Chapter Text
When Matthew Brown heard the notorious Chesapeake Ripper was coming to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he made the necessary preparations. He had already played charades enough to earn the title of head nurse, one of few along the staff in the hospital. Now it was just a matter of being at the right place at the right time -show Frederick Chilton how at ease he was when working in the maximum security branch, how loyal and diligent he was as an employee, how devoted he was to any of his boss's requests.
Watching the young man exit the van, surrounded with security personnel, was surreal to Matthew.
He watched, star-struck, on the front steps, his mouth unable to hide a small gasp. He had been so silly. Of course all those crimes were committed by such a man. Just look at him. And, boy, did Matthew look.
He cataloged the Ripper’s wrinkled flannel, how the untucked edges hid the languid sway of his steps. His khakis were loose, day-old creases lining them and in desperate need of a good wash. Matthew licked his lips, imaging laundry day already-- just smothering his face into a handful of the man’s clothes. He knew he wore an undershirt under that fleece, probably boxers too that were just as dirty as the rest of him.
Dirty boy. Maybe his nipples matched that light pink of his lips. Matthew envisioned them just as soft as those lips, both of them puckering just for him. Oh, oh, oh --and the Chesapeake Ripper wore glasses, too. Matthew looked at the small black frames lining those eyes. They were much too small for the man’s face, distracting from his hazel irises. Maybe the Ripper liked that, maybe he didn’t like them looking directly at him. Matthew studied the way the man approached the hospital’s front doors, his gaze cast down, and considered maybe it was the opposite; that the man didn’t like looking at others.
Matthew fantasized that he was fucking the Ripper from behind, stealing his glasses and wearing them himself. Maybe he could look through the lenses and see what the man did when he killed. He’d love to pick that brain, learn his tips and tricks. The things Ripper could teach him when he wasn’t fucking him into the ground. He would have to fuck him eventually, just to know what it felt like to be inside the Chesapeake Ripper.
He could become the new Ripper by dethroning this man. He’d take a place by his side, of course, them killing together in an intimacy only shared with knowing smiles, smiles that meant they weren’t alone anymore.
“You’re late.” Dr. Chilton chirped, not bothering to return the chief of security’s hand. His hands stayed clasped along the head of his cane.
With a sharp nod, Matthew wasted no time. He took a step away from his supervisor’s side, holding up the handcuffs the Ripper would be wearing for the rest of his life --assuming the trial would convict him, but everybody already knew the verdict just as they knew the sky was blue.
Matthew didn’t smile, he just went through the standard motions of securing the steel cages around slender wrists. His hands were sweaty from his frenzied thoughts. Oh god, he wanted to smile. He wanted to embrace the man and never let him go, ask him how he killed all those people, why he killed, if he could ever help. He wanted the Ripper to see him for what he truly was, he wanted to see the Ripper’s own eyes lit up with elation, knowing he wasn’t the only one. Oh, his eyes.
They were still downcast, but Matthew could see the forest-green and ocean-blue coloring, deep and mysterious like an uncharted section of a rainforest filled with monsters people have never seen. But Matthew would see them. He wanted to see all the monsters that lurked behind those dark tresses of hair. This close, he could see small freckles lining the upper half of his nose and spreading out just halfway under those bottom lashes. Wow.
The man looked up at him, and Matthew realized he had taken just the slightest of pauses to stare. How embarrassing. He tightened the clasps around those dainty wrists --oh, how he’d love to see him in action. To watch him kill some nurse he purposely sent inside his cell--, then nodded back at Chilton.
Immediately, the welcoming party turned around and led their star patient through the doors of the hospital. A barricade of policemen lined the bottom of the marble steps, getting blinded by the near-constant flashes of cameras and growing deaf from reporters shouting questions aimed at both Frederick Chilton and the Ripper.
“Will Graham, do you feel-”
“-are you guilty, Mr. Graham?”
Will, Will, William, William-
Will Graham would be the only ex-FBI agent in the hospital who was also an inmate. Maybe that was why Dr. Chilton seemed so enraptured by the new patient.
Matthew watched as the two spoke to each other under their breaths. Will, Will Graham, the man kept his eyes stubbornly down as Frederick stared nothing short of daggers toward him. Matthew couldn’t help but feel the sharp pangs of jealousy already creep inside of him. It seemed his boss already knew Will fairly well. Matthew wanted the chance to know him too.
Never before had there ever been such a violent man in American history. Oh, the articles his boss would write on Will. Matthew would read every one. Study them like a preteen with a love letter, memorizing. He had to know his Ripper inside and out.
For the first time of what was to be many, Matthew Brown led the Chesapeake Ripper into his cell. Both of them ignored the taunts from neighboring patients. The increasingly intriguing man seemed lost in his own world of memories, completely detached from everything around him. Matthew would allow that for now, a new environment was always a tad overwhelming. It took himself a few months to grow comfortable enough in the hospital to even begin to mimic typical nurse behaviors.
He turned around to look at the Ripper, the young, delicious man, Will Graham, one last time, as the door locked behind him. He watched the man as he examined his new room, tentatively looking around, probably wondering if a bed and toilet were his only belongings now.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Graham.”
Maybe for a man like Matthew Brown, love didn’t exist in his vocabulary. But he felt a feeling akin to it deep in his chest, burrowing a hole and refusing to leave.
- - -
He didn’t talk to Will the first few days.
He couldn’t.
He wanted to let his eyes do the exploring, get himself acquainted with his physical presence first. Just his senses grow used to his smell, his very presence. Matthew always found himself easily overwhelmed.
As planned, Dr. Chilton designated Matthew to be Will Graham’s designated nurse-on-duty, or NOD. He smiled at him every morning, slipping a tray of what was considered breakfast through the door. He was the one to dress Will up in that lovely straightjacket and face-mask when folks from the FBI would request his presence outside the building. Oh, god he loved seeing that notice on the staffroom’s calendar. A day where he’d get to smell Will’s hair, where he’d get wrap to his arms around him to clasp the straps --and pretend it was an embrace-- was all he needed to make up for the fact he wouldn’t see Will for the rest of the day.
He was the one to give him all his meals, in fact, and sometimes he’d linger to watch him take the first few bites. Will probably considered it a precaution, just to make sure he was eating, but Matthew just wanted to watch his mouth open, watch the mush land on his little pink tongue.
He never worked the night shifts, but sometimes when Dr. Chilton requested new bugged wires to be adjusted or rearranged, Matthew would sneak a private viewing at the security base. He reversed the tapes until catching footage of Will sleeping through the night vision. He was a heavy sleeper, and messy one, sweat easily visible even through the shitty camera. It was a shame though, he wore the jumpsuit even while sleeping. Despite the heat and sweat.
God, he just couldn’t get enough.
In the Baltimore State Hospital, the only outlet for any privacy was a patient’s own cell. For Will Graham, it was the opposite. While in his room, he only got a constant influx of visitors. And because he was considered the facility’s most dangerous patient, the most unstable, he utilized all the building’s accommodations without any other inmates. Special adjustments had to be constantly made. Getting fresh air was a planned occasion, one that only happened when there were no group therapy sessions outside, or meditating patients, or even gardeners. Will had to get transferred through the halls when no other patients were exiting or leaving another area. The shower room was the same situation.
It was communal, awfully large, almost resembling a gym locker room if it wasn’t for the private stalls lining the tiled walls. There were shower heads located throughout, but the concealed stalls were for the more violently-inclined. Bolted hooks were attached inside the stalls, so any inmate could still easily be restrained but still have the luxury of a cleaning. And because Will Graham wore those navy jumpsuits all the time, this was the only place Matthew Brown could really see him.
Oh, yes.
It was like a bathroom stall, but missing its door, and Matthew Brown had the most perfect view of the Ripper’s backside. He would watch hands lather pale skin in cheap soap, watch every detail because he was paid to. Matthew had to make sure he wouldn’t try anything funny, like break out of his handcuffs and make a naked run for the closest exit. Or, perhaps, try to kill himself by drinking the non-alcoholic shampoo. It was for his safety and the staff's.
Matthew Brown watched Will’s hands massage his arms, what had to be that firm chest, his stomach, those thighs and legs. His hair laid in a pile on at the top of his head, full of suds and looking like some sort of stylish slick do. Seeing that delicate neck stretch up, gving him goosebumps each time Will stacked those dark locks of hair up. Will wasn’t ashamed of washing in front of someone, as evident by his erect posture and the bold way he announced his need for a towel while looking at Matthew over his shoulder.
God, it was maddening.
He made the conscious decision to speak to Will the next day.
- - -
He stared at Will Graham. He watched him as he took the tray laying on his cell floor, stood back up, then walk back to sit at his usual spot on the mattress. The meal resting on his lap, Will ate in small bites. If he was curious as to why Matthew continued to stand in front of the room, Will didn’t show it.
“My name is Matthew Brown.”
Fingers popped another scrambled egg into his mouth, utensils something that only existed outside the criminally insane hospital. If he hadn’t heard his own voice echo off the barren walls, Matthew would have thought he never said a thing.
He waited until Will flung another yellow piece past those addicting lips.
“How did it feel? When they died? Did you watch?” He caught himself, tried to simmer his eager eyes.
Will had stopped chewing, and, wonderfully, Matthew couldn’t believe it, he actually turned his head to face him. Eye contact was definitely an issue, even more so after his glasses were confiscated, but Will looked at his chest. It was something. A great start.
“You can tell me,” Matthew smiled, leaning against the railings for a more intimate touch. He wanted Will to know that he was on his side. “I have access to the tapes. The audio. I can cut out whatever I want before Dr. Chilton would ever know.”
He watched those lips pull into a frown. Will went back to his food, picking at the bits of toast.
“Maybe I was got ahead of myself. You’re Will Graham. You’re the Chesapeake Ripper.”
He swallowed. “No. I’m not.”
The game Will played was interesting. He clutched a bar tighter in his grip. Will’s voice was so beautiful, rough and delicate. A perfect but rare mix of a killer and a lover.
“Lots of people think you are. They found human hair of some of the victims in your own house.”
Again, Will turned to face Matthew. This time his eyes went high enough to meet his neck. A shiver rolled up his spine. It felt as though he had to keep himself anchored with the railings or else he’d float away from euphoria.
“So, how did it feel?”
“While working for the agency, I did it to save others.”
“Did you save them?”
A flash in Will’s eyes, like an unexpected memory. “Some.”
Matthew leaned closer, words becoming whispers. “So? How did it feel? When they died?”
Will cleared his throat.
He watched as Will took his time sipping the small paper cup of water. He coughed again, looking away.
“I felt…powerful. And I regret it.”
“The kills? Or what you felt?”
God, this was like watching a movie he waited all summer for. Like waiting in line for hours for that split second of getting a celebrity photo. He felt his mind throwing out every useless thing before meeting Will Graham, making room for every detail he had to remember. He needed daydreams to fulfill the hours he wasn’t right there, standing before him in active conversation.
“Felt. I felt like the killers I hunted.”
Matthew smiled. “It’s nice to feel like a force to be reckoned with, doesn’t it? The feeling of life leaving in your hands.”
When Will turned to look at him, really look at him, he knew he finally caught his attention. Now there was no going back. Will would remember him. The moment those hazel orbs met his, he felt his cock twitch.
“When did the patients become the personnel?”
- - -
It was the start of something Matthew had never experienced.
His aunt tried to raise him as best as a bitter old cow could, her ovaries long dried up and fond of reminding him “if I had kids, they’d never be like you”.
Matthew had friends growing up, learning to fake friendliness early on as a child, but he kept his distance from relationships until college. There he had met David, Hannah, and Jackie. He couldn’t help himself, before them it had only ever been animals. David was his messiest, his awkward first time. Twice the man managed to partially escape, and Matthew had nearly ran out of mace to spray him in the eyes. It was a learning experience. Authorities found the mangled body after David’s girlfriend had opened a closet door and it came tumbling out on top of her. It had been sexually assaulted, but for whatever reason, that little tidbit was never mentioned in the new articles.
Next came Hannah. Hannah, Hannah he had met in the library. Her hair reminded him of fire, and he smiled at the image. He used her for firewood in the winter of his sophomore year.
Jackie was even more perfect. She told Matthew she “liked how weird” he was. She was weird, too, she said. Matthew didn’t understand her screams when he greeted her one night in her house just off campus property. He had killed that annoying roommate for her, dragged the body into one of the dining room chairs and dressed it for Jackie’s last dinner with her. When Jackie tried to grab a knife, when she tried to call 911, he realized she wasn’t weird like him at all. Angry at her for lying, her death had been his most violent to date.
Will Graham was weird. He was just his type of weird.
It wasn’t necessarily against any rules to interact with the patients, after all, what were nurses for? But Matthew still had to make sure he wasn’t raising any alarm bells with coworkers or Frederick Chilton by talking to his number one Ripper too much.
So he kept it limited to their meals. Even more so when he had to transfer Will to one of the private rooms, or an open cage in the atrium. Will always controlled the conversations with his sideways glances and stiff responses. It seemed he only knew how to grunt and growl most days, but Matthew would take anything he gave him.
It was always after a particular guest on Thursdays that Will was a bit snippier than the other times he’d give the Ripper his dinner. These evenings held a special place for him because he was so different, certainly not as pliant or passive as he usually was around him.
“Hawks are very intelligent creatures.”
Will visibly exhaled from the comment. He slid the tray of stale food off his lap, and rubbed his eyes. Even in the dim corridor light, he could see the way Will’s hair brushed passed his ears. There had been talk about cutting it when he first arrived, reason being he could pull it out and choke on it. That it could be a health hazard if he wasn’t able to shower often, which, at times, was a problem.
Matthew was glad they didn’t. It looked better framing his face than it would have in a plastic baggie somewhere in his apartment.
He leaned against the railings, taking Will’s silence as an invitation. “Mix sharp vision with smarts, and you get a great hunter. They’re also solitary things, scared away by smaller birds... But if…” He cocked his head, smiling wider when Will looked his way, “If they work together, the hawks could remain dominant. I think we’re both hawks, Will.”
He looked at Matthew almost doubtfully, the width of his eyes narrowing just enough for him to notice. “Even in pairs, the larger bird is governing.”
He laughed. “In domesticity, there is a hierarchy. I respect that.”
- - -
Matthew Brown entered Dr. Chilton’s office with some reserve, naturally a little upset his morning routine had been interrupted with the sudden call. His boss wasn’t at his desk, and Matthew had to turn around to find the man lounging along his couch already, his laptop teetering on his thighs.
“Good morning, Dr. Chilton. You called for me?” He approached the couch swiftly, purposely glancing at the monitor before the other man could minimize the window. He had been watching the footage of Will’s cell. With a soft grunt, no doubt caused by the scar along his abdomen, Frederick placed the device on the neighboring coffee table. He shifted on the plush couch and came to a relaxed slouch.
“Brown, I have a request to ask of you.” Matthew felt his heart stutter. “When you give Mr. Graham his breakfast today, I want you remain at his cell. He’ll probably be feeling a little under the weather once he ingests his eggs.”
“Am I transferring him somewhere?” In extreme cases, patients showing hostile tendencies were sedated before entering their cell. But from what he seen on the security tape and knowing Will had yet to ever be drugged, Matthew knew this request wasn’t exactly protocol. That didn’t stop him from pretending for Chilton’s sake.
His superior looked over his shoulder at Matthew. “Once you’re sure he’s oblivious, call for me.”
Matthew glanced at the books sprawled along the coffee table when he was sure Frederick wouldn’t notice. Books on hypnosis, the subconscious. He knew the doctor had an intensive expertise in those areas, so his morning must have been just a quick refresher for something to come.
“Would you like him put in restraints before he wakes back up?”
Oh, the thought of placing the jacket on Will’s limp, normally lethal body, made his palms start sweating.
“There will be no need.” He waved dismissively. “He’ll be awake, though groggy and detached.”
Matthew looked at the grandfather clock to his side. It was soon time for Chilton’s regularly scheduled appointment with Will. “Alright. No problem. He won’t remember anything?”
“No.” Chilton stood, grabbing his cane. He limped his way back over to his desk, giving Matthew a friendly pat on the back. “Not a thing.”
Maybe that would be advantageous for his boss, but it would be for Matthew too.
- - -
He had to steady the tremors in his hands as he slipped the tray of food through the slot in the bars. He had to inconspicuously wipe the sweat from his palms against his stark white pants as Will walked back to his cot. In just a few minutes those legs wouldn’t be able to carry his weight anymore. He’d be conscious, but completely out of it. A body without the mind.
“Good morning, Will.” He gave his usual greeting, but not the usual departure. Instead, he leaned against the wall across the hallway, watching as Will picked at his toast.
In his morning dishevel, the top bottom of his jumpsuit was unclasped, showing even more of the damp t-shirt underneath. His hair sported the classic case of bedhead, combs only available to him after showers. As he chewed the yellow pieces of egg, there was a moment Matthew noticed his tongue searching for the subtle, but new flavoring. Will's hands stilled on either side of his lap when he swallowed. Just when he thought Will figured it out, fingers plucked another scrambled bite and popped it past his lips.
Matthew crossed his arms together as he watched, glancing at his wristwatch to gauge how long it would take until-
The tray clattered to the floor. He sprung from the wall, eyeing Will as he stood in the center of his cell. Panicked eyes stared as Will trembled, feeling his pulse point. He stumbled before landing on his knees.
“W-what-”
Matthew jingled the keys in his hand, walking toward the door and opening it. Will shuffled back, hitting the bunk before managing to pull himself on top of it.
“What did you-”
Will's hands came up to hold his own head, his breathing suddenly sharp and quick. Matthew cautiously closed in on the man, and the bed groaned from the added weight. Will tried to ball himself in the corner, like some terrified pup. It was invigorating to have the control now, for Will to be the one unsure of Mathew's next move. He would have preferred it to be without any sort of disabling drug, but he’d take what he could get.
He cupped a hand under Will’s chin, pushing him up to face him. His eyes were foggy, unfocused. Cheeks were red and breathing evened out.
“What…”
If he didn’t know a hypnotic drug was rampaging through Will’s system, Matthew would have thought he was simply in a state between sleep and waking up. Matthew slowly moved his other hand along the frame of his face, inching towards those lips of the person he had ever truly noticed. Weak protests didn’t deter him. Will wouldn’t remember this anyhow. He traced the lightly chapped lips, going over a particularly rough spot in the middle, before plunging down. With his other hand, he pressed into Will’s back and scooted closer to him.
Will was sandwiched between the wall and Matthew, breathing softly with rolling eyes. Matthew would have to remember to erase this little snippet from the security tape. His hand sank below the jumpsuit, feeling the firmness of the man's chest. He licked his lips, hands trembling in frenzy to touch, touch, touch. He could feel the hard, smooth muscles underneath the t-shirt. He sighed when he pressed the body against him, greedy for the flesh and desperate for more. The distant, unapproachable Will was replaced with one so helpless, powerless, so delightfully ready to be used.
His cock was already impossibly hard from the incredible circumstance he found himself in.
He looked at Will’s parted lips again, begging to be kissed and smothered. His heart pounded and he cradled Will's head with both his hands, supporting his limp weight. He leaned in and forced their mouths to meet, shoving his tongue inside for any and all tastes of Will he could possibly get. His hands moved about as if they had a mind of their own, touching and prodding. Tugging up Will’s sleeves, he saw the bruises there from uncaring guards, probably from one in particular whose cousin had been a victim of the Chesapeake Ripper.
“What’s going…on….I feel…”
Matthew wiped the sweat beading against his hairline, when did it get so hot? Possessive hands continued to travel over Will’s smaller frame, admiring the jut of his hips and the indents of his nipples. He knew time was running out. It didn’t take Will thirty minutes to eat a meal.
He kissed him one more time, making it last, and set him gently along the bed as though he was getting ready to go to sleep.
Will tried to open his eyes, fingers were trying to grasp at something --reality, most likely. Matthew tenderly buttoned up his jumpsuit.
“What…I don’t…”
The idea of having touched him so thoroughly before Chilton could ravage his mind amused Matthew. The thought of having this man, this impossibly beautiful and perfect man at his use drove Matthew to a new height of ecstasy. Will wasn’t just for Chilton to keep, he didn’t solely belong to the FBI as their little prized pet, and he most certainly wasn’t under the exclusive care of some visiting psychiatrist. So many people wanted Will Graham for his mind, explore or change it. Matthew didn’t want to change a thing about him. He only wanted to touch. He spent more than enough time looking and listening.
He patted down Will’s hair as best he could, and traced those lips. Before leaving, he made sure to make adjustments to his own trousers. He desperately hoped Dr. Chilton would have a successful exploration. He looked toward to another morning like this one.
- - -
…Or maybe not.
“Quiet today, huh?”
Will continued to walk the guided path around the courtyard, eyeing the bees hovering over obnoxiously colorful flowers. Everything about the patio was unbearably pristine and groomed, nothing like the forest that surrounded him in Wolf Trap. Here, if he managed to trip over his ankle chains, it would land him on cushioned tar that served as a makeshift sidewalk. Even the trees were tidied, certain branches cut away as to not persuade people to climb them or hang off the bark. Not even squirrels or other rodents would bother with this sad excuse of fresh air. It was a waste of a so-called stroll, even if it felt good for his muscles to work.
The heavy, tall walls made it difficult for sweeping breezes to cool the sweat against his neck. It also made the square he was in much more prominent. It was hard to pretend this was Wolf Trap, difficult to daydream he was fishing in a stream.
“Is it something you’d like to talk about?” Matthew kept trying for conversation. It had been two weeks since Dr. Chilton ordered Will’s breakfast to be drugged different days of the week, throughout the week. Although Will never remembered what happened during those displaced hours, he knew he lost time. In response to the situation, because he could never anticipate a pattern of the dosage, Will started to refuse his meals. And now, apparently, he was refusing to even grunt in Matthew’s general direction. It had been certainly worth it to drug him. But why now, why him did Will suddenly choose to ignore?
It wasn’t fair. He deserved Will’s attention. He was his caretaker.
“I can tell you which days the food is drugged. You can trust me.”
Will kept walking ahead of him, the chains rattling against each other with each ample step. Matthew held onto the system of chains like a leash, and now he wasn’t that afraid to use it to his advantage. He yanked, hard.
“Hey. Come on, now. I thought we were on the same page here.”
Will’s body jerked from the sharp tug, and he stopped walking. There was a tense moment of silence before Will asked, “What is Chilton giving me?”
His voice was so clear, crisp. He was really speaking to him, not just in vocal sounds or fragmented sentences. Matthew recovered from the surprise.
“What? Estazolam? He gives it to you to induce some kind of hypnotic state. Makes it easier to ask you questions without a word filter. You know, like word vomit.” He watched as Will’s body became rigid. Will still refused to turn around and look at him. Maybe it was because of the eye thing, but Matthew began to suspect Will just didn’t want him to see him shaken up.
“You’re an awfully hard guy to read, Will. The doc has to make the necessary adjustments to your treatment.”
A few moments passed without either of them saying anything. Matthew cocked his head when he was sure a full minute passed, but then the other man was off again, continuing his steady pace around the block. Security cameras followed them both attentively, guards posted at every corner of the garden reading a newspaper or eating lunch. Matthew couldn’t help but give the man a good yank now and again, testing his limits.
“Come on, if you talk to me I’ll tell you the days for next week. You can eat again without becoming a puppet.”
Still, he continued to walk. Matthew glared. All the other guards openly despised Will and happily gave him bruises when they could. He had been the only one to see Will's greatness, his beauty, his perfection. Why was Will treating him like all the others?
After five more evenly spaced yanks, Will finally fell into the rubber. Matthew cut the stroll around the park short.
He shoved Will into the cell without a friendly goodbye, deciding to just leave the cuffs around his wrists and ankles on. The night nurse could take care of it. He marched down the hall, slamming the hallway door shut behind him. Maybe if Will knew just how easy he had always made it for him, Willwould come crawling back to him, talking to him like never before.
- - -
He made no effort to radio security. He didn’t pick up the phone to address a possible breech of procedure. He sniffled a little, but that was just from allergies.
Instead, the volume actually increased. The screen stayed visible on his monitor. The high definition footage of Will Graham getting smashed into the cell wall didn’t cause one flinch of an eye.
With the help of his cane, he continued to move about his office, gathering the necessary information for a federal consultant in regards to an incoming patient. His limp was hardly noticeable anymore, the scar along his abdomen a tangled mess of tender tissue both bumpy and smooth. He picked a folder from the G-section in the cabinet, tapping it closed in tune to the smacking sound through the computer’s speakers. He glanced over at the screen. Will had been put into the proper restraints under the guise of a routine cell inspection. He was now sitting on the floor, back against the wall, listening to a man above him bark so loudly Chilton could see spit fly through the screen.
The perpetrator was Wilson, a huge man that gave Will a glare before he shoved his hands against the other’s shoulder, pushing him back several inches.
“Aren’t you a pretty Ripper, eh?” The sneer wafted through Chilton’s speakers. “Turns out your just another cocksucker, aren’t you?”
Wilson rolled the trunk of his neck, waiting for the snap that echoed from his bones. His face was inches from Will’s, saliva trickling down his chin. Menacing eyes radiated rage and violence. He wanted a reaction from Will, like many orderlies wanted. The lingering guards at the cell’s entrance surrounded the pair, anticipating a response from Will Graham.
But Will only dipped his head, avoiding Todd’s eyes. He stepped to the side, trying to walk around him, but the large man grabbed his shoulder and slammed him back, pinning him against the wall. He lifted his other fist, ready to break Will’s jaw, but his opponent remained vigilant, completely still and absorbing every second that passed.
He didn’t move. Didn’t say a single word.
Chilton watched, curious, as Wilson stuck him directly in his gut. Then he pulled another folder and tossed them both on his desk. He’d allow the treatment for now. Will had made him desperate enough to seek Dr. Lecter’s help with Will’s health. He had made the situation clear enough. Maybe too embarrassingly clear. In order to ensure Will wouldn’t starve, Chilton had to cease his sessions with him. He knew Lecter had a particular method when dealing with the stubborn man, probably worked out the kinks the first few months in his own office. Chilton didn’t understand it.
“What is Hannibal Lecter to you, Will?”
His head rolled, having a difficult time carrying the weight. “Um, professionally? Professionally. He’s a doctor.”
“What about unprofessionally, Will? Who is Hannibal beyond the paperwork?”
The man adjusted his jumpsuit, fiddling with the top button.
Chilton grimaced. During their entire session, Will had yet to properly look at him. The rest of his defenses were down; his posture open, mouth spilling thoughts without thinking, heart slow and steady.
“An…elegant monster.”
“ What do you mean?”
"The moment he meets anyone, the strings are set. He makes puppets out of people.” Will fidgeted in his seat, contorting his face from an apparent headache; just one of the few nasty side effects from the drug. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“Why do you think you’re here?”
“ Because it took me too long to see. To see what he was.” A shuddering breath.
From his hunched position, Chilton couldn’t see Will's face. He set the notebook down on his lap. He leaned forward, his posture perking.
“Yes, Will?”
He looked up at the doctor, eyes red and shoulders quaking. “I want to go back to my room.”
- - -
He watched him. That’s all he did anymore. Just like when the Ripper first came to the hospital. Will walked with a rigid back and his steps were careful. Matthew studied him as he followed, closely, behind in the hallway. Will looked to be examining the distance of his own stride, making sure no step was too wide. Matthew knew he was hiding a limp. The mandatory checkup hadn’t been mandatory at all, and the guard in charge had ulterior motives the moment he barged into the room and promptly punched a jab to Will’s stomach. In the straightjacket, the man couldn’t put up much of a fight. And Matthew refused to acknowledge the commotion down the hall, knowing his word against security wouldn’t carry its weight.
If the guards found themselves tied to meat hooks, watching their blood drip off their toes and into a drain, maybe his words would mean something then.
He led the other man in a small room and Matthew hooked Will to the cold table. He checked the fastener, then watched Will slide onto the bench. They went through the motions in a fluid fashion, the private room something they both grew used to twice every week. Sometimes more. When Matthew noticed a visitor requesting the private room for a third time, he decided to look into the details a little more. It was odd.
The cages in the atrium were much more practical, casual, and easier to transfer the patient into. A room typically meant more personal conversations. Over the years, Matthew had seen family members or significant others use the space, but never a patient’s therapist. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Chilton was Will’s doctor. What made this guy so special that his boss gave him exclusive rights to Will, in an unrecorded room no less? Did Will even talk to him? Matthew couldn’t imagine such a thing happening. Even while taking a beating earlier, Will refused to give the guard any sort of satisfaction by responding to his taunts. Dr. Chilton had to lace the man’s food just to hear words.
He gave Will one last once-over before leaving. Will's shoulders were arched over, hands in a dead grasp on the table. It was his eyes though that always made Matthew curious. Before every session, it seemed, Will was a little nervous. There was apprehension in his eyes, even if Will thought he trained his body not to show it. The anxiety was always gone once the hour was up. Through the thick walls, Matthew had no idea why.
Today, though, would be different.
Matthew leaned against the wall outside the room with crossed arms, humming a random tune until that familiar set of footsteps echoed down the hall. He turned his head and looked this time, really looked. The block on the schedule said Dr. Hannibal Lecter - 6:00pm.
Strong name attached to an apparently strong person. Nice suit, nice shoes, nice hair. Everything was so nice.
Poised, near intimidating in the hallway as he walked down the middle of it. Like all the sessions before, the psychiatrist carried with him a brown paper bag. Security was always stern with their bag checks before visitation would be allowed. Matthew, however, never knew what was hidden inside.
They both gave short but friendly nods toward each other as Matthew opened the door for him. He closed it immediately after, staring at the hatch just an inch below his eye level. It’d be so easy to just slide it open and peek through. He knew a protective layer of glass was in the hatch, making it impossible to slip anything through, even words.
Matthew glanced at the small red dot on the camera in the corner of the hallway. Well, maybe he didn't need to open the hatch. Leaning back against the wall, he pressed an ear toward the foundation and tried to quiet his breathing. Nothing came through except vague muffles. There were definitely two voices.
Matthew threw himself off from the wall, pacing. Dr. Chilton wouldn’t care if he peeked. He could easily argue he heard something suspicious, thought that maybe Will managed to escape his handcuffs, maybe things sounded ugly. He knew how to bullshit the paperwork.
Minutes passed.
Their sessions were only an hour long. He was losing out on time the longer he stalled. More voices. Will was talking.
Matthew slowly opened the hatch and peered inside.
It was a gateway to another dimension.
That’s what Matthew believed the second his eyes adjusted to the strange shadows and almost blueish tint to the room. The mystery of the brown bag was spread out along the table in small plastic containers, condensation beneath the lids hinting at warm food. Hands hitting the table made the plastic rattle, trembling fingers smearing perspiration. Shadows loomed on the other side of the table. Matthew seriously considered the idea of a strange new dimension the moment his eyes caught Will apparently in the middle of something rather private with his therapist.
Matthew never considered the idea of Will having routines with people other than him. But only minutes had passed since he closed the door for Dr. Lecter, and already the pair looked to be deep in something disturbingly familiar. A burning in Matthew’s chest grew as he watched the rare display of Will’s consent. It had to be a different Will. He wanted to believe he was drugged, that he was as compliant as Dr. Chilton made him, because that was the only way anyone could ever have him.
Will stood as best he could within the strain of the chains, leaning over the table with spread hands. He was posed like he was enduring a procedural frisk, but Lecter was no officer of the law. The top-half of the jumpsuit was unbuttoned, draped down over Will’s hips. Hands bunched the white t-shirt up of his back, exposing purple bruises on pale skin. Will stared at the wall in front of him, desperate to maintain any sort of composure.
Matthew didn’t understand why. Will was not openly protesting the unwelcomed touch, verbally opposing his therapist’s apparent care. Will wasn’t drugged, as Chilton made him. His eyes were vibrant and wide, very aware of the present.
“Breathe deeply, Will.”
A hand pressed into a hipbone. Will hissed and his fingers tried to dig themselves into the table.
“Shh. This one, here.”
“Two days. Ago.” Dr. Lecter's fingers pressed deeper into the bruised flesh. “Hahh-" A hit from the side. "D-don’t-”
“Your pain is my pain.”
“Is that the closest thing to an apology you can manag-Ah!”
The man Matthew had welcomed in the hallway wasn’t the same man in the room. Eyes glittering venomously, Dr. Lecter looked positively demonic. He was a predator behind Will, one who took pleasure governing the man. Everyone did in the hospital, but it was only a layer deep. Inside the room was completely different. Dr. Lecter seemed to draw responses from Will no one else could. And Will was letting him. Matthew had to drug him to get close, and this guy could just say stop breathing and Will would comply.
Dr. Lecter paused, tilting his head at the outburst. “Tender?”
Will bit his bottom lip when the man purposely pressed into an area of Will’s back again.
“I see no discoloration. This happened a short time ago.”
Matthew watched as Will hung his head, hair falling on either side of his face. Heavy pants filled the room.
“Will.”
There was the man Matthew knew. The passive aggressive, silent-
The sudden bang was muffled through the door, but it still sent a shock through Matthew as he watched. Will’s therapist bent him over the table even more, slamming Will’s head onto the table and causing a few containers to fall to the floor. Will shouted, the shackles tearing skin. Hannibal pressed into the flourishing bruise again.
“Weigh your options, Will. You cannot avoid me in this hospital. You never will."
Will grunted, heaving for air. "Like...sticking a butterfly...on a pin so it won't...fly away." He breathed. "You framed me both literally...and figuratively."
Matthew caught the glance Will took at the plastic boxes, his face squashed between the table and the large hand of his own doctor. Dr. Lecter must have given him an ultimatum over the food, for whatever reason. Let me touch you….and you won’t have to eat?
Matthew knew Will rarely ate anything he gave him anymore, so why would Will continue to deny his stomach?
Dr. Lecter only pressed even harder against Will, earning him a low whine.
“A few hours ago. During cell inspection,” Will whispered, much to Matthew’s distaste. Dr. Lecter pressed against the bruise hard enough to make one of his own. Will grunted again. “T-Todd Wilson.”
The head of the security staff, Wilson had a well-known grudge against Will Graham. Ever since he was convicted of the Ripper’s crimes, Wilson tried to make Will’s life a living hell behind these walls. It was all Wilson ever talked about, seeing as he was a relative of one of the Ripper’s victims. The man was annoying, vulgar. Really, just making Matthew’s job at earning Will’s respect and trust even harder.
“Thank you.” Dr. Lecter released his stronghold on Will, backing away and rounding the table to the other side.
Will immediately lifted himself up, glaring as he pulled his shirt back down and shoved the jumpsuit back on.
Matthew watched the display of unfiltered anger and bottled rage. Oh, if those chains weren’t there, Will would lunge over the table. He’d claw his own doctor’s eyes out. Strangle him with his handcuffs. He was alive, glaring at the doctor with heavy breathes and flushed cheeks. Every inch of Will’s skin was on fire, like Matthew’s chest.
He watched with lips pressed flat, a slight growl threatening in his throat, at the sight of Will he just never experienced before. He was utterly feral. Matthew only got a tame housecat, slowly blinking and forever shrugging. It was frustrating. Even though Will was the one behind bars and wearing the shackles, it was always him in control of Matthew. Will chose when to talk to him, even look at him. Will held the strings. But with this guy, Dr. Lecter, the man could threaten something like unmediated food and Will would fall at his goddamn feet.
Dr. Lecter picked up the fallen food containers. “No need to scowl. Physical healing helps the mind as well. Your bruises should subside in a few days.”
Lecter flicked his gaze up at Will as he prepared two meals. One was plainly absent of meat. “And there will not be new ones.”
“Do you expect me to say thank you?” Will gave a bitter laugh as Dr. Lecter passed a plate toward him.
The man just shook his head. His lips curved into a barely-contained grin of what seemed to be satisfaction. “Just to eat.”
- - -
The moment the hour was up, the door opened.
The therapist had always been punctual, which surprised Matthew, now that he knew what Lecter did in there. Matthew wouldn’t have accounted for time with Will like that, when Will was restrained and aware, yet compliant.
The man stepped out of the room, looking just as he did entering 60 minutes ago; pristine and perfectly serene. Matthew returned the nod Dr. Lecter gave him, letting his eyes linger on the departing doctor down the hallway. He carried himself with a kind of aristocratic authority, something outdated but respected nonetheless. He looked expensive, someone a commoner couldn’t look at without paying some sort of fee. With that kind of self-assurance, it was no wonder Will felt compelled to obey the man. Matthew had read the files. Dr Lecter was assigned to Will Graham when he worked under Special Agent Jack Crawford. Will never had a choice.
Intimidation seemed to work pretty well, though it didn’t for Todd Wilson earlier.
Matthew entered the room, hiding any kind of notion that he knew what went on there just minutes ago. He unhooked Will from the table, waited for him to get up, and together they walked back to his cell.
“The doc seems nice.”
There wasn’t a hitch in Will’s step. Not a sideways glance or even a flicker of a smile or grimace across his lips. “You see him often enough. Guess he has to be. Probably a nice break from reality for a little.”
Again, nothing. Lecter may be intimidating, but so was Wilson. That wasn’t enough, apparently, for Will. Physical harm did nothing for him. Yanks on his restraints weren’t going to do anything. Dr. Lecter had used bargaining. Threats.
A sudden, numinous understanding washed over Matthew then, as he watched the profile of Will’s head bob slightly with each step. He limped now, openly and unafraid, and Matthew knew it was because of that doctor. It was an overwhelming epiphany, one that made him eager and fearful to act on it at the same time.
He knew he’d never be able to have Will in this place, under constant surveillance and surrounded by small, annoying birds. Hawks needed open space, miles of opportunity and copious amounts of time. Will would never see who Matthew really was unless he showed Will he was the real deal. Unless he could show Will he could be someone like Lecter, someone who understood what he needed.
He’d be Will’s larger Hawk.