Archive of Our Own

Water rushed in Will’s ears as the dark walls of the visitor’s room swam out of sight. Here, in his protective cloud, Beverly was still alive. In fact, there she was, right beside Alana. But instead of her trademark smirk and a wise crack about how Will needed a haircut, a hand on her hip, she was solemn and silent, as if she were receiving the news of her own death along with Will.

“Will? Will,” Alana’s voice echoed through the veil of his daydream. Hallucination. Whatever. He didn’t care what was happening to his mind anymore. The weight of his suffering, his unquenchable thirst for Hannibal’s blood, all of it paled when Alana and Jack came into the room and told Will that Beverly was gone. Beverly was dead. Beverly was murdered by the Chesapeake Ripper.

“Will!” Alana grasped his hand, rattling the chain of his handcuffs against the metal table.

His gaze flitted to Alana for a second, then settled on her shoulder.

“I want to see her.”

///

“You know the drill, Misther Graham,” said the orderly Matthew Brown. He needed to appear detached in front of the guards.

Will robotically faced the back wall and spread his arms above his head, touching the cool, porous brick.

Once the equipment was inside the cell, Matthew nodded to the other staff to leave. Chilton had perceived Will’s liking of Matthew, and when it was decided Will was a good boy, the orderly was allowed him to escort him to and from the therapy cages or the visitor’s room on his own.

The cell door locked behind them. Will waited until the footsteps tapered into the distance before relaxing his posture and turning to face his secret lover.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Matthew said sincerely.

Will nodded, blank from shock. The derealization of the situation, however, was distinct from the febrile hallucinations and warped reality he experienced in the throes of encephalitis.

This was real. This was happening.

“I have to put you in these,” his tone apologetic.

The straitjacket came first.

“Put your arms in the sleeves,” he instructed. “Take a deep breath in and hold it, so I can keep it loose for you.” He tugged gently at the buckles at the back, restraining the prisoner’s crossed arms. “And let it out.”

“Alright,” he placed a reassuring hand on Will’s right bicep. “Mask next.”

Matthew took extra care to make sure his hair wasn’t caught in the buckle and it wasn’t too tight.

Lastly was the wheeled contraption that resembled a cargo mover. The orderlies came back in, and once again, Matthew was all-business.

///

Will could not help the panic that wormed its way into his chest. He had a special brand of claustrophobia, one that was not a fear of confined spaces as much as being confined at all. The straitjacket bound his arms around his chest, sharp pain sprouting from his shoulder, where a bullet had torn it apart not long ago. The mask limited his air intake- the faster he breathed, the more condensation on the mask, and the staler the air became. He was suffocating. Blood had long since pooled in his legs, strapped into the gurney, and in combination with the fact that he hadn’t eaten much of his breakfast, save for the toast and the extra Jello Matthew always slipped him, Will was well on his way to passing out.

Matthew eyed his lover and was immediately by his side.

“What’s wrong?” He asked under his breath, studying Will’s heaving breaths. The roar of the van’s tires on the highway hid the orderly’s soothing words from the others.

“Mask,” he tried to articulate despite the plastic muffling his words.

“I’m taking it off,” he said, reaching around Will’s head to unfasten the straps.

“Brown, what the hell are you doing?” The officer riding up front exclaimed, looking back.

“He’sth having trouble breathing, thir,” Matthew turned on his cordial facade. The lisp, which he could control fairly well around Will, came back full force in the company of other staff. They had wrongfully assumed that the orderly was of a lower intelligence and deemed him entirely harmless. Little did they know, he had used their ignorance against them; he now had almost exclusive access to his Will, and if the mics experienced technical difficulties, who would blame lisping Matthew Brown?

“Yeah, that’s what they all say before they make you their next chew toy. Keep it on.”

Will saw a glint of rage overcome the orderly’s eyes. Matthew’s mask was as tangible as the one covering the prisoner’s face. “He’th white as a sheet, thir. If anything happensh, I take full reth- rethponsibility.”

The man sighed and turned around.

Matthew tossed the mask aside. “You didn’t eat much today.”

Will, still panting, closed his eyes and shook his head minutely. No he hadn’t. He had felt off ever since he had woken up, almost as if he somehow sensed then what news was to come. He stood under the room temperature water for the allotted ten minutes and recalled that the first time he had ever seen the stag was in a shower.

“You ever get hypoglycemia before?” The orderly asked, reaching up in the corner of the van for the first aid supplies. He rummaged through the box before popping the cap off a tube. Inside were chalky white wafers about the size of a quarter.

“Open up,” the tab slipped inside his mouth. “Chew it so it’ll work faster.”

A syrupy taste filled his mouth as the sugar gunked around his teeth. His mouth was quite dry.

“I have some water for you, too. That should help.”

Matthew tipped his water bottle into Will’s mouth, encouraging him to take little sips.

“Anything else I can do?”

Will shook his head.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Matthew said, and he took a seat to the left of Will, keeping an eye on him the rest of the way.

///

Will was lowered to the ground from the van. Crime scene investigators and FBI agents milled around outside, so the former special agent kept his eyes on the ground.

The ancient elevator creaked ominously as it trudged its way up to the second floor of the observatory.

He thought he was panicking in the van, but it was nothing compared to his pounding heart, once again parched mouth, or splitting headache.
Through this whole process, gearing up, the drive to the observatory, he focused on the present moment. But now, he was minutes away from having to face reality- the reality of his friend’s corpse, and the fact that he put her there. He breathed in tiny, quick gasps.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Matthew whispered in his ear, his lips against the buckle of the mask once again on the prisoner’s face. More than anything, he wished that Will wouldn’t make himself look at his friend’s body. He wanted to turn the carrier around, get the restraints off Will and hold him so his love could let out his pain.

“Deep breaths. It’s gonna be okay, Will, I swear. It’s gonna be alright.”

Matthew continued to whisper soothing words under his breath as he wheeled him out of the elevator, through the corridor. Then finally, they entered the main room.
Beverly was standing upright, like a wax figure, with a sheet of glass behind her. But, as Matthew wheeled him further, he saw... no.

No.

He had warned her. Stay away from Hannibal Lecter. But it didn’t matter what he had said; actions speak louder than words. He was using- had used her, like Garrett Jacob Hobbs used Abigail. The lure to catch his prized fish. His focus on capturing Hannibal had blind-sided him of the danger he put Beverly in.
And now here she was. Dead. Cut from the median sagittal plane, dissected like a frog, on display for everyone to see.

“Okay, everybody, lets go, lets clear the scene!” Jack Crawford’s booming voice brought Will out of the veil of guilt.

Disgruntled crime scene documenters left, but still Will knew he was not alone with Jack.

“He’s not going anywhere; you can wait outside,” the agent dismissed Matthew.

“Is that okay with you, Mithter Graham?” Matthew asked. He sensed Jack’s dominance and Will’s vulnerability and swooped in to protect him.

Will nodded. He had to reconstruct the crime scene. Alone.

Matthew held his gaze. “I’ll be right outside.”

///

“She’s gone,” Will said absently.

He was back in his cell, free from restraints. Matthew was the only orderly on-duty for the block, so he could stay in Will’s cell for a while. They had found a way to lay semi-comfortably together, Will in the arms of Matthew as he traced along his well-defined abs with his index finger.

“I know, baby,” he murmured into curly hair.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Matthew said. It sounded like a promise.

“No,” Will took his head off Matthew’s chest to look him in the eye. “I lost Beverly to him, and I’m not going to lose you too. No one else is going to die because of me, not if I can help it.”

“I’ll be careful-”

“That’s what Beverly said.”

“It’s the only way you’ll get any peace,” Matthew said.

“I said no,” Will emphasized, distancing himself by sitting on the edge of the cot.

“Babe-” he started.

“Why won’t anyone listen to me? Even the people that are supposed to be on my side. Sh-she was trying to uncover evidence for me. I told her- the last thing I said to her, ‘Stay away from Hannibal Lecter.’ And- and now l-look where she...”

Will spluttered for breath, on the verge of tears. When he was imprisoned, he promised himself he wouldn’t lose it in here. He wouldn’t show any emotion; he would shut that part of him down, just to survive. But this was Beverly, and she’s gone, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead...

“I know, baby, I know,” Matthew soothed him, sitting up beside Will with his arm around him. Will hadn’t realized he had been saying the mantra aloud.

Hot tears spilled down the prisoner’s cheeks, betraying his oath of stoicism.

“It’s alright,” Matthew gently rocked Will in his arms. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I’ll stay clear of him.”

Will nodded, his throat tight from crying. Matthew thumbed his tears away.

“Come here,” the younger man lay back down and beckoned Will to lay back on his chest. “How about we just lay here for a while?”

“Okay,” he whispered, burying his head in the crook of Matthew’s neck.

“I love you, Will,” he said. He hadn’t meant to say it then. He wanted to save the sentiment for another time, when they left the prison far behind. It just came out of his mouth, rolled off his tongue. And it felt perfectly natural.

Will could hear Matthew’s heartbeat through his ribcage. “I love you too.”