slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

Entry tags:

ic contact

- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

"Hello.

You've reached the direct line of Doctor Frederick Chilton. As I am not available at the moment, you might assume I'm quite busy with something pressing. State your name and business, and I will return your call."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You don't understand -- he didn't say that to me directly.

[Chilton waved off his hand, already dismissive. Everyone assumed that Lucifer's flattery of Chilton was so heavy-handed; quite perplexing, really, because while Chilton was highly receptive to flattery, he wasn't some starving mutt bound to beg for a bone and a kick. Like Hannibal, Lucifer had flattered Chilton with attention and promises and compliments about his insight and intelligence. That had been more persuasive, more compelling. That had factual evidence to back up.

But Raina had delivered the detail of the chess piece. Raina, Lucifer's adversary -- as far as acquiring Chilton, anyway. It didn't make manipulative sense if Lucifer intended to Chilton to know that. Such information only empowered Raina, either as a tool of insult or flattery -- Chilton was not the intended audience.]

It doesn't matter, really. [The psychiatrist reconsidered his earlier assertion, that Will might be a better bet than Abduxel. Will emphasized with humans, and possibly canines. Perhaps it was unfair of Chilton to impose assumption otherwise.]

How can you say that? If he's any good at being— [don't say his name] —what you'd expect, of course it matters. Everything he says about you to anyone matters. He should be aware of who'll talk and who won't, whatever gets back to you he doesn't tell you himself should be something he says with the expectation of you finding out! He's the—

[Confusion, aggravation at not being able to word it properly (omitting a name when he's not sure if that means all other names, too, is a serious pain in the ass), Will leans back in his seat, throwing out one hand.]

If he's smart, it matters. If you're saying he isn't smart...what's the point?

[Will's close to this whole dealing with the devil, empathizing with him, thinking of those verbal nudges left by Hannibal to him and others, and a little heated at what he perceives as Chilton shutting him out for saying something he doesn't like. His own "deal" went sour, and Raina's made it sound like this isn't headed to shit but is already there. Will is going to do what he has to if it comes to that, but having already experienced what happens when deals go down the drain? He'd really rather not. He'd rather pull up his shirt, give Chilton details from home (more tactfully worded than king on the chessboard), do everything possible to prevent that. What was to stop the devil from dragging in more than Raina? This was another Greek tragedy unfolding, and Chilton wasn't the only one who could decide he wanted a change in genre.]

That is not what I'm saying, Will. [Chilton rolled his eyes before turning his gaze away, his left cheek now showcasing to Will's perspective -- unmarred, for now. An injury that would be sustained in less than twenty-four hours were he living in his natural habitat.] I am not giving any diagnosis on him, as a subject, in any way. Right now.

I'm saying it doesn't matter to you any longer.

[Sharp, curt in tone. It was a dismissal, a command, born from irritation and defensiveness.]

[All signs of restlessness go out at the window at that tone, Will watching Chilton carefully, completely settled. He doesn't pick at anything, he doesn't rub his face, his knees don't bounce, he doesn't look around at anything and everything else he possibly can. Not unlike that pet that hears No or Stop, the one they know is absolutely serious. Except Will's not really afraid of getting smacked by a rolled up newspaper, so it's not a sign he's going to roll over and show his belly (not yet) and hope all is forgiven. It does, fortunately, squash anything too cutting, too argumentative, too rude.]

Raina said that he's blackmailing her because of what you're trying to do with him. [Calm, steady, neutral.] He's moved beyond you already. What's to stop him moving beyond her if he feels he can get away with it?

[Will can handle the devil. Abigail, however, doesn't deserve this, and she's the only other one connected to Chilton from their shared home. So Chilton can be dismissive, sure! That doesn't mean Will has to respect his dismissal when there is a risk of Abigail being put into something, again, that she never asked for and doesn't want. Yes, this matters to him. It will matter to him until either Lucifer or Chilton are gone or this is clearly done away with, and no amount of irritation or ugh Will you don't get it never mind is going to persuade him otherwise.]

[Chilton glanced back at Will, easily taking the bait. Raina. His brow creased, subtly, but undoubtedly someone will Will's prowess would understand why. His concern rested with Raina, and not much far beyond that.

But at least his concern rested with someone outside his own body. Arguably a first.]

I can't say if he'd take an interest in you, Will. What chess piece do you most empathize with?

Maybe you already know if he will. If he has.

Don't usually empathize with inanimate objects. And there's no martyr-knight. I'll have to think about it and get back to you later.

[No mockery, no underlying haha you were out of your mind. It's tossed out with good nature to it, playful banter, friendly, no bite to be found. There was even a flicker of a smile as he spoke, gone when he's done. Frowning, clearly worried about something, hands moving to settle in his lap. Chilton might find it a familiar gesture. The way Will's arms tuck closer to his stomach than usual, his hands rest higher on his legs. How it looks like he's protecting his stomach despite there being no immediate threat, just in case, like old wounds might reopen at any second, concern for something outside his body getting in because it's happened before.]

I admit I've made a. Habit. To avoid certain individuals. I know I can attract a type, indulge when I shouldn't. But I have no interest in being interesting to him. It's tiresome. I feel thin. And. [Start-stop, if he practiced this little talk in the mirror, he probably didn't practice much because he knew it wouldn't do shit.] I should've told you months ago. Shown you. Called you when I was in the hospital, something. Maybe it would've been helpful. It felt wrong then. But it feels more wrong Abigail can't hide hers without a lot of work while you and I...just put on shirts.

[His eyes dart around as he speaks, mostly to Chilton's shelves, never staying on anything too long. But he gathers again, looks at Chilton as he brings up Abigail and drops some very heavy clues about scars. As good as directly telling him, almost. A look that drops to his lap with talk of putting on shirts, one hand coming up to idly toy with the hem of his own.]

Don't you? [He shot back perhaps too venomously -- that was, undoubtedly, Chilton's vile opinion of some of his prior patients. Inanimate objects, deprived of their humanity, and every single one of them ripe for manipulation. It was a singular poisoned sneer, and his expression evaporated the anger as soon as he spoke it.

Will's allusion to his previous compromised state was enough to sober up Frederick Chilton. At least for the moment.]

Our scars are not crippling Will, that's true. [Not entirely. Chilton's still hurt when the weather got stormy, when the humidity in the air tightened and his skin felt it. Chilton still couldn't eat his typical intake of protein. But Chilton still had his face in tact, still had his pride showcased.

He had matching scars with Will Graham, and approximate pain regarding Hannibal Lecter. But they were not perfect mirrors, and even Chilton would admit that much.]

But there isn't any reason to mourn that fact. To feel guilt over it. I certainly don't.

[Not in any regard, it seemed.]

[For all intents and purposes, it doesn't seem like that shot lands. Will hears it, of course he's paying attention, but he doesn't come close to rolling his eyes or sighing or giving out A Look. There is normalcy in him getting a bit of flak because of his empathy, like hell is he going to go out of his way to discourage something normal. Stabilizing. Stability waffles at Our scars, momentary confusion that gets swallowed down and bitten back as soon as it flickers over his face. Eyes glance off at absolutely nothing on the floor, body almost limp, only changing when Chilton brings up how he doesn't feel guilt. He goes from drained to taking a breath, hardening as he looks back at Chilton—he's clearly alive and present but something's not quite matching. A lack of vibrancy in his eyes, borderline dead, Will Graham weary like Jesse Pinkman had been weary. The body is willing but the mind is shutting down.]

You're not attached to her like I am, Frederick. I would never expect you to feel the same guilt about Abigail I do. [Carefully chosen words, slowly delivered. He has no desire for his voice to come through in a way that, if one took Abigail out of the equation and left the rest, it would still be accurate. He doesn't want to leave anything out there to be read into.] Our scars aren't crippling now. But if you go through with this, judging by how Raina and you talk about him, that could change. Having my stomach cut open isn't an experience I'm aching to repeat. I assumed you'd feel the same in that regard.

["he seems to believe he can outsmart the devil" had played over in Will's head. Good way to get a plus sign on his stomach! Or the equivalent of that, psychologically. Emotionally. Probably after watching the few people he gave a shit about (so...Raina) go through their own hell, too. Will had some weird dreams that night.]

Why are you invested in this, Will? In my unrelated business?

[Chilton shot out the question sharply, perhaps defensively. Perhaps this was but another indication of Will's uncanny ability when shone like a spotlight onto a particular mind. The psychiatrist shifted in his chair, swallowing in synchronized motion. Adjusting. Preparing.]

What is your angle, here? You think you can gallivant with Crane and ignore my warnings, while you're free to waltz about here -- in my office -- and thinly chastise me?

[The pretense of Abigail has dropped, it seemed. Chilton chose to inquire directly, knowing that Will Graham sometimes provoked direction.]

[He wrinkles his nose, but keeps any offense out of his tone.]

I don't gallivant with Crane. He and I are coworkers who barely tolerate each other on a good day. Because of your warnings.

[Like hell Will told anyone he went to Crane in the first place, much less why he went there, and he doubts Crane told anyone, either. This is all the easier when can rationalize it as not really a lie. Sometimes coworkers help with a move, or pets, or plants, or anything else...Crane's coworker helpfulness simply hinged on fear instead.]

You told me once you'd ensure we are kept safe. Deals with [he shuts his mouth before he blurts it out, Chilton may notice one request of his has been respected] aren't keeping anybody safe. I'm not here to chastise, I'm here to prevent. I—I spent over a week away from my wife and Abigail tracking someone down just because you asked me...you know why I'm invested. Why your business isn't unrelated.

[He does, doesn't he? He must. He used that to his advantage when Will confronted him about talks with Crane, he pulled the rug out from under his feet entirely and threatened abandonment. Even if he questions the depth of Will's loyalty (Abigail will always be first, after all), even if he questions his motivations (keeping Chilton from this or keeping Will from having to step in later if anything happens), he has to realize that Will's always going to be invested because he's invested in Chilton. The man in front of his desk watches him closely, drinks in his words and movements with every bit of focus he possesses. He's clearly invested right now. For better or worse.

When it's mostly worse, that also provides normalcy.]

Really? You haven't seen him outside of your work?

[The raw skepticism in his voice didn't require clarification -- Chilton had long ago expressed his concern over Will's behavioral patterns. It was a wedge between the psychiatrist and the profiler, a bridge that was nightly threatened by arsonists, regardless of how unfair Chilton was being.]

All right. [He looked away, when Will alluded to his request.] That is true. And I'm grateful for that, Will, I've expressed my gratitude frequently -- haven't I?

[He did know. Will's concept of family -- April had said as much -- extended to Chilton. And family proved such an elusive sanctuary for Will Graham, the one true cathedral he could hide away within and avoid those darker mirrors. Will needed them, if only to escape what was inside of him.]

But what if I requested your faith on this issue? What if you extended even an iota of trust to me? I can handle this matter, Will, I have handled dire straits before.

[He falls silent, face a mirror of Chilton's tiredness. He doesn't flinch or physically make note of that bit of wordplay, faith in the context of clandestine meetings with the devil. He catches it, of course he does, but all of them have become much more aware of cannibalistic meanings in everyday phrases, and Will has become very familiar with them being wielded both literally and metaphorically. For a few seconds, it looks like Chilton's request will be honored...if only because Will seems completely drained on this particular fight.

But then he leans forward and starts digging in his shirt pocket without hesitation or slowness, pulling out three separate receipts that get gently placed on Chilton's desk. A plane ticket from just outside Albuquerque to the airport nearest Heropa. A motel in Tennessee that, judging by the name and motto (Shady Oaks Motel - We Don't Ask, We NoTell) and price, was cheap in every way. And food while he waited on his flight, where it's more than obvious Will hadn't sat down and had a full meal until he'd been called off and took advantage of someone else footing the bill. He even had a large milkshake, the glutton.]

An iota is doable. On the condition that, should you find yourself in over your head, you tell me immediately. [You're not alone, I'm right beside you. It wasn't Jack who went romping about the snow and put a bullet in Abel Gideon's head...and it was Will who weaseled him back into the spot where Hannibal could get a hold on him and finish him off. Whoops.] So what ground did you feel the need to cover today?

[He has no time to lay in bed and mope about what's inside him when there are things that need doing, when there is more than a pack of dogs relying on him. So he cooks, takes cares of issues around the house, goes over bait shop business with Abigail, works in the garden with Grey, he'll spend some evenings drinking with Jeff, and all of that takes him away from himself. He doesn't enjoy (suffer?) such domesticity with Chilton, but he's still family. Any problems that arise for him can be dealt with the same as breakfast, low profits, adding mulch, or sitting around shooting the shit. Will might put up a bit more fuss than he would those others, mind, but that's to be expected, isn't it? That's how they've always been, ever since that first Doctor Graham and Will all but hiding behind the sturdy form of Jack Crawford.]

[Chilton took a deep, contemplative breath. It was a kindly condition, and even he could admit to that. Will Graham had always been the sort of man who looked after his pack, and for whatever reason Chilton maintained his membership -- despite the cruel antics and selfish conundrums that Chilton so often invoked. But Will Graham was remarkable in that vein -- in many veins, truly, in enough veins for a cardiovascular system -- and Chilton wasn't blind to it.]

Then we're agreed. If I find myself in a difficult position, I won't hesitate to let you know all about it. [Perhaps the stress of certain words didn't help the case for his sincerity, but Chilton did mean what he said.] But it really isn't the devil who concerns me. While he is... Highly familiar in ways that you might appreciate. [A nod to Hannibal.] I'm really not his targeted plaything. Jonathan Crane had long ago made a forthright pact with him, and I don't see anyone flustered over that commitment.

[Which probably spoke more to the fact that Chilton had more people who authentically cared for his safety, but his tone indicated that he hadn't chosen that as a point of interpretation.]

Just. Something to consider.

[Frederick Chilton always had to thrown in one last little punch, didn't he?]

And... I was hoping we could discuss a topic closer to your heart, Will. How is Abigail doing?

[He keeps his gaze on Chilton, disbelief blossoming. In minute ways he could also liken to veins. The veins of someone lifting just past their usual, showing and prominent, or one particularly blue underneath a layer of very pale skin. It's there in a barely lifted eyebrow, in the slight tilt of his head, in the way his bottom lip sucks in. He speaks of Crane's deal with the devil as something for Will to consider after he'd accused Will of suckling the man, nods to Hannibal while keeping a lid on the two of them really discussing the Number One Ripper, and Will digests this with the bare minimum of disbelief. He's already gone quite far in the reassurance that he's beside Chilton should things go to shit or should they not, he can't afford to be more direct. And then that last question hits and his lips part just enough to draw in a quiet, short breath. Close to his heart is right.

It's like he came home to find all five of his neatly-made water beds stripped. There is an extreme aggravation that his territory has been invaded and something taken, but they're still intact. Whoever did such a terrible thing could have gone further and punctured them all, made a real mess, but they didn't. There is little harm in needing to redo beds, much less harm than having to replace them. Will absorbs it just the same. He's been poked, not provoked. A small, minor offense compared to what could have been.]

She's doing as well as can be expected. [She'd been stuck with their own devil for months and has issues regarding being complicit in how Will had almost been left to rot. The Swear-In was a bump, sure, but there's much more underneath that particular surface, and this room full of friends knows it.] She runs the bait shop now. I can't be there more than once a week, usually. She's a co-owner, so it's as much hers as it is mine.

[Tone controlled, any attempts to sound like hollow, basic answers pulled away from him by a creeping tightness. Telling without being too telling—life goes on. Chilton had given Will "wild goose chases" that kept his mind occupied, perhaps he'd find Will's gift a similar tactic instead of simply believing Abigail needed to own something. But then his hardness cracks, a visible softening with more to it than just getting to speak praise of Abigail, of his family. There's a realization that he actually can go a bit further with Chilton. That he won't pull the same sort of insanity Hannibal ever would. Will can be fond and caring and attached to others in Chilton's presence and he won't immediately think of ways to destroy the leftovers so he's all Will has.]

She calls April Step Momster sometimes. They get along very well. We're fortunate in that regard.

[He dares a smile, dares to show himself a man utterly devoted to his family and quite happy about it. Happier than he'd ever been when anyone would let him crow about Hannibal being a monster for longer than five seconds. An unthinkably genuine happiness he doesn't mind sharing with Chilton, crossing his legs as he settles into the chair, perfectly comfortable. Shouldn't be too shocking, Will's attachments in the psychiatric community taken into account. Get used to the office, might as well treat it like an extension of the home. Have a drink, sit wherever he likes, enjoy a beneficial conversation with a friend.]

Step Momster. That has a certain familial appeal.

[It's a concession of sorts, as Chilton dons a more palatable tone and self-aware affect of camaraderie. His former prickling of Will's proximity to Crane was easing back, like the smoothing of hackles, as he reconsidered Will's motivations again and again -- in all fairness, Will Graham could be incredibly opaque when he wanted to be, and who wouldn't want to obscure parts of themselves from professionals like Frederick Chilton? Even while he considered himself a friend, Chilton wasn't above using his company to his advantage. He was just more guileless about it when compared to Hannibal Lecter.]

Is she interested in pursuing college? I imagine her priorities involve spending time with you and April, of course, but perhaps Abigail is hoping for a future here.

[Better than what awaited her back home, wasn't it? At least, as far as Chilton knew it -- he wasn't even tuned to the saga of dead, alive, dead, dead that wove itself through Abigail's unending torment. He only knew that Hannibal had taken her captive.

And Hannibal could not resist a show of dominance.]

Why a family, Will? [Chilton's eyes flickered back at his friendly patient, or patient friend. That solar flare of happiness, however cautious and daring, was noticed.] I have my own theories, of course. But I'm sure you would much rather clarify for me. Was it always a family, was that the goal? Your habit of collecting dogs... Strays. Was that not some prototype attempt at creating what you currently have?

[Despite the red flag dialogue, Chilton thought he was reengaging as a friend himself. This was a topic Will found pleasant, and he was handing over a microphone -- wasn't that an effort? An attempt? But the man wore it like rust, he was out of practice when it came to this vein of social normalcy. As Will likely suspected, Frederick Chilton wasn't at ease with friendship, at least not the type that was supposed to lack hostility.]

[He looks down, shifts from happily devoted to solemn and penitent the moment Chilton gets out a certain word. Future and Abigail Hobbs have one outcome back in Baltimore, try as Will does to rationalize scenarios with happier endings. He knows it. Abigail knows it. But with an imagination as vivid and familiar with limitless horror as Will Graham's, it's easy to encourage himself coming up with ways they could have both gotten out...or making a place for her after Hannibal displayed his dominance and took her away entirely.]

She might take some classes. Nothing's really...set in stone yet. [Particular phrasing with a note of desperation, Chilton might sniff out with how Will answers and reacts but seems to have withdrawn. Gone and hid inside himself while still interacting like he's completely there...he is, but he's coping with something running through his mind and it's likely not difficult to figure out what that is when Abigail is involved. Unfortunately, that withdrawal runs the risk of Chilton taking it as more than the conversation, as some kneejerk rejection of him by Will, and after his conversation with Raina, that won't do at all. It's helpful that Chilton cushions it. Not with his own rusty nature at friendly interaction, but with his, too, particular phrasing. Of course Will notices, and there's a breath of fresh in air in finding it pleasant instead of insulting, intended or not. He takes a breath, too, swallows as his looks to the edge of Chilton's desk before completing the Everest climb back to reestablishing eye contact. Surprised, keen, genuinely interested. The hawk who comes across a brand new predator, wants to know what he is and how he operates, void of any desire to tear with talons or beak. Curiosity, seeing Chilton in a new light, and perhaps best (or worst, depending) of all: that sense of equality that runs through his next words.] When you consider my dogs a prototype...think I'd rather hear your theories.

[Chilton gives a microphone and Will hot potatoes it right at his tie pin, no venom or spite or dare. An invitation to continue, Will finding something else pleasant. Sharing is a part of friendship! He sees this attempt and hands it back not because he finds it lacking or has no use for a microphone, but because it seems like Chilton was genuinely enjoying his time on the Magic Mic and Will has no issue with letting him finish. Why would he? He was enjoying Chilton's crooning for once, more please.]

I'm not here to insult you.

[It seemed like a necessary layer of reassurance to lay; while Chilton had no moral concern for lying for the greater psychological punch, he knew he had additional values at stake with Will Graham. Additional benefits. And while it was evident that Will entertained Chilton's perspective with a lip of humor, the psychiatrist nevertheless considered himself at a privileged perspective.

Best not screw that up.]

You seek what many people seek, Will, but you do so with more... Gusto. Empathy cannot possibly lack enthusiasm, after all.

[He thought that was what Will might want to hear. Chilton would lie about a lot of things to come, he would lie to provoke Walt, he would lie to obscure Lucifer. He would lie about Hannibal under the pretense of saving him from the probable death penalty.

But it was harder, in some ways, to lie before the lamb.]

I suppose that... Dogs wouldn't create too much of a reverberation, would they? Their emotions are not quite as complex as humanity's.

[An eyebrow arches, barely. Not here to insult or he doesn't want to insult him, and why? Does he think one bout of rudeness too much is going to break the camel's back for Will Graham? Hannibal murdered half the population of Baltimore, people Will cared about among them, and he only ran to him. Not away. But maybe that's part of it? Not wanting to be seen in Hannibal's light—or even worse, his shadow.

He listens, face neutral past that, all of his attention completely reserved for Chilton. A quiet, studious method to lap up words. There's a short silence before he lets out a quick, joyless laugh, but nothing harsh or mocking. Whether he wants to hear it or not, whether he buys that as Chilton's true opinion, doesn't matter. It passes just fine.]

You're right about that. [Agreed easily, conversational is the name of the game. He may be enthusiastic about dogs. Possibly. Little bit.] Don't ask how was your day or comment about looking tired, either.

[One set of fingers stretches out before tapping against the chair idly.]

And people kept abandoning dogs, back in Wolf Trap. Couldn't rely on the pet shelter, had the room...what else am I supposed to do, leave them in the wild? They wouldn't stand a chance against the coyotes.

[Or cave bears, depending.]

Always the savior, Will. [A beat.] Even in situations where you may not want to be.

[The dogs, the Hobbs girl. Himself, to some extent -- Chilton could admit that Will had taken something of a protective interest in his well being. Even this discussion had illuminated hints to that. Such, he assumed, was in part an adaptation to the environment they had both been thrown into, this universe was quite unlike their natural habitat. The rule of all species was thus: adapt or die.

And both Will and Chilton were still alive.]

How long until Hannibal corrupts that tendency, too? If every you are ported back, even temporarily?

[He glances past Chilton, swallows down the question he won't ask (Is that all you can see when you look at me? Him?), and takes a moment to screw his courage to the sticking-place before he looks back.]

Thought I could play his game. Win his game. He wanted a friend, you know. That was my in, my unsafe safety net. When he realized, he destroyed the world around us. Destroyed me. Offered forgiveness, laid the blame at my feet, and left us to die.

[Every word is weighed down by regret. Raw honesty that serves as a segue back into deals with a devil without being wholly direct. This was what the devil they knew had done to those he cared for, those who had worshiped at his church, and Chilton knew what the Ripper was like to those he didn't care for. Will can't change anything now, but if there's a chance his gravest mistake might give Chilton pause and prevent him (save him?) from more terrifying brutality, so be it. They were both still alive. Best to keep it that way.]

You can understand why I don't think about going home. But I appreciate your generosity implying he hasn't touched that part of me already, Frederick.

[A strained smile follows, both sets of fingers tapping against the armrests. Chilton may recognize it as a patient who is ready to push off that chair and head out. Coupled with Will breaking his concentration from Chilton and glancing about the room, he isn't being particularly subtle.]

I think I would know, if he had touched every part of you. If he had seeped into you like so.

[I think I would know. Words he might look back upon, after the impending trauma so inherent to his future, with great dismay. Words he might learn to regret. But as Frederick Chilton sat now, despite his contemporary skittishness (with regards to Crane) and despite his tendency to see the diagnosis because he sees the person, he considered Will Graham a friend.

He considered Will Graham to be one of his only friends.]

Does it make you uncomfortable? To discuss it once the topic has been broached?

[He had taken note of Will's body language, and instead of granting his friend recourse with an exit, Chilton scented blood and made chase.]

Even with me?

[Of course the answer was yes. But Chilton needed to insert himself within the variables of that equation.]

[Chilton's claim that he'd know draws Will's eyes back to him. Nothing jerky, nothing to show surprise. Merely giving him his attention again, like his name was called without any real emergency behind it. A normal gesture, hands stilling. Stay, boy. Speak.]

You are a doctor of note in the psychiatric field who has taken a professional interest in me. [He shakes his head, letting out a huff of air through flared nostrils.] Not even with you. Especially with you would be more accurate.

[...not for just the reasons he gives, of course. Chilton's already put up a blockade on discussions of Hannibal, and for Will to do everything he could to tear those down would be disrespectful and risky. Chilton hasn't gone through the same experiences Will is privy to, either, which has a habit of putting Will on tenterhooks at the drop of a hat. So if Chilton wants to be included, doing that with more positive rationale laid bare feels the best route, stating facts that can't be ignored however much they may go unspoken. They're just two friends talking openly about dark spots in their relationship. What better way to go about it than by keeping certain spots obscured? That's what real friendship was.]

Flattery, Will.

[Chilton turned his head by a quarter degree, the corners of his mouth piqued in a smug smirk. Flattery, even known flattery, was easy manipulation of Frederick Chilton. He ate it willingly. It was that rationale that Will delivered that consumed the psychiatrist's attention, and he thought not of the implications simmering just below the surface glance; just as Will had banked upon.]

I think that, at least given the membrane of our numbers, we might need to revise the Hannibal Lecter emergency plan.

[What with Abigail's return. She was a perennial lure. Many of Baltimore seemed to slip in and out, effectively commuting between worlds. Many -- but not all.

And those who remained were left to build their own home.]

I must admit, I am not eager for Hannibal to discover Raina. I do not think he is above spite.

[Flattery indeed, and Chilton wins a small smile in return for dragging it out even more obviously, Will rolling his neck, lifting one shoulder slightly—all comfortable, easy, and easily read cues. A subdued What can you do? delivered through body language alone—What can you do when it's true, Doc?

Body language that changes completely, hardening, souring at Chilton's last confession. For a moment, there may be some worry Chilton's lost him in the one surefire way anyone can lose Will Graham, that he's put up his defenses and retreated inside. But the conversation is Hannibal Lecter, which is enough to keep him grounded. Will is nectar to Hannibal, and no matter what flattery he gives Chilton about discomfort, Hannibal holds a similar spot for Will. Had Chilton been banking upon Will to follow a pattern just as Will had moments prior?]

Above it? [Hannibal Lecter is above incarcerated serial killers and, like, Kid Rock concerts.] His diet of choice is the rude. He is not above spite.

[Words Will might look back upon with great dismay one day, and not just because he's doing nothing to verbally ease Chilton. Never necessary when...]

Plan's to put me in his line of sight. [No accusation that Chilton would dare throw Will under the bus. Simple fact, again. Chilton can't throw him under a bus when he's willing to roll beneath, grab the undercarriage, and yell at the driver for being destructive.] What needs revision?

Oh, it is an adequate plan. Until he realizes you have evolved in your life without him.

[April, was Chilton's concern -- and that concern was as deep as his limited sympathies were; enough to spark a conversation. Chilton personally believed that someone as possessive as Hannibal wouldn't suffer the idea of sharing Will Graham, and April was the logical target. It would be open season.]

He would stalk you, of course. Your prior engagements spent without him. There is no obscuring your social circle, not from him. [A longer beat followed, and Chilton shifted in his chair. He wasn't sure how Will would take his solution.] He would know about her immediately and start to search for recipes.

It would be best if he thought April was no longer a factor in your life. You can lie to Hannibal, can't you?

- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)