We Grow Accustomed To The Dark

Chapter 8

"The devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you've ever wished for."
― Tucker Max

***

The office door was opened and Hannibal ushered a ragged looking Will through the open doorway.

"You're in very good hands," Donald stated as he closed the door behind them and straightened his tie. "Doctor Lecter here is one of the sanest men I know."

Hannibal watched as Will carefully stepped through the office, doing his best not to frown at the words that Donald let slip, the man obviously still upset about Hannibal's insistence in their meeting this early in the morning.

"I would agree," Hannibal stated only to jab back at Donald as the man patted him on the shoulder and then retreated behind his desk. Hannibal stepped over to one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk, keeping a close eye on Will whose skin was still sickly pale, though his fever had thankfully let up. "Doctor Sutcliffe and I were residents together at Hopkins," Hannibal explained to Will, though he couldn't be sure if the empath was actually paying much attention as his eyes focused anywhere but on the other people in the room. His hand pulled his coat from his shoulders and draped it over the back of one of the chairs.

"Another life ago," Donald mused, sitting in his chair and removing his glasses from his nose, the jab coming right back at Hannibal. "Back when you weren't afraid to get your hands a little dirty."

"I was always drawn to how the mind works. I found it much more dynamic than how the brain works." Hannibal took a seat in the chair and glanced over at Will who followed suit, but still had yet to say a word since they had entered the building.

"The projected image is more interesting than the projector, until, of course, the projector breaks down." Hannibal gave a nod in answer, casting a glance once more at Will who had huffed out a breath, having not enjoyed the comparison of him to something so mundane. Donald looked over a file on his desk before continuing to speak again. "So, Will, these headaches." He sat back in his chair, playing with the glasses still in his hand. "When did they begin in earnest?"

"Two to three months ago," Will answered, tone soft as his eyes dropped to the hand in his lap, the other still held in the sling close to his chest.

"About the time Will went back into the field," Hannibal answered for Will who looked over thankfully. "Which was a little before I met him."

Donald nodded. "And the hallucinations?"

"I can't really say when they started." The answer was slow, the words creaky like wind through tree branches. "Um..." He swallowed and licked at his lips. "I just slowly became aware that I might not be dreaming."

There was a silence and slowly Donald's eyes moved over to Hannibal in question as if to say that Hannibal hadn't told him the vast seriousness of the situation and he should have done so in their phone call the day prior.

"We're going to run some tests today, Will," Donald finally stated and Hannibal tried to ignore the way that Will shivered uncomfortably. "Nothing too horrific. Just some brain scans. They won't even hurt."

"That's what they say about flu shots," Will grumbled, pulling his glasses from his nose and rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

Donald ushered them from the room and led Will to a private room where the man changed into a gown. When he reappeared from the room, his arm was still held tightly to his chest despite the fact that it was no longer in its sling.

A worried blue gaze met Hannibal's and all Hannibal could do was nod reassuringly and stay beside a limping Will as Donald led them down the hallway and towards the room they would be running the tests in.