So, I just started watching Hannibal and I fell in love with Will and Alana and I didn't know what else to do but to write fic about them. This is just something small, I'm finding my feet with their voices and any feedback would be fantastic!
Disclaimer: I wish I owned any part of this show…Hugh Dancy would be preferable ;)
She takes him up on the offer one day. He comes home late after a session with Hannibal and he finds her sitting in his living room, Winston across her lap, the warmth from the space heater drifting around the room and touching every corner. There's snow on his clothes and he takes a moment to watch it melt and cling to him with fascination, the water moving in trickles down his arms, off his coat and to the floor with light splashes.
It doesn't frighten him as much as it has been. He knows this is real. He can feel it in the warm air.
Her eyes watch him carefully as he steps around the corner and properly into the room. He wants to ask what she's doing here, how she got in. But he doesn't want her to ever leave, so maybe, just maybe, if he stays quiet she'll just stay with him.
He shucks off his coat and lets it fall to the ground, allowing the tendrils of warm air touch his skin and remind him again and again why he is no good for this woman. The heat is comforting and alive and everything Alana Bloom. And he's not sure he'll ever be enough to have that in his life on a permanent basis.
Winston shuffles around and sits across both their laps as Will lowers himself to the ground beside Alana, her eyes find his uncertainly and he nods, letting her know that this is okay. That he's okay.
Her hand reaches out and wraps around his, her fingertips warm against his freezing knuckles. She squeezes and takes a breath and when he looks up again he can see the tears in her eyes threatening to fall.
"Hey," he tries, gently, "Hey what's going on?"
She turns her face away from him when she realises he's watching her, "It's nothing," she says a little too quickly.
His free hand cups her jaw and tilts her head back towards him, his fingertips brushing tears that have rolled down her cheeks, "Let me," he bows his head for a moment, gathering his thoughts, but it's almost immediately back up again as he figures out what to say, "Can I help?"
A mirthless chuckle escapes her at the irony. She's the psychiatrist, she should be offering the help. But that little voice inside her head helpfully reminds her that he is not her patient, so she doesn't have to offer anything. Him wanting to help, that's good. That's stable.
"Sometimes I feel like these cases get inside my head, Will." Her eyes meet his, pleading him to understand. It hasn't even been a week since Gideon had been killed and she is still having nightmares about it. Her stomach is still in knots constantly with the horrible thought that maybe she had contributed to his downward spiral.
His answering smile is one of pure understanding, "I feel like that most days. I feel them," a look of disgust crosses his face as he closes his eyes briefly, seeing the flashes of bloodied corpses lining the inside of his eyelids. His eyes snap open, "I feel them climbing around inside of me. Like they own me sometimes."
She squeezes his hand again, leaning closer to him, wondering if it'd be too much to ask him to put an arm around her, to hold her, "I can't sleep Will. They shouldn't be affecting me like this. I'm supposed to be…"
She trails off. She doesn't know what she's supposed to be. She can't be cold and hard and not think about them. That's just not who she is. Her heart aches for the families affected around all these murders, her heart aches for Will and what he has to go through every time Jack calls him to a scene and her heart aches for herself.
Because it all damn well hurts.
"You're not supposed to be anything, Alana," he whispers, bringing her back to their reality. "This work is hard, it gets inside your mind like a parasite."
"It shouldn't though."
His hand leaves hers and does what she has wanted from the moment he sat down beside her, snaking around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. She rests her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, solid and true, the warmth radiating off him in waves as his fingers trace patterns on her back.
"Do you feel unstable, Alana?" he asks quietly, repeating her words, knowing that she is crumbling just as he is.
And it's like a realisation to her. She hadn't considered it before this moment that perhaps she is just like him, struggling to find a foothold in this messy wall they have to clamber up every day. She feels the tears in her eyes and her body screams out to just say yes, to take this moment of comfort and acknowledge what she is feeling.
But if she's unstable and he's unstable then they have more work to do than she can fathom before they can be…anything. So she can't say it out loud, she can't put that over their heads, not when she wants these moments with Will so badly. She just wants these moments.
So she wordlessly brings her hand up to rest on his chest and her head tilts up, her lips seeking his jaw as she kisses his stubbled skin softly. His eyes meet hers for a second and she nods, almost imperceptibly.
He knows what it means. He knows she can't admit it out loud. So he does the only thing he can and wraps her up in his arms more securely. He pulls her impossibly close to him, his strength offering her some form of stability, something she can cling to, while around her everything else feels like falling.