FOUND: A Hannigram Devil AU REWRITTEN

Chapter Two

"So you must be Doctor Lecter."

Will leaned against the door frame to Jack Crawford's office, watching the lone man in the room turn around at the sound of his voice. He was older than Will, likely approaching his fifties, and he had a chiseled face with light brown hair and an immaculate suit. He stood, giving Will a soft smile with a pair of thin, Cupid's bow lips.

"I've only heard about you in psychology circles," Will continued, stepping into the room. "Don't think I've ever seen you in person."

"I'm glad you get to gaze upon me in the flesh, then." He spoke with a unique accent, something European. He held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Professor. Doctor Hannibal Lecter."

Will shook his hand, taken aback by the firmness of his grip. "...Will Graham." His eyes shifted towards the ground on instinct. In fact, they wandered all over the place: the wall, the desk, the carpet. "Where's Jack?"

"An officer called him out for a moment," Lecter said. "He told me to tell you he would be right back."

Will hoped it would be sooner rather than later. 

"You're a profiler, yes? That's what Agent Crawford has recruited you to do?"

"Professor turned profiler, yeah." He ambled towards the desk. "You ever done any profiling before?"

"I profile every one of my patients, technically." Will could sense the doctor scrutinizing him. He glanced down at Will's hands, where the skin around his nails had been picked completely off. Painful sores and open wounds lined his fingers. The picking had become a nervous tic decades ago, and it was something he'd never been able to shake. 

Will furrowed his brow in annoyance and stuffed his hands in his pockets just as Jack entered the room. He glanced towards the clock on the wall, migrating towards the chair that the doctor hadn't been sitting in. It didn't slip past him that both men were placed next to each other on the other side of Jack's desk, like they were two inferior employees being subjected to Jack's orders.

"Will, glad you're here," Jack said. "You've met Doctor Lecter?"

"I have." There wasn't anything else to say in that regard. He wasn't sure how to feel yet. 

Jack walked over to where Lecter was standing. He was focused on the wall of evidence at the side of the office, studying the photographs of dead girls. White string connected their pictures to various locations in Minnesota. Lecter gazed at them with little emotion. 

"Tell me, then," he said, "how many confessions?"

"Twelve dozen, last time I checked. None of 'em had any details." Jack sat down across from Will, giving him a meaningful glance. "Until this morning. Then they all had details. Some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichol's body with his cell phone, shared it with his friends. Then Freddie Lounds posted it on Tattlecrime dot com."

Will scoffed. This was the first he'd heard of this. Lounds was always someone to watch out for; she was a menace to the FBI. "Tasteless."

"Do you have trouble with taste?" Lecter asked.

"My thoughts are often not tasty," Will told him, unable to contain the snark in his voice. There was something about Lecter's prying nature that didn't sit right with him. It was pretentious. Not to mention that he was the last one to sit down, quite literally trying to assert himself as the last one standing. 

"Nor mine." Lecter came closer. "No effective barriers."

"I build forts."

"Associations come quickly."