortunate wording.
”I mean. You know, prove it or whatever. On me.”
“You?” Jimmy barely kept the disappointment out of his voice. “You’re the only person in this room who doesn’t like men.” He pointed out, not unreasonably, then more quietly, “and you kind of hate him.”
”He’s right. Not exactly fair play, Zeller,” Bev agreed, looking particularly feline as she reclined back in her office chair and swayed it from side to side.
But Graham’s eyes were just running over his face thoughtfully. And Zeller stared right the hell back, lifting his chin in defiance. He wasn’t going to be the one to flinch. Even if his eyes were starting to tear up from lack of blinking.
“Come on, do your worst, Casanova.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimmy frown, mouthing “Casanova,” and Brian quietly added that line to the pile of regrets he was racking up today. But then, shockingly, Graham nodded.
Straightening, Brian steeled himself and tried to picture what it would even look like to be hit on by Will Graham. He had to fight a hysterical giggle at the thought of the grumpy bastard sidling up and asking whether it hurt when he fell from heaven.
But any humor vanished when he noticed how Graham’s eyes were scanning him now, flitting impossibly quickly, assessing; collecting crumbs of insight like a bird pecking. It was exactly the way his gaze swept over a crime scene, storing every single detail of it in the time it took Brian to clock the victim’s hair color. It was unnerving to be the object of that kind of attention, like Graham was rifling through his every private thought and pathetic fantasy and not missing a goddamn thing.
Every now and then, Graham’s eyebrow would tick up or furrow at whatever he was unearthing about Zeller, and way too late, Brian questioned the wisdom of a plan that gave Will Graham carte blanche to pick him apart.
But then, like a switch flipping, Graham’s eyes dropped to the floor and he pulled off his boxy black frames, folding them and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. And when he glanced back up, Zeller’s breath caught.
It was as if he’d peeled away his churlishness and misanthropy, and what was left was... Well.
Graham lifted from his slouch against the wall, his slight frame unexpectedly broad-shouldered when standing at his full height. And strong. Zeller could see the lean muscle flexing under the flannel. Graham tucked an errant curl behind his ear — maybe absently, maybe by design — and it only served to highlight how silky they were, soft as those plush lips that were spit wet now — when had he licked them? — glistening under the overheads. And Zeller briefly pleaded with whoever was listening for the ugly glasses to come back. Without them those eyes, which were locked on Zeller, were startlingly blue. They were piercing. They were… He was…
Fuck his life, this might not have been his best idea.
And Graham, despite being completely unaware of how he was coming off most of the time, obviously understood the effect he was having now. As he tugged a hand through his hair, leaving it just the right kind of disheveled to send Brian’s mind to certain places, he realized Graham was encouraging this. And his stomach swooped knowing Graham must have read Zeller’s latent physical attraction like some teenager’s poorly hidden diary.
With eyes latched on Zeller’s face, Graham crossed the room with a confidence that didn’t feel put on, but that Zeller had never seen, letting his hips sway — nothing showy or intentionally provocative, but obvious enough to draw the eye. And draw them they did. Zeller couldn’t help tracking Will’s body in motion, unconsciously licking his own lips, a gesture he put a stop to as soon as he realized he was doing it.
Graham paused a foot from Zeller, too close to pass off as casual, but Brian still felt the distance between them like the tease it was undoubtedly meant to be. Graham didn’t move. Didn’t do or say anything, but watch Brian, his gaze a physical weight on Brian’s downturned head. And that was enough, apparently, to make Brian’s body tighten like a screw, his breath splintering into ragged little puffs, as his heart rabbitted away in his chest. How the hell was the thought of Graham’s eyes crawling all over him getting him more worked up than the heavy petting he got into with his date two weeks ago?
Then Graham shifted, and Brian couldn’t help glancing up, almost like Graham had grabbed his chin and forced him. And what Brian saw had heat careening through him like a train that jumped the track. Not because of how arresting those eyes were up close — and they really were, the color was indescribable, like light refracting through a dewdrop — but because of the way he was looking at Zeller.
Graham had never looked at him with anything warmer than impatience before and if you asked him yesterday, Zeller would have said he didn’t care. That it didn’t matter what Will Graham thought of him. But seeing his eyes drag up and down Brian’s body in an unapologetic once-over, then finish with a head tilt, like he approved of whatever he saw, had Zeller clenching his fist where his knuckles rested on the metal table.
He’d expected Graham to put on some kind of performance. With that weird talent of his, he could probably slip into charisma like a stolen suit, become some slick-haired smooth talker he met one time at a bar or something. Brian didn’t really know what to do with the fact that Graham was just being himself, albeit a version of himself that Zeller had never experienced. A version that looked at Brian like he mattered. And Graham somehow knew that was all it would take to make Zeller feel like his skin was too tight for his body.
Graham was clearly tracking Brian’s thoughts as they arrived, like they were a personal conversation happening a table away that he couldn’t help overhearing. But instead of ridicule, his expression softened in increments, until it was something gentler than he’d ever directed at Brian. He’d seen flashes of that gentleness, usually when he caught him on the tailend of a conversation with Bloom or Bev. Or the single time he saw Graham interact with a dog.
There was understanding in it. And, Brian recognized with his heart in his throat, an easy kind of acceptance. Without judgment.
And that reminded Zeller of a stray thought he’d had months earlier.
It was after an awful case, the kind of scene that makes you drink yourself into a stupor in hopes that it kills enough brain cells to blur the details. A gruesome double murder, which, according to Graham, turned out to be a murder-suicide, though Zeller had trouble believing anyone would actually be capable of doing that to themselves.
Will walked into the center of the carnage and did that thing he does where he shuts his eyes and twitches for a few minutes, trancelike, and comes back to himself with every answer they’ve been searching for, the insights punching out of his chest like he’s exorcising them. But when he came out of this one, he wasn’t gasping and blinking. He was sobbing, his body rocking uncontrollably until he collapsed onto his knees. Zeller had never seen Graham that undone before.
Jack had been not-so-secretly irritated when Bev insisted on driving him home, and it was above Zeller’s pay grade, but he was glad she dug her heels in on that one. It was unsettling to see Graham like that, hunched and pale in the front seat of Bev’s sedan, looking like his world had just ended. And not because of the victim. Because of whatever devastation he’d picked up from the killer. The psycho who pulled off one of the most stomach-turning homicides of Zeller’s career.
That night, he sat on his sunken couch eating shitty takeout for the fifth day in a row, chugging the one stale Bud Light he’d found in his garage mini-fridge, and his thoughts inevitably turned morbid. The job was like that sometimes. The cruelty and loss clung to you, made real life feel tone deaf. And Zeller couldn’t help imagining what someone would think if they looked at his life like a crime scene, investigators crawling all over his house trying to get a sense of him.
There were cardboard boxes piled in the corner like he’d just moved in, even though he’d been there for eight months. There was no decor with personality, nothing he really cared about, though he was somewhat attached to the IKEA Eiffel Tower painting that had somehow survived three apartment moves. His fridge was 80% expired condiments and 20% leftover Indian food, and he was sitting in his boxers alone on a Friday night watching NCIS just to make fun of the inaccuracies. It was no wonder he hadn’t gotten past the third date with a woman in a year.
Then, his mind had drifted to Graham’s face earlier, aching, chest heaving because of some maniac’s heartbreak and he couldn’t help thinking, if he could feel for that monster, care about him, he could care about anyone. Probably love anyone. Not romantically, but, you know, it would just be nice to have someone look at him and get it without having to explain.
Brian was bad at communicating, according to three out of three ex-girlfriends recently polled. Words never sounded out loud like they did in his head. It would be nice not to have to talk, to have someone just know.
Then he remembered this was Graham he was talking about and groaned at how pathetic he was being, heading to the kitchen to hunt for something stronger.
But now Will was here, really looking at him in a way no one had bothered to in years.
Brian’s breath stalled as Will took another step forward, right into his space, and the shuddering exhale that slipped past Brian’s lips sounded humiliatingly loud to his ears. But when he tried to check if Jimmy was laughing, Will’s hand came up to cup his jaw, gently, but firmly enough not to let his eyes wander.
Brian had not been prepared for Will to actually touch him and he practically squirmed under the point of contact. It had been years since anyone had held him like this. He’d only really had those perfunctory, incidental touches that lead up to sex, which felt transactional more than anything — a bargained-for exchange. This was the kind of touch that costs you nothing.
Brian didn’t doubt that Will had guessed how starved he was for this particular kind of intimacy. And as if to prove his point, Will slid his other hand behind Brian’s head, practically caging him between his arms. Brian fell stock still, apart from where his Adam’s apple bumped the heel of Graham’s hand as his throat worked.
Then Will sunk his fingers into the relatively short, spiky strands of Zeller’s hair and he melted.
It felt nice. So damn nice, Zeller’s eyes slipped shut, batting away shame as he leaned into Will’s hand like one of Graham’s dogs. And he had no control over the whimper he let slip when Will used his nails just a little like he was scritching fur. No one had touched him this tenderly in… maybe years. And humiliatingly, he could feel himself getting choked up, even as hot need slithered through him and his cock started paying attention to the proceedings. It was a confusing swirl of reactions.
And as if sensing the shift, Will leaned in to whisper in Brian’s ear, “You can touch too.”
And Brian’s heart and cock both leapt at that, the idea as delicious as it was forbidden. He didn’t think he’d ever even shaken Graham’s hand. It always seemed like you ran the risk of having a finger bitten off. But when Will pulled back, Brian could see that he meant it.
Giving Will plenty of opportunity to take it back, Brian brought his fingers to his hair, hovering above a tempting curl, before reconsidering, and setting his hand gingerly on Will’s hip, half expecting to be thrown off.
But Will just brought his hand down on top of Brian’s and adjusted him until his palm was resting more naturally in the dip of Will’s waist, digging in harder so he could feel the supple skin moving under the fabric. Will didn’t quite smile, but there was something satisfied in the cast of his eyes and for a mad moment, Brian was almost certain that he was going to lean in and kiss him. It was a gut punch to realize how badly he wanted him to.
Brian swallowed audibly, everything was audible just then — his labored breaths, the squeaking slide of his clammy hand along the metal table. Then a flash of pink dipped out to wet Will’s lips and Zeller couldn’t help tracking it, watching with a surprising pulse of longing as it withdrew back into that hot mouth. Will’s warm breath was teasing Zeller’s lips, smoky with the remnants of whiskey. And he felt the urge to chase that tongue, pull the flavor off it. Somehow he knew Will would allow it. That it was more or less the point of this.
And the fact that Graham would win this little game didn’t matter. He already had. Brian couldn’t care less anymore. Just like he didn’t care about the fact that Jimmy would never — never, ever in a thousand years — let him live this moment down. That he would recount this story at Brian’s wedding and in his eulogy. It didn’t seem to matter as much as knowing what Will’s mouth tasted like.
“Are we interrupting something?” Jack’s voice sounded strange and when Brian’s eyes darted to the doorway, he found Crawford standing there looking comically confused, Dr. Lecter at his side. Zeller had no clue how long they’d been there, but he wished he had the wherewithal to snap a picture, or do anything other than swallow guiltily.
Will pulled his hands free immediately at the sound of Jack’s shout, but Brian was still clutching Will’s waist. When he finally unfroze enough to retract the fingers tangled in Will’s shirt, Will’s eyes were fixed on the floor again as he scrambled for his glasses, trying twice to tug them from his pocket before he jammed them onto his face like a man grasping at a lifeline.
For the first time, Brian took in Will without the overlay of resentment — the shifty eyes, the palpable discomfort as he picked up all the pieces of his carefully crafted walls and tried to mortar them back into place to keep prying eyes away. It must be a nightmare to walk through the world seeing and feeling things the way Graham did, and this was maybe the worst place imaginable for a guy like him. Surrounded by death and misery that seeps into you like a bad smell clinging to your clothes. But Will chose to be here anyway. Because he knew he could help people.
Brian considered how often he mocked him, dismissing what he put his mind through as a sideshow act or a parlor trick. And he felt like a piece of shit.
”Did we get results back from the labs?” Jack directed the question at Beverly, apparently done with Brian and Will. But she didn’t respond.
And when Brian looked over at her, she was still as a statue, staring at Will cartoonishly slackjawed. Jimmy was silent too, but in his case it was because he was grinning too hard to form words. He looked like the cat who swallowed the canary whole, and the triumph dancing in his eyes let Brian know he’d be accompanying him to a bunch more gay bars in the near future. Goddamn it.
“Hello? Katz?” Jack snapped, temper cresting.
Bev shook herself and regrouped enough to launch into an explanation about the bacteria they found in the victim’s water-soaked clothes. After a beat, Jimmy rose to join them, throwing a wink Brian’s way as he passed.
But Will was still just standing there, posture tight and uncomfortable, and Zeller took no pleasure in watching him squirm. He ducked his head, giving Will a real smile for once, and leaned in to speak near his ear. “Ok, you were right.”
Will glanced up at him, considering, but with none of his typical coldness, like his antipathy hadn’t survived that brief sojourn in Zeller’s mind. It made sense. What’s that quote? “You can’t hate men if you know them.” Or maybe Brian just made that up.
Then Will smiled. Wry and amused, like they were sharing an inside joke. The expression should have looked foreign, but it suited him, brightened him, chasing away the shadows that seemed permanently etched into his face. It was nice to see. Even nicer to be the cause of it.
But then Will’s eyes unfocused as he looked past Zeller to the doorway where Dr. Lecter was still standing, wearing a tux that was definitely more expensive than Zeller’s car — he’d clearly been called away from some hoity-toity event himself. And when Zeller glanced back at him too, he did a double take. Had Dr. Lecter always looked at Will that way? Like he couldn’t decide whether to eat him or fuck him?
His eyes were scraping across Will like he was trying to leave scratch marks and Brian didn’t think the man was even aware he was doing it.
And then there was Will’s reaction.
The soft smile had fallen off of Will’s face like it never existed, like the rest of the room didn’t exist, all of his focus on Dr. Lecter alone. Will’s brow furrowed at whatever he was seeing, but his discomfort was gone. Will looked entirely at home in his own skin holding Lecter’s eyes, like he’d never found a safer place to put them. And Dr. Lecter’s intense stare didn’t dim for a second, as if he wanted Will to see all of it. To accept it. Some nonverbal exchange was passing between them, a kind of recognition, the heat of it so thick in the air Zeller briefly wondered if he should leave the room. Will’s cheeks darkened the longer this lasted — the only time Zeller had ever seen him blush — and with a final heavy blink, like it took effort to tear his eyes away, Will turned on his heel to join Jack.
Brian watched him go, still trying to wrap his head around whatever he’d just witnessed, but he startled when he glanced back over his shoulder and right into Dr. Lecter’s eyes. And there was no question what Lecter wanted to do to him. Lecter’s expression reminded Zeller of a crime scene. Given that he was standing inches from a corpse, it was poor taste to say the man looked murderous, but it was hard to find another word for it. And it didn’t feel like an empty threat. Zeller’s instincts were honed enough to recognize danger, and despite Lecter’s buttoned-up, eccentric European aesthetic, Zeller was staring right at it.
Clearing his throat, Brian dropped his eyes to his hands, wiping sweaty palms down the front of his jeans. He felt absurdly like a gazelle baring its nape for a lion. And when he peeked up at him again, Dr. Lecter wasn’t exactly smiling, but he was plainly entertained, the way a cat might find the antics of a cowering mouse amusing. Then, so quickly Zeller couldn’t be certain he hadn’t imagined it, Lecter winked.
“Ok, so we have a location.” Jack interrupted, drawing them both back into the conversation. “Zeller, I want you running background checks on medical professionals across this and any adjacent counties. It’s rural, so it should be a manageable list. Nurses, EMTs, doctors, pharmacists. Anyone who had access to this drug.”
Trying to force his mind back to the case, Zeller asked, “What about vets?”
The silence dragged and for a few seconds, Brian wasn’t sure why. There was a rhythm to their team, a choreography to these little pre-case brainstorms and someone had just missed their cue. Then he realized, this is where Graham would usually shut down his idea by essentially calling him an idiot, if not in so many words. Zeller never felt smaller than he did in those moments, but it had somehow become the routine.
Until, apparently, Will decided it wasn’t.
Brian could see everyone else shifting, deciding who would fill that role and of course, the honor fell to Jack. “Vets don’t use this kind of drug. That would be a waste of time.”
”Not necessarily.” It was Will, in his usual gruff, no-nonsense tone, but for the first time in — well, in ever — it was being deployed in Zeller’s defense. ”Animals don’t use the drug, but vets can still get it. And in a town like this, they might be more likely to have a vet than a large hospital. Plus, veterinarians don’t have the same prescription oversight procedures. It’s worth including.”
Jack glared at Will, then at Zeller, then visibly washed his hands of whatever the hell this was.
“Fine. Vets too.” He agreed, not even looking at Brian, but Brian still privately cheered at the win.
“It’ll take us an hour to get down there. Katz, Price, you’re with me.”
”I can drive us, Will.” Dr. Lecter put in almost before Jack finished speaking.
Will just nodded in that distracted way he had when he was entirely consumed by a case, but he was moving towards Dr. Lecter already, as if on instinct, leaning into his space, and he didn’t react at all when Dr. Lecter placed his hand in the small of his back to guide him. Yeah there was definitely something happening there and, from the bared-teeth smile Dr. Lecter threw at Zeller on the way out, Zeller wasn’t touching it with a ten-foot pole. Anyway, he needed a romantic entanglement with Will Graham, of all people, like he needed a hole in the head.
But friendship might not be such a crazy concept.
His phone sat by his keyboard, Lock Screen taunting him, while he drummed his fingers on the metal table, feeling like a fifteen-year-old about to ask someone to prom. And as soon as he made that mental association, he forced himself to pull up Will’s number and send a text. If Dr. Lecter happened to see and got pissy, that was just a bonus.
Since you won that bet, I guess I owe you. I usually do pizza and a horror movie on Halloween if you wanna join.
Sent. There. Simple. Zeller turned back to the desktop to start the search. He didn’t expect a response. During cases, Graham always fell into a weird fugue state that was, honestly, a little scary to witness—
Ding
I don’t watch movies.
Well. That was… very on brand.
It actually made him angry with himself, how disappointed he felt at that. It wasn’t like Will Graham was going to become his friend because he made him embarrass himself in front of his coworkers. To prove a point, Zeller reminded himself. Will probably didn’t even—
Ding
But I’m going fishing this weekend. I have spare waders and a rod. I head out at six a.m. on Sunday.
Brian was grinning down at his phone like a fool, but there was no one there to see it other than the corpse. So. Fishing. Brian had never fished or had any interest whatsoever in trying it. But maybe he could learn.
I’ll bring the beer.