slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

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- 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."

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[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?

[The longer Chilton talks, the sourer Will becomes. His chin tilts up, his eyebrow draw together, his nostrils flare, his fingers grip those armrests, his lips twist with the look of a man ready to spit out whatever terrible candy he had the misfortune of finding in his Halloween bags. Chilton is giving him truths and Will can see that, but he also doesn't like any of what Chilton lays out for him. He still looks him in the eye, refuses to back down as he shows how unpleasant he finds this all, even as Chilton shifts. His answer comes delivered without annoyance or hesitation.]

As easily as breathing. [Hannibal likes Will when he's lying anyway...not so much finding out he was a liar, that's where things get sticky.] What did you have in mind? And skip further mentions of April on the menu, if you would. Please.

[His imagination is too vivid to suffer through much more without it becoming real. The sight, the smell, oh yes. Chilton's put quite the dinner spread in Will's mind and he doesn't like it. Doesn't like that it could be reality, but Chilton isn't the one to blame for that and Will can't pretend otherwise.]

[Without annoyance it might have been verbally, but Chilton noted that body language. The facial expression, the tightening of his fingers. The displeasure, the discomfort. While Chilton wouldn't vastly alter his behavior nor his speech for the sake of easing Will Graham, he did indeed take note. What could affect Will was, admittedly, always a point of interest for the psychiatrist.]

You are imagining it now. Aren't you?

[His careful observation yielded variant theories, but Chilton stuck to the most probable.]

You know his tastes.

[It needed to be said, he would argue. Even if Will already knew what Chilton spoke of.]

But -- yes. I doubt she would be so keen as to feign her death, and the stakes rise if he were to discover the truth. And he would. But if he was under the impression that you and she were... No longer romantically entwined. However false that impression might be, no doubt he would believe you. He would want to.

[The increase in displeasure on his face, nose wrinkling and frown deepening, should serve as Chilton's answer. Yes, he was already beginning to see it. To see her, sliced and diced, in the midst of dinner preparations. To see a plate Hannibal served him, hearing his voice quietly mention sacrificial lamb. How he didn't need a sacrifice, but it was kind of Will to provide one anyway.]

He would. He doesn't want me to have a life outside of him. [Words delivered without the distaste of it all showing in his body language, Chilton may easily note. This is no longer a confession, for Will. This is just another fact that cannot be denied. Hannibal hadn't even denied it.] What are you proposing here, exactly? That I...chuck off my wedding ring, make some big display about how we'd been headed for divorce not long after our nuptials, play the part of vulnerable and betrayed, run right to him? And where do you come in all of this?

[And Abigail, what about her? Doomed to forever be stuck in the child's room at some seaside cottage Hannibal considers a heaven and Will considers a hell? No thanks. But at least Will is listening, trying to understand. Giving Chilton the microphone, willing to indulge another perspective. Another idea. A more thought out idea, no matter how much it may amp up his nightmares later.]

[Doesn't want me to have a life outside of him. While Chilton can't help but notice Will's delivery, that came from an observational habit despite the psychiatrist's personal reaction. Pale upset, self-conscious shifting. A sympathetic foothold.]

I do not come into anything of this -- but yes, that would be the general idea. Hannibal likes his theatrics, you would have to make it a titillating performance. Something he could savor. Your... Details [meaning Abigail] are going to still be under scrutiny. Hannibal has already laid claim and collar to some of them.

[But not Chilton, not inedible Chilton. The past couple incarnations of Hannibal Lecter had naturally been magnetized to Will Graham, and Chilton was counting on that behavioral pattern.]

Just something to think about. [He wouldn't say it, he wouldn't say food for thought. Not here, not now.]

Would that be all? Until we have more solidified plans.

[Recovered from encephalitis as he is, Will Graham sits before Frederick Chilton and stews in that quiet manner of his anyway. No, he doesn't like this at all. He likes even less that an old reality has come back from the recesses of his mind to take hold, saplings ignored and wilting suddenly gaining ground and strength again. Chilton offers his own sort of olive branch and Will gladly takes it, kicking bloody roots off his shoes and gripping for a breath of fresh air, and giving Chilton relief in return. He won't mention that there is no escape. Chilton is a part of Baltimore, just like Hannibal and Will. Whatever Will does, however wonderfully he pulls it off...a time will come where Chilton can no longer hide behind saviors, angelic or demonic.]

That will be all. No point in spending too much time solidifying plans. You've been around longer than I have, you know we don't always align. [Which is Will's way of saying he has spent a shitload of time whether he wanted to or not coming up with different scenarios. Different what ifs, different approaches. Yet, regardless of knowing he may have to change something drastically depending on Hannibal's own recollections, he knows one thing is true: he will have to put himself out on the front line willingly, otherwise it won't work. He has long since accepted this, even in the quiet hours feeling his scar instead of sleeping, wondering if that last night in the kitchen meant getting his interest back would be more dangerous, take more effort on his part...or just the opposite.] See you next week, barring disaster.

[A poor excuse for a joke, but at least Will also avoids mentions of food for thought as he pushes himself to a stand, raising his eyebrows and giving Chilton a quick, short nod. He's perfectly capable of seeing himself out the door, now is the time for Chilton to stop him from meandering on out if he has reason to.]

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