Chapter Text
As soon as she’s finished smoothing her hand over the bulge of the wire taped on the other side of her lapel, Alana Bloom throws open her car door and is just in time to see the porch light switch on, bathing the first five feet of the walkway in a hazy amber glow.
Shrill howls pierce the air of the otherwise quiet night.
She didn’t expect anything less. Will Graham was not a man easily snuck up on, even if his dutiful pack of strays weren’t watching the door. Even so, the sour taste of fear coats the back of her throat. For a moment, she imagines Will throwing up the door with a loaded shotgun in his hands and a swarm of dogs much larger and more violent than the ones she knew at his side.
It doesn’t happen.
The front door opens, and Will steps out onto the porch, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. He squints into the darkness, one hand gripping the side of the door to keep any of the dogs from racing out into the night. He sees her coming and visibly relaxes, stepping all the way out onto the porch and carefully closing the door behind him, shutting the dogs in.
Alana’s grateful for that. Glad that, whatever happened, they wouldn’t get in the way. That they wouldn’t get hurt.
“Hey,” Will calls, his voice thick with sleep. He rubs at his eyes with his fists. “I didn’t know that Dr. Bloom made house calls this late.”
“Not usually,” Alana’s hand trembles as she lifts it to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, but her smile feels convincing. “But I couldn’t sleep. Decided to go on a drive… and ended up here.”
A lie.
And not a very convincing one, at that. It’s already a dangerous thing to do, she knows, trying to play pretend with Will Graham. He can see past any façade and through any disguise. She only hopes that being rudely awaken at this hour after a long day at the office will dull some of the edge that he has over everyone else. Or, at least, that he’ll think she’s lying to cover up something else. Some other reason why she would have ended up in Wolf Trap.
“Lucky me,” Will yawns, dropping his hands from his eyes. He cracks a lazy grin at her, one that makes his eyes shine even in the dark. And Alana isn’t sure if that’s hatred or despair that makes her heart feel cold. “I don’t have much to offer in the way of refreshments. Jack’s been working me to death… but, uh, I can make some coffee if you want? Maybe heat up some leftovers?”
“That’s okay,” Alana says, quickly. Her fingers curl up toward her palms, nails biting into her palm at the thought of accepting food from him. At the idea of watching him move through his kitchen like nothing was wrong – of him heating it up and serving it to her like it wasn’t – like it isn’t … “I really shouldn’t have even stopped by. I was just thinking about you. Worried, I guess.”
“Worried?” Will echoes, slowly folding his arms over his chest. His illusions about this being a pleasant visit slip visibly from his face, resignation taking its place. “I guess Dr. Bloom really is in the house. Listen, I told you that I’d talk to Jack about taking some time off from cases. And I will. Just… after this one.”
“I don’t think you should wait,” Alana unconsciously mimics his stance and then drops her arms again, suddenly terrified that bunching up her coat would draw attention to her unconventional accessory. “What you said to me yesterday… about feeling like the lines are blurring between you and the Ripper. Did you mean that? Do – do you still feel like that?”
Will drops his gaze down to his feet. “You said you could handle me confiding in you.”
“And I can,” Alana takes a breath to steady herself. Inhales notes of pine from the surrounding trees and the cedar from the wood of his porch. “I just need to understand if I want to be able to help. You’ve been acting so strange, lately. Getting lost in your head for hours at a time, acting off at crime scenes. I’m worried. Jack is worried. We’re all… worried.”
“You didn’t have to drive all the way out here to tell me that you’re worried, Alana. I know you are. But I have this under control.”
“You have what under control?”
She takes a step closer against her better judgement.
“Will… what you said to me, yesterday? Was that true?”
“Which part?” Will exhales a laugh through is nose, but it doesn’t sound like there’s any humour in it. He just sounds bitter and defeated, hands raising defensively when Alana gets closer, as if to ward her off from touching him. “That I think I’m losing my mind? That one minute I’ll be looking at photos of a crime scene and the next it’s two days later and I’m in the middle of teaching a class, with no idea how I got from where I was to where I am?”
“What you said about the crime scene,” Alana prompts, swallowing thickly. Her throat feels like sandpaper; dry and scratchy.
Is this it?
“…I don’t know how to explain that.” Will says, slumping back against the door. He looks helplessly up at her, hands now lifted as if to surrender. “When I look at a scene from a killer’s perspective, I can see it all. I can see it how they had done it. But the last time…the last Ripper kill? It didn’t feel like a reconstruction. It felt like a memory.”
Alana tries and fails not to gag, exhaling a broken gasp as a sob threatens to shake her chest. To hear it once had been horrifying. Twice, though? It’s more than she can bear and it’s not even the confession that they’re looking for, yet.
Will hears her distress and immediately pushes away from the door, his gaze meeting hers. Her own misery reflects in the pool of his eyes. His tears are reflexive, and he takes a step toward her.
“Hey, hey…” Will shakes his head, curls bouncing. He even tries to smile at her. “Jeez, ‘Lana. Try to look a little less like I’m dying, will you? I’m okay. I think I’m just… seeing too much. Looking too deeply. I promise, okay? After this case, I’ll tell Jack that I’m cashing in my vacation days, and I’ll get all of this out of my system and start fresh again in two weeks.”
He takes a step toward her. He reaches for her, hands moving to touch and to comfort and she thinks about those same hands ripping into people, choking the life from them. All the times that she’s called him gentle… every time that she’s considered him to be fragile… and this is who and what he really was?
It’s too much. She steps back immediately and misjudges her footing, slipping and falling on the porch. It’s a harsh and graceless landing and she swears as she scrapes her palms on the impact, sending stinging vibrations through her skin and up her bones.
“Shit!” Will starts to reach down for her, startled. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to freak you out, I just…”
He trails off.
He stares.
Alana looks up, meeting his gaze through the curtain of her hair. And she knows without looking that her coat has fallen open, that the wire is exposed.
“…Are you wearing a wire?” Will asks, not truly believing what he’s seeing. “Why would you be - ?”
“I’m sorry, Will.” Alana chokes out. “I know what you are. I know who you are. And… you need help.”
The night comes alive.
At the word “help”, the forest erupts with dozens of uniformed bodies, guns all trained on Will. Alana scrambles to her feet and scurries out of the way, backtracking away from the porch and back to her car and Jack Crawford pops up from the backseat, dropping the radio that he’d been using to listen in on and pulling out his own gun, training it on Will’s head.
“Will Graham!” He shouts, voice somehow carrying over the rumble of other voices. “Put your hands on your head and get on your knees.”
Will doesn’t answer. He’s still looking at Alana, eyes wide and pupils blown at the horror of her betrayal.
“Will!” Jack snarls his name out again.
And Alana sees it. That brief second of confusion followed by perfect clarity. And she knows what he’s going to do before he even does it.
“WILL, DON’T- ”
Her scream comes seconds too late. Will dives off the side of his porch, body hitting the ground in a graceless tumble. He rolls and then starts running toward the trees.
Shots ring out. Splinters burst from trees when bullets dig deep into them and birds scream as they take flight from their nests and fling themselves into the sky, wings moving as fast as Will’s legs.
That’s what he looks like, Alana realizes numbly. A wild animal, running for its life under the certainty of death without knowing where the threat is really coming from.
Jack takes aim at Will’s retreating back and fires.
Alana isn’t close enough to see the blood that she knows sprays from the wound when the bullet rips through him. She isn’t close enough to hear his choked cry of pain. But she knows that he falls when she hears Jack take off running. And she knows that she should stay right where she is, but her feet don’t get that memo.
She follows him. Without a gun. Without thinking, all because she needs to know – she must know if this is over before it’s really begun. If Will Graham is dead and if he’s taken all the reasons why he did this with him.
It’s not a long run. Will didn’t get far. He’s managed to roll himself onto his back in the time that it’s taken them to catch up to where he fell, though, and Jack immediately aims a kick at his head to stop him from moving.
Alana’s protest at the brutality never makes it past her lips.
“Try running now!” Jack spits, dropping to his knees and grabbing his handcuffs off his belt. He kicks Will again, forcing him to turn over, and begins to fasten his hands behind his back. “You motherfucker. You didn’t think I’d ever catch you, huh? Thought that you could just join my team? Sneak on in and try to sabotage? Game’s over, you sick son of a bitch.”
Will laughs.
It’s a wet and pained sound, but unmistakable and Alana wants to turn her head away. Can’t bear to watch the mask slip off Will’s face and reveal the monster that’s been hiding underneath all along. But she can’t move, transfixed by what’s unfolding in front of her.
“You’re wrong,” Will chokes out as Jack yanks him up from the ground. There’s blood blooming across his shirt, the wettest stain at his shoulder. He’ll live, Alana realizes, if he doesn’t bleed out. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jack practically spits in Will’s face. “Then why’d you run, Graham?”
“Cause you’re a man with an obsession who wasn’t going to let the Ripper get away if you thought you had him. Because you want his blood so badly you wouldn’t care if he complied, not if he was close enough to take your pound of flesh from,” Will stumbles as Jack pushes him forward. “And if you shot at me on the porch, you could have hit one of my dogs.”
Jack shoves Will again, his expression stony. “Will Graham, you are under arrest on the suspicion of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may be used against you as evidence in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be- ”
Will turns his head as Jack rattles off his rights, twisting to get one last look at Alana. His face, even shadowed by the trees above, is easy to read. Betrayal is etched into his expression as if carved there with a knife.
Alana looks away first and swallows hard. She stays there, just like that, standing next to the pool of Will’s blood with her hands clenched into fists and her eyes stinging with tears.
Is this nightmare over or is it just beginning?