[closed] I can't escape my filthy past. I made mistakes, I made 'em last

[infomodder]

WHO: Freddie Lounds (redhairring) and Will Graham (infomodder)
WHERE: Some bar in Heropa
WHEN: Wednesday night (August 20th)
WHAT: This happened and was not stopped so it must continue with alcohol and an exclusive interview, even if Will's feelings on Tattlecrime are summed up pretty well with this.
WARNINGS: Inevitable spoilers for season 2 of Hannibal, which means cannibalism and murder and all sorts of happy, light things. These two also get along as well as gasoline and fire, so there's that.



Will had shown up earlier than he really needed, had to do some pre-planning, to case the joint, just not for anything malicious. Fresh out of work and knowing his company for that evening, he did not think anyone could blame him for getting the first drink out of the way prior to her appearance. He knew full well that anything he put on could end up being turned leopard print, so he'd gone with the oldest plaid shirt in his collection, had put on his most worn, beaten jeans when he left early that morning. If he ended up walking out in newly printed clothes, there wouldn't be a thing on him he'd be upset to lose.

He'd been pre-planning since he'd seen Freddie mention him buying her a drink, truth be told.

That he picked the most isolated spot was not due to planning and everything to do with Will being Will, though Freddie might never believe it. Surely she'd appreciate being tucked away from sight, because that meant people who didn't know who they were wouldn't see them and wonder what was up there, why was that beautiful redhead even talking to that dumpy unshaven mess of a man, he looked ready to kill someone, what were the details there?

Another drink before couldn't be so bad. There could be nothing wrong with Will being on his third drink by the time she showed up.

Trying to predict what Freddie Lounds would do or say with whatever someone else did or said was like trying to catch a frightened, greased animal in the midst of a panic. Whatever he said or did would end up taken in the wrongest of wrong directions. So, yes, he felt confident that having a little in him before she even walked in the door wouldn't ruin any designs for the night. The two of them being just who they were was enough to destroy a night, he might as well get something out of it.

It had been a pretty shitty week or so anyway. He deserved some booze.

Comments

[redhairring]

Freddie entered the bar, looking like the polar opposite of Will. She was wearing one of the few outfits in her wardrobe that didn't entirely scream '1950s'--a short plaid skirt with a matching plaid blazer and heels that looked like they could squash grapes. She frowned, casting her glance around the bar before spotting Will, hiding in the corner.

Typical.

As she walked towards him, heels clicking on the floor, Freddie ran through what passed for a plan in her mind. It...was a horrible plan. But she knew that she wanted to bring up the elephant in the room: Abigail Hobbs. She knew that Will didn't like her around Abigail. And Will knew that she didn't like him around Abigail. But like the goddamn divorced parents they apparently were, they needed to arrange something so everybody could be happy--the thought of which made Freddie almost want to gag. Of course, there were other reasons she wanted to talk to Will. Putting her feelers out, so to speak, and trying to see just how much Hannibal Lecter had influenced the man already.

"Well, you picked a lovely place," she said, with an expression that plainly implied 'Will Graham can't pick seating locations worth a shit.' He picked the darkest, most isolated spot in the bar. If that didn't scream serial killer, she didn't know what did.

[infomodder]

Every click of her heels sounded much louder than he knew they really were, echoed in his head like kettledrums in need of tuning, an oncoming war and storm and nightmare and headache all wrapped up into one neat person suit. Part of him wondered why he hadn't brought the nastiest (joke-wise, not cleanliness-wise) fishing hat he had, looking at her just long enough that she could be sure he'd spotted her. If not? The fact of the matter that he threw back what was left of his drink should have been a pretty damn good sign.

Enough to drive him to drink, goddamn divorced parents indeed.

"It's isolated. Chilton says it might be lonely, but it's safer. For me." Well, if my psychiatrist says it, it must be good, might have been an undertone had Will ever wanted Chilton's opinions on why he did or did not do anything in the first place, but Freddie knew the situation better than he liked (more than he did himself), so he felt safe that she wouldn't take it the wrong way. Of course, with no idea in his head that she was under the opinion he was taking part in Ripping 101, he couldn't predict how wrong it could be taken. "You can order whatever you want, price isn't an issue." Because if it got to be too much, Will would make her pay for it herself. He didn't put that in, barreled from her buddy Frederick to what could sound like generosity right into business. "Is this an interview or are we having a conversation?"

About the others they knew, from Baltimore or elsewhere.

About Abigail Hobbs.

He didn't add on who and what they could talk about, but his hands, clasped over his stomach, had knuckles growing white from the tautness of his grip. Tug-of-war when it came to Abigail? No, just war, plain and simple.

[redhairring]

Isolated. Will Graham, isolating himself from others, keeping to himself, was this not supposed to worry her because guess what, it's worrying her. Freddie still keeps her tight smile, trying not to show that she's worried as soon as she leaves, she'll get jumped by Hannibal Lecter or something ridiculous like that. This sucked. Will sucked. This whole arrangement sucked.

"We're having a conversation," Freddie remarked, as she slid into the chair across from Will, taking great effort to make eye contact with the man, essentially staring him down. "After all, unless you want to open up more about home, I highly doubt Tattlecrime: Heropa needs an interview with a bait shop clerk, of all things." He wasn't going to open up about home. Freddie would have to drag him through the mud herself for Will to even get slightly dirty.

"Anyway, I think it's fairly obvious what we're going to talk about." The teenaged elephant in the room. The teenaged elephant who essentially told Freddie that if she wanted, she could publish her story as fiction and goddamn if Freddie wasn't going to take up on that opportunity (and not tell Will). "Abigail Hobbs. Obviously I care about her and, as much as I hate to admit it, so do you." She thinks. She hopes. Freddie doesn't know as much about Will as she wants.

[infomodder]

If Freddie left and ended up being jumped by Hannibal Lecter, Will would not be at fault. He had no idea about the real Hannibal Lecter, and their date had been made public. She could have, at any time, changed it to private, and no one would have been any the wiser for it other than who she told. Will? Hadn't told anyone. He'd been kind enough to leave behind his pocket knife that morning, even. All she'd find on him was a wallet, keys, his communicator, some dog hair, and a knot of lint that collected in one pocket he had yet to bother getting rid of. Not a threat at all, not Will Graham.

That specific brand of hostility that Freddie saw in serial killers, in the insane, in him? It was there when she mentioned Abigail's name (if looks could kill), but twisted into something else, something different and yet sadly that same for that teenaged elephant in the room. Freddie could read insane murderer in him all she wanted, but it was nothing other than a father who'd suffered the ultimate loss facing it. Made worse now that she was back, that she was alive, and that changed nothing back home. Abigail was dead outside this ridiculous mess of a world, and nothing could turn back time to fix it.

She stared him down, and he didn't look away. Not this time, not with this conversation. Scoffing at the idea of her caring about Abigail Hobbs was temptation but ignored, but his lips did twist in a way that implied he had difficulty buying it. It came from dislike, not sincere doubt that she cared in her own way. Pure empathy? More like pure pain in his ass.

"Chilton comes back and tells me that he's not afraid of me, tells me I've got encephalitis. He's not afraid of me, leads me to believe I've been cleared. You come in and tell me I'm not in his zoo anymore. Doctor Lecter tells me that there was—" it was the first time he looked away, arms crossing as he sat up straighter, obviously not liking how it went down "—an ear sent at my trial, it wasn't me, none of it was me, never found her real killer, but I was out. Abigail herself wants me to stop by, I did, we watch TV, meet up at the ceremony, no fear. None." Fear was something Will knew far better than he liked, and the emphasis on the last word made as much evident. He had felt and seen not a drop of it when it came to him and Abigail, Chilton had no problem letting him into his home, Hannibal had let him in his room, and yet.

And yet.

"So how is it that after all that, you hate to admit that I care, you still treat me like I'm guilty? Because you and I should talk about Abigail Hobbs, but I'm making damn sure we don't start it off with you sitting there thinking you're talking to her killer."

Her killer. He couldn't stop Freddie from thinking him murderous, but he could try to steer that into a non-Abigail Hobbs direction that hopefully didn't veer into Murderous Around Freddie Lounds, which meant good time to stop staring at her like he was ready to jump across the table and rip out her throat with his teeth. The fun fact was that if she truly wanted to get something out of him from back home, all she'd need to do was mention her "work of fiction" and take her pick of completely horrible cases that she could write books or whatever else on just the same, all with titles about how EVERYTHING SUCKS.

Everything did suck, and he hoped the clicking heels he heard coming around the corner were getting ready to hit their table soon.

[redhairring]

She continues to stare down Will, listening as he continued to list how he was fine, how this was just a misunderstanding, how Abigail wasn't afraid of him, blah blah blah. But the fact remained that Hannibal Lecter had a history of dead patients. A worryingly large history of dead patients. And that after trying to kill him, Will Graham came back to Hannibal Lecter, entered into his psychiatric services again, despite the fact that Freddie was fairly certain the man was the Ripper himself.

If Will knew, and he willingly came back? Well, that hardly looked good for Will, did it.

But she didn't have any proof. She was brought here literally moments after deciding that sneaking into Will Graham's house would be the best idea, that she could get actual proof then. But here? She was up a creek without a paddle.

"Doctor Chilton was accused of being the Chesapeake Ripper. We both know that's not the case. I'm treating you like your guilty because you are." There's a pause, before Freddie hastily admitted, still trying to keep her tone fairly level, "maybe not of being the Chesapeake Ripper, but of something else. Why else would you go back to Hannibal Lecter for therapy?"

She didn't know if Will knew that he was back in therapy, or if this would be yet another development in 'enlightening Will about his future.' Still, she had to tell that much.

[infomodder]

The longer she spoke, the more Will seemed to go missing. His body relaxed, his eyes wandered away from her face and grew vacant, like he had checked out. Chilton accused of being the Ripper? Of course that was not the case. But then Will was guilty of...being something on par with the Ripper or worse? By the time the question came, it wouldn't be hard to believe he'd tuned her out entirely.

Months of puzzle pieces that he'd ignored got dumped out in front of him, joined by many more he had never expected.

The way Chilton had greeted him upon return, not as a serial killer, how he'd reacted to Will's fear that Hannibal Lecter was hurt. Gideon asking Will to tell him should his doctor ever turn up, the distress it had caused when the Hannibal they knew had finally appeared. The guess that the Ripper took Gideon's leg, Chilton mentioning having those qualities, the way Freddie's voice seemed rattled when she so much as spoke to Hannibal.

You might want to be careful, Abigail Hobbs. The sword you use is one double-edged.

It was all so absurd—any second now, Garret Jacob Hobbs in his ghastly, bullet-ridden form would wave to him from the bar and point to a TV, where Will would look and find that feathered stag being pursued on some hunting channel, bellowing on mute but somehow all he could hear. He'd look back to Hobbs, look down, watch his body turn into water, fall to the ground, and wake up in the new bed he'd had to get since the dogfight.

Will looked to the bartender. Not Hobbs. A glance at the TV. Commercial for face wash. At his hands, limp where they had just been squeezing his arms almost too tight for comfort, still him. No melting, no rushing, no dream.

This was reality and it was more twisted than he'd wanted to imagine.

"You know who the Chesapeake Ripper is." It had seemed like an hour to him before he spoke, but it couldn't have been more than ten seconds. His words were slow for it, internal clock a blur of their Baltimore and Wolf Trap and Quantico mixed with his time here. "I know who the Chesapeake Ripper is." How else would anyone other than the Ripper know, Jack Crawford? Frederick Chilton wasn't the Ripper. Will was not the Ripper (was that really an accusation or was she playing something up?), Abel Gideon had never been the Ripper, and one name kept coming up over and over before all others. "Who is it, Freddie?"

When he looked back at her, both body and mind were Will again. He was lucid, but as for this future he had yet to meet? Rather unaware. Whatever she said, true or false, no matter how she might phrase it, a healthy explanation or an unhealthy break, was the only thing he currently had any interest in. Having his full focus might have been a little intense, but he looked less ready to kill and far readier to lose his appetite.

[redhairring]

Freddie was expecting a retaliation. She was expecting him to snap back at her, to be grumpy, to be something other than vacant, looking at her with an expression that seemed more like an upset stomach, like he had eaten something wrong, than anything else. She knew Will was relatively behind, timeline wise, but surely he couldn't be this far behind? Surely he had to know?

It was with a sickening feeling that Freddie realized no, he didn't. He had no idea who the Chesapeake Ripper was. And she, of all people, was going to be the one to connect the dots for him.

"It's Hannibal Lecter. He's the Chesapeake Ripper." With Will Graham as an accomplice--at least, she had thought with Will Graham as an accomplice. Now she wasn't entirely sure. She could be wrong, of course, but she could equally be right and all this was Will Graham trying to pull the wool over her eyes or a Will Graham that hadn't taken up with Hannibal Lecter but was thinking about it. But if that were the case...why would he look so sickened?

[infomodder]

He was, indeed, that far behind. But he had watched the others he knew long enough to realize something was exceedingly off, to watch them around each other, around the name that Freddie now gave him with what sounded like certainty. Nostrils flared, his jaw and grip on his arms tightened, and sickened or not, he managed to keep from being physically sick. Of course, he had yet to figure out the detail behind why it was the Ripper took surgical trophies. To break it all on him at once might have been the last straw, might have been enough to have him losing what he'd eaten all over himself, the table, possibly Freddie Lounds herself.

"And I'm back in therapy with him. Guilty by association. Birds of a feather." Shrikes and swans and vultures, what a merry flock they made. He spoke slowly still, void of anything like disbelief. He was in shock, still putting things together, still coming up with things he should have seen and things that made sense now where they hadn't before, and even then there was still the running idea of why? that put what made "sense" on an uneven level. If she had been expecting him to start slinging accusations at her for lying or to take up arms for Hannibal Lecter's innocence, how would she take it when he could bring himself to do neither? "That explains a few things." That came out a little quicker, tone so bitter it couldn't be stomached. "Thank you for telling me."

Had he ever thanked Freddie Lounds for anything before? Perhaps. Had it ever sounded so genuine because it had, in fact, been genuine? He doubted it.

"This is a sort of...everyone knows but me thing, isn't it?"

They would get back to Abigail soon enough, because that's who Freddie wanted to talk about. It would be rude to deny her that, and some of those old talks that went in the direction of rudeness were beginning to seize at his mind and set it to fire.

[redhairring]

Surprisingly, Freddie knows about the concept of 'the right time at the right place.' And talking about Will essentially vomiting up an ear as well as the contents of Hannibal Lecter's dinner parties right now? Not the right time, not the right place. It would be troublesome enough trying to convince Will that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper as well as keeping an eye out on him herself. She had no idea how good or bad an actor Will Graham was. But she doubted that she would come away from this conversation with Will looking 100% clean in her eyes.

Still, the fact that he wasn't defending Hannibal to the high heavens or even suggesting that she was wrong was...strange. She was almost certain that he was working in tandem with Hannibal, but so many things here were essentially suggesting that he wasn't. Could Will have changed that much between here and the Will she knew back home?

"You're welcome," she responded, obviously a little bit confused at a: the thank you and b: the fact that the thank you was coming from Will Graham, the person who she'd throw under the bus at a moment's notice. "But yeah, I'd assume that it's an everybody knows but you. Both Gideon and Abigail were killed by the Ripper, so they'd know who he was. And Chilton...well, I assume he figured it out by himself." Which really, Freddie was still kind of shocked that Chilton managed to do that much. Good for you, buddy.

[infomodder]

Some days, Will might have wanted to think of or paint Freddie out to be some sort of antagonist so predictable she may as well have been a caricature, but he could never do it. Life was never that easy, people were never just one way. So while he had problems with her, he could actually believe that she cared for Abigail in a way that, although he didn't like it, didn't lead down the path of care along the lines of Garret Jacob Hobbs. She could care, she could be tactful, she could probably pick out an entire wardrobe that did not look like a jungle had thrown up on her. How Freddie was with him and Jack Crawrford was indicative of a lot, but it was not all she was, and pretending otherwise was delusional on a whole other level. The same sort of delusional for him to sit there and think, with this new information, that he could do or say anything that turned him 100% clean in her eyes.

His movements were careful, slow, controlled when he leaned in close, hands he often saw as bloody on the table in a manner that might have called back to a time when they'd been cuffed to one, a time he was not yet privy to. If she could see him coming, she could choose to stay still or move back. No, he was not physically restrained, and anyone from their world who might know him would not be faulted for questioning if anything restrained him mentally, but he was putting in the effort to make his every action visible. His bodily actions, at any rate.

He would not yet flat out say he believed her, but he was swimming along with this idea that Hannibal Lecter was the Chesapeake Ripper pretty damn well. It would be difficult to do anything else when he remembered the one request Gideon gave him and how he had answered Will, that NOT in all capital letters swimming behind his eyes in flashing neon lights. Will would not want to be talked about to the guy who'd killed him, either. That was NOT his bag.

"If you have come to any sort of agreement with the others about this, about how to deal with him being here, don't tell me unless you're making me a part of it." It was not a whisper, but someone other than Freddie would have to be right behind him (and they were not, he knew as much) or have a wire hidden to pick up on it. "And if you're not making me a part of anything, do not tell anyone that you've let me know." Which sounded suspiciously like Will trying to cover his tracks, he was aware. "If you're this positive he's the Ripper, if it's common knowledge, then I can't know. He's got one person in his corner, Freddie. I need to stay there in as much darkness as possible. That might not be possible if the entirety of this conversation stops being just the two of us."

Not meant to insult Chilton, Gideon, or Abigail, not in any way. But if Hannibal was the Ripper, then the Ripper had methods to get things out of people that were not very quick or painless, and if any of them blurted out that Will Graham was being a liar when he did his pathetic smiles and pretended he was clueless, that did not bode well for what else they might be hiding and it certainly didn't bode well for Will.

"Or do you think there's another way?"

He didn't want to be thought of as trying to buy her silence, and how better to do that than recognize her involvement in the way that he left himself open to input? Include her instead of dictate, to do so as genuinely as his thanks had been. Offer his own take and ask her views, see if it matched up, work with her without Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom nearby like handlers? He'd let her in on what was apparently a terribly kept secret. The least he could do was attempt to let her in on how they could deal with it.

Chilton figuring it out on his own, though—had he, had he really? Will reserved doubts, but squabbling over facts for what were petty reasons was not a top priority. Good on you, buddy, worked for the moment.

[redhairring]

Freddie stood still, body tense, as Will leaned in, watching him intently as he kept his voice quiet. This conversation had taken a completely different turn than she was expecting, which showed in her expression, which was obviously Freddie trying to hide her confusion at this whole scenario.

"I'm not sure," Freddie responded, with a tentative tone in her voice. And that's unfortunately the truth. She doesn't know. This is pretty much the first time that she's actually thought about how to deal with Hannibal Lecter, instead of scurrying around, trying to gather evidence. She's not sure how to deal with this. And she's not sure how to deal with Will trying to deal with this. "I think that until either of us find out what exactly to do about this, pretending that you don't know about this would be the best."

And, it would help keep her afloat. From texting Kaidan that she was worried about Will to being coy to Chilton about her ideas to toss a monkey wrench into any sort of plans the two were coming up with, Freddie knew that she couldn't publicly be plotting with Will Graham (was that what this was? God.)

[infomodder]

Still his sole focus, every bit of energy put into drinking her in, voice, the way she held herself, as if the entire room was nothing but Freddie Lounds. Like that one kid who sat alone in the crowded college cafeteria reading a book with an air that said don't interrupt me unless it's a life or death emergency, find somewhere else to sit. Freddie filled in the role of that book, though whether it was required reading or something done for pleasure, he couldn't make that call for her. To him, this was necessary, this was the most important business of his life. To her, it might reek of Will being in with the wrong feathery crowd that had different ideas on what was done for pleasure.

He could (and would) keep up with not knowing about it, but Freddie hadn't agreed to not spreading he'd been told. That prompted the twitch of his lips, the first of anything like a smile since she'd walked in. One set of fingers tapped against the table as he wondered if he should address that or let it slide, and eventually he slid back into his chair, hands loosely gripping the edge of the little table. His gaze dropped to them, seeing what wasn't there and what Freddie never could.

"Abigail's free to talk to whoever she wants." Spoken in true Dad fashion; he hated it. "I won't step in unless it's necessary." Spoken in true Dad fashion; he'd already done so. Of course he had. "Or she asks. You worried I'm going to try and enforce something about her staying away from you?"

Freddie was obviously worried about a bit more than that but pretending he didn't know about the Ripper had to start sometime. He figured she'd get it when he looked back up—move along. He might have added or vice versa but the idea of Will having any control over Freddie (other than control he got because he did something that would end up in Tattlecrime if the owner was still around) was completely ludicrous. He couldn't even bring himself to suggest it.

[redhairring]

Pausing for a moment, Freddie had to catch up mentally. Wait, they were going straight from the Chesapeake Ripper to Abigail? Oh, wait, they had agreed that they would essentially pretend the conversation hadn't happened, that although Will knew about Hannibal Lecter: Chesapeake Ripper, they wouldn't talk about it anymore. Good job Lounds, you made the mental gymnastics needed.

So, as Will started to slip into Dad fashion, Freddie in turn started to slip back into her role of 'exceedingly bad influence.' She couldn't help but smirk at Will as he talked about Abigail.

"Let's be real, you don't like me and I don't like you. I just wanted to make sure that our mutual dislike didn't get in the way of our mutual interest." The mutual interest being Abigail Hobbs. The smirk still remained on her face as she leaned back in her chair. She knew that Will couldn't take control over Abigail and couldn't make Abigail do what he wanted--and she loved that.

[infomodder]

He watched her, took in the pause, and that smile grew when she connected it, when she darted back onto the original path and left the bloody bramble of their rabbit trail behind. He'd revisit it later, alone, going over everything he remembered, every single word spoken between the two of them that he could recollect. Everything he'd ignored since he'd come to this world, especially after Chilton and Gideon's totally non-excellent adventure and return from Baltimore, would be brought out for perusal, just not now. Not in front of Freddie or anyone else. Leaning his arm over the chair and propping his ankle up on his knee, he looked more comfortable than Will had any right to be around Freddie. Anyone who saw them, who knew them, would probably take it as him being aggravating about something or other. But, for the first time since she'd shown up, he felt something like easiness around her—which didn't mean he wasn't going to be aggravating.

Exceedingly bad influence—there weren't many good influences among them, were there.

"You write lying shit, and if Tattlecrime was in print? I wouldn't even put it down to help potty train a dog." Don't like was mild, but hate was strong; that was the best he could do. "I attempted to persuade Abigail away from associating with you back in Baltimore, and it never worked. Don't see a reason for history to have to repeat itself. I won't be making the same mistakes and I won't be trying to cut you off from your friend."

Despite how normal it might have sounded to an outsider, it was depressing. He had followed her conversations, had seen her call Abigail a friend when she spoke to Skye, had felt Freddie laying blame on him was for theatrics, for sympathy. With the new information and Abigail's state, it hit harder in ways it never would have before. He didn't let it show, and when the waitress finally came back to ask if Freddie wanted a drink as well, Will waved a hand loosely.

His story back home had been all hers, for the price of opening a line of communication. Here and now, his wallet filled that role. Get whatever, I'll cover it. As good a thank you he could muster up at the moment.

[redhairring]

So he could learn from mistakes. Well, color Freddie impressed. Of course, she would have to find a new norm to settle into, now that their 'friendly' bickering over Abigail would cease. (She was certain that the bickering would continue. After all, Will was Will and Freddie was Freddie. It felt normal.)

As the waitress came up, Freddie looked towards Will. Hey, he said he'd buy her a drink. Of course she would order what she always ordered. "A martini, please," Freddie said, giving a small smile to the waitress that Will could easily tell was utterly fake. "On the rocks." Nodding, the waitress turned to leave. Now, back to their prior conversation. Back to Abigail.

"As I was about to say, I've just as well given up on trying to persuade Abigail away from you. She even asked me to essentially be nicer to you." Don't be rude about him, Abigail said. Which, Freddie was trying. Honestly. But a) she wasn't exactly the nicest person to begin with and b) it was so much easier to be snippy towards Will, Will who she had a history of snapping at like a yippy little dog trying to seem important, than to be snippy towards Hannibal, who honestly (now more than ever) scared her. "It seems we've got a bit of a Mexican standoff." A bit. It's more than a bit. It's showdown at the O.K. Corral over here, except both parties were pretty much at the same advantage. Freddie didn't trust Will, Will didn't trust Freddie.

[infomodder]

He watched her as she ordered, gave no judgment at that terribly fake smile or her choice of drink, knew what would be coming back to join a martini and didn't try to change it. Something nice and mixed and then there he sat with straight whiskey—simple, unlike so much else in his life.

The pause did not come from Will trying to figure out how to approach it. It came from Will drinking in the moment of Abigail speaking on his behalf, wondering what prompted it, if Freddie had said something, how he come up, who had been the first to say his name. He wouldn't ask (Freddie, at least), but there was satisfaction in Abigail being something like protective of him.

"No we don't. You don't have to do that, and you shouldn't." Not publicly, at any rate. This night might have turned a good chunk of Will's world on its head and spun it like a Harlem Globetrotter after the sixth Red Bull, but for the two of them to meet up and suddenly behave any differently with each other would raise suspicions. Freddie might not have been that nice to him, but Will had never been that nice in return, and since then? Being nice to Freddie translated to be civil or so help me from whoever had to deal with the both of them in the same room. "We start acting too strange with each other, people are gonna wonder. Ask questions. Get themselves into trouble. I'd rather explain to Abigail that you're not nice to me because I'm not nice to you and how she can't change that than deal with anything worse."

Chilton asking if Will's declarations had become sincere was pretty bad, but not what he meant. Anyone else getting wind of it and coming to the conclusion that this meeting went in a specific direction was worse.

[redhairring]

Freddie wasn't entirely the best when it came to subterfuge. This was the girl who pretty much jumped at the chance to interview one of Gideon's psychiatrists despite the fact that Gideon was on the loose and it was probably really dangerous. So, she's doing some mental gymnastics to keep up with Will...and yet she still feels like she's consistently a few steps behind. Which is really annoying.

"So what, we just keep snapping at each other? Sorry Abigail, but Uncle Will and Aunt Freddie just can't seem to get along anymore." There's a little bit of a worried frown on her face. While Freddie didn't like Will...she did like Abigail. And she would do practically anything to make Abigail's life here as easy as possible. After all, she deserved it. Oh God did she deserve it.

"Or, instead we just don't fight in front of the kids." Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, as Freddie takes a sip of her martini, rolling her eyes slightly.

[infomodder]

Most people stayed a few steps behind him, found it (and him) really annoying, so Freddie wasn't alone. She could always ask, ask the unshaven shaggy guy who dressed like he robbed a Goodwill to explain the leaps and jumps he was making, but that might have been part of the annoyance, huh.

Uncle Will and Aunt Freddie, the mention of the kids had his eyebrows lifting as he reached out for that glass. He'd thought of it in similar terms before, the crew from Baltimore being something of a dysfunctional family, but he hadn't voiced it. He found it difficult to explain the exact reasons he kept an eye on all of them and their various conversations, had gone back to the idea that there were only so many people he knew from the world he called home here, and even though he might not had the greatest relationships with them (and apparently the one he thought he had a great relationship with was the opposite of great), they were still his people. They hailed from the same place, they gave him familiarity in a strange world, how could he not pay them attention?

Abigail deserved way more than she'd ever had, Will agreed. Coming together out of wanting what was best for her—divorced parents indeed.

"Too bad three of the kids are doctors." Sarcasm for sarcasm, may the Lord preserve him if this conversation ever leaked. He knocked back more than he really should have, face screwed up to reflect it. "There's privacy features we can utilize if we need to." Or Will could put effort into muzzling his snapping, toothy, rabid maw around her. She wasn't solely to blame for their differences, after all. He knew it. "Might make more sense for me to avoid you in public as an attempt to be nice than instigating conversation unless it's necessary. I've got other ways to mess with Tattlecrime than making a spectacle out of myself."

Being nicer might include dropping a note to Skye, mightn't it. He couldn't be bothered to hide that yes, he knew what had happened. Yes, he might be able to get that autoplay off there when certain things cropped up. And no, no, he was not apologizing for anything he might have said or done that had it happen in the first place.

[redhairring]

With Freddie, it was much the same. People from home, no matter how she disliked them, were still reminders of home. But there was another reason why Freddie ended up keeping an eye on everybody: she was fairly certain she was the only sane person from Baltimore. Gideon was a psychopath, Hannibal was a cannibal, Chilton was ridiculously egotistical, Will was unstable, and Abigail (bless her heart) was probably one bad day away from a nervous breakdown. In her mind, Freddie was the most stable. As such, the responsibility of protecting the imPorts from Hannibal et al, as well as the responsibility of protecting Abigail from Hannibal et al, rested firmly on her shoulders.

"Fair warning, I'm shit at the privacy features. I'm sure I can learn, though." Accompanied with a wave of her hand as she took another sip of her martini. Kaidan was from space. Surely he would know somebody who knew a bit about making things even more unreadable. "As for myself, I'll find a temporary new target." Because while it made sense that Will would try to avoid Freddie, it made less sense why Freddie would try to avoid Will, especially considering how he had pretty much been a massive target to her back in Baltimore. Finding a new target would be easy, though. This city was brimming with personality disorders.

An expression of confusion played on her face as Will mentioned 'other ways of messing with Tattlecrime.' The hacking. He knew who hacked her website. (Because obviously, it wasn't Will himself. Freddie was continually shocked whenever Will managed to do something that was more than make a simple telephone call or shoot off a text.) That fuck. She grumpily took another drink before talking.

"Whoever you got to hack Tattlecrime was good," she grudgingly admitted. "I'm still not entirely sure how they managed to get into the website." Which...isn't really saying much, but hey Freddie knows enough web design to keep Tattlecrime running, she's not totally dumb.

[infomodder]

Perhaps she'd be shocked, but Will would agree with most of her assessment. Though whether or not Freddie was sane, Freddie who continually provoked someone with high ranking in the FBI by prodding at Will, Freddie who had watched a man get shot in the head right in front of her, Freddie who took pictures of guts and gore before she did anything else, Freddie who'd been so eager for a story that she'd ended up abducted...she might not have been crippled by traumatic experience, but she was not influenced in ways that spoke of someone who was truly together. Together in her own way, same as everyone else, but there was something not quite right with that. With her.

Same as the rest of their sextet, he knew. Possibly the same as the rest of this world.

Shit with privacy features, new target, it had Will shrugging, nodding his head a little bit. He would not miss being a featured, unpaid artist in Tattlecrime, but showing too much of anything like joy at her giving him a pass was out of the question. Same as the praise, which was on Skye and not him. Not him at all. He'd planted the suggestion because it was harmless—he could fess up to it and do his best to not sound pleased it had gotten her so irritated.

His best at not sounding just that was not...so great.

"Because they're just that good." And granted powers here to make her better. "You want me to talk to them, get them out of it? Leave you alone? I can, but it'll probably happen again the second you drop something in there about me without my permission."

Conditioning, that's what this was. If Freddie could learn to keep Will out of it, she'd have a chance at him doing something to keep it from being Skye's bad music and terrible font playground. Of course, he couldn't control what Skye did or did not do, but he could ask. Nicely. Would ask nicely. But he'd still leave a little in there for Freddie to worry that unless she found someone better, it would and could happen again.

And that meant she had to keep Will Graham out in every way that pointed to him being what he wasn't: a killer. They could make deals. He'd been making them just about ever since he got here. No problem with deals.

[redhairring]

Yeah, she knew what Will was doing. Luring the promise of somebody not fucking up her website over her head like...well, like bait. The irony was not lost on Freddie and she absolutely hated it. The problem now was that she really didn't want her website hacked like that again. Getting all the Spice Girls out of her code and out of her head took too long. The promise that it wouldn't happen again was exceedingly tempting.

But it couldn't happen. She had made public her distrust and dislike of Will Graham. If she suddenly were to stop writing articles about him, suddenly writing him out of Tattlecrime's existence? It would be uncharacteristic and supremely fishy. As much as the thought of comic sans and Spice Girls pained her, she couldn't fully take him up on his offer.

"If I'm throwing anybody from home under the bus, it's Gideon. He's burned his bridges already." And, as shown by previous conversations she had with Chilton, she was more than willing to essentially damn Gideon for her safety. He wasn't as annoyingly clean, as annoyingly friendly as Will was turning out to be. Nobody would be surprised if she wrote a candid editorial explaining just what happened with them back in Baltimore. But Freddie was slowly coming to discover that Will was much more than the mentally ill dog-obsessed loner that she had originally painted him as. People liked him.

"I won't write about you, though, unless you do something that's good enough to write about. Will Graham: bait shop owner doesn't have the same sort of flair as Will Graham: a psychopath finding psychopaths." Besides, as long as people kept reading about those kidnapped kids up in the mountain, Freddie was going to exploit the hell out of it. It was the closest Tattlecrime: Heropa came to actual Tattlecrime, after all.

[infomodder]

Fishy from a fisherman—who'd expect it?

If the way she spoke about Gideon did much for him, it didn't show. If there was pity for Gideon, revulsion for how open and willing she was to throw him under the bus, if there was anything other than the taste of whiskey in his mouth, it didn't transfer to his face. Gideon had done his damage back home, but what damage he had done with Freddie since coming here, exactly, he couldn't say. He read their conversations if possible, but he knew that, like him, everyone else could be saying one thing out loud and saying something else entirely to the set of ears they meant to take it in.

Which was frustrating.

"Abigail can rest in peace here, Gideon can rest in pieces." Harsh, nasty thing to say, said in a voice that belonged to Freddie more than it did to Will. No judgment on the matter either way—a few of those conversations with Chilton and Lecter were playing back in his head and he was finding it difficult to pinpoint feelings on Gideon. Parroting hers? As good as anything. "I'll talk to them about it and let you know how it goes. I'll..." What? He'd what? Friendly and liked did not mean he could control. "...see if I can't get it where if it happens again, it's not because of me. Tell them if they see me in it, I gave you permission. Leave it be. If I didn't give you permission and I'm in there, then I'll let them know. Everything else with a mention of me is fair game."

Little jabs about bait shop owners, about fishing, about anything that Will was...that was the permission he was currently handing Freddie. Anything else, anything bigger, that would have to be talked about beforehand.

"How's that sound?"

Sounded like Will was going to finish that drink. Immediately.

[redhairring]

Gideon could rest in pieces because he was an easy target. Out of everybody from Baltimore, he was the easiest to throw under the bus and hide her scent if need be. To show Hannibal or Will or Chilton that them sharing the same experiences meant absolutely nothing, that she was willing to play hardball if it kept her alive.

She wasn't a hundred percent happy with this. But, at least in Freddie's mind, this meant that she could continue to slip in oblique references to serial killers, to psychopaths hunting psychopaths, to everything that Will was that the rest of Heropa was blissfully ignorant of. That was good. That was safe. It wasn't like Will was going to do anything that merited a big, full-page article anyway. He didn't have that sort of power.

"It sounds good," Freddie reluctantly admitted. And it was pretty much as good as it was going to get. She took another large sip of her drink for good measure--god only knows she needed it.

[infomodder]

Will had had a front row seat to Abel Gideon's head, had had the opportunity to stand and move in his bloodstained shoes, had seen more than anyone else should have due to his thing. Chilton had done a good job rearranging that furniture, but Will couldn't know if he ever predicted Gideon would figure out that the patterns in his mind's house had changed because of him, working his way around nightstands and chairs where they should not have been, and given him a little payback for it. He knew from intimate experience that Gideon was, in fact, the easiest to throw under the bus, and not just because of his unfortunate physical state. If anyone was going to take that abuse, Gideon fit the role perfectly. He had all along, hadn't he?

And yet Will couldn't be bothered to speak up about it. Not at the moment. Not until a few realizations were made, at any rate. It was a cold, cruel, dog-eat-dog world out there, and the underdog should not have been discounted—generally speaking, the underdog didn't have a history of murder backing them.

"You saw the gills in the pool. Also got some sort of night vision—eyes light up in the dark." He gestured to his face, putting that empty glass on a tray as waitstaff passed without even asking for it. A little heavy handed in the attempt, it rattled the used wine glass already on it and sent it to the floor. The shattering got the turn of a few heads, had the waiter looking ready to fight against the idea that "the customer is always right"—until Will picked up the nearest bit of the stem next to him and, well then, every part of it went flying back into place. Time reversed right in front of them, each tiny piece going back where it was meant to be, despite where it landed. If Freddie had got a bit of glass on her foot or anything else, had felt it, she would have felt it leave, too. Leaving to go back where it belonged. Just like new, Will held it out with the closest thing to a smile he could get, nodded his head when it was taken from him and placed back on the tray. "And that. What about you, what's there besides the leopard print thing?"

This for that.

[redhairring]

As Will started talking about his powers, Freddie frowned. This wasn't where she expected the conversation to go. However, she watched with rapt interest as he was talking. The gills? That's right, she knew about it. The night vision...slightly creepy, but potentially useful. She watched intently as Will knocked over a glass. Alright. That was unexpected. Her face was pure confusion as Will touched the glass and reversed it, reassembling the glass here and there. Absolutely useless. Interesting, but useless.

Her powers though...that was a completely different story. She had told people about the murder sensing before, but not the super memory. The fact that Will showed her all of his powers wasn't lost on her. That didn't mean that she had to show him all of hers. So, keeping mum about the super memory it was

"Mine's pretty morbid. I can sense when someone's murdered." She looked slightly uncomfortable as she continued talking--fitting, as it was an uncomfortable subject. "I get this massive headache whenever someone's murdered. I can wait it out and eventually it'll vanish, or I can try to find the body myself. The headaches increase in intensity the closer I get towards the body." She gave a weak little smile. It was absolutely morbid, of course. And that's what Freddie wanted to give off the impression of: that her powers were absolutely disgusting.

[infomodder]

Three. People could have three, at least as far as he knew. Of course, people like Skye had only been gifted with one, but Skye's one was a big one, made sense to him that they might limit her to just that. Freddie gave him a second, and while he did wonder if she's hiding something else, the idea of sensing murder was enough to have him off that track of thought. It was a nasty day in life when Will Graham looked repulsed, on the verge of being sick again, but morbid murder headaches did the trick damn well. That frown, the disgust, none of it was (this time) directed at Freddie.

"You know, you could Register with that. Get used to track down serial killers. Like a bloodhound. Go head-hunting with the government backing you." Humor. Morbid. Morbid, disgusting humor. "Benefits are great. No worries about covering the next dentist visit."

That next glass of whiskey could not come fast enough, and he grabbed it up before it could even be handed out.

"But I'd advise to quit when it gets too much. Sticking around that environment when you don't have to, going to work like that—it's murder."

Disgusting and morbid in every single way. With no Crawford or Bloom or Lecter to tell him to watch his mouth, it seemed it wasn't going to happen. Freddie could take that any way she wanted to (she always did); he was taking what should really be his last drink of the night.

[redhairring]

The look on Freddie's face said enough. Freddie Lounds: governmental bloodhound. It absolutely disgusted her. She knew that Will was joking but the thought still made her cringe. How about no. In fact, how about definitely no. She downed the rest of her martini in protest, shuddering slightly.

"How about I stick to what I'm best at instead." And that was Tattlecrime.

[infomodder]

There was something morbid and disgusting about relishing the look on her face, but by God, he couldn't help it. He knew she'd seen quite a bit of nastiness back where they were from, and to get disgust rather than anything smug was something of an accomplishment. Not one to brag about or even give a smile over, but he'd remember it for later. How to get Freddie disgusted when so much else had seemed to fail.

"Showing people who underestimate tabloid reporting as garbage that they're incorrect?"

Perhaps doing so personally, but he wouldn't go there. The way he lifted his eyebrows wasn't suggestion, was as close to a compliment as she'd get. He wouldn't drop the idea that Freddie prove to those who'd reamed her for it that she had talent by going after them when the opportunity arose. That wasn't his goal, but even if it had been? She might have had it in mind already. He didn't have to plant seeds with her.

Freddie grew wild and thorny and bore tempting but poisonous fruit all by herself.

[redhairring]

"Exposing the gruesome grisly details of death and murder for the public's best interest."

It was a goddamn miracle that she managed to say that with a straight face. Pretty much so that, after a moment's worth of seriousness, Freddie cracked that facade with a smug little smirk, plainly telling Will that she knew her answer was full of shit but like he was going to get anything better than that.

Because he wasn't. They may have a working relationship now, but she was not going to let it progress beyond anything that wasn't simply 'casual acquaintances.' No touchy feely hug powwows in this joint.

[infomodder]

Will knew better, lips twitching upwards for just a moment. Just a moment before he was hit the fact of the matter that he and Freddie Lounds being alone was an oddity, that he couldn't look to the side and see Alana Bloom or Jack Crawford (or Hannibal Lecter, even) next to him, trying to make sure everything stayed as civil was possible. It was familiar but still wrong, uncomfortable and slightly painful, had him going back to his usual, almost frowning state.

Why did the Baltimore gathering here have to be what it was?

"You do that." Acknowledgement, something verging on sarcastic. Will knew full well the last person he could effectively order around was the one sitting across from him. "I'll be in my bait shop ignoring that it happens until the moment I can't." Had Freddie thought Will ever enjoyed his job, that he'd done it without any prodding? The way he said it, swirled the glass around pointed in the opposite direction. "You find anything that looks like it came from back home, think you could let me know?"

Jack Crawford was not here to enforce, to play shattered bedrock, to throw his weight and get Will back where he excelled, despite it working against him. Frederick Chilton's offer, he assumed, must still be on the table, that if Will found adequate motivation to get himself back into the same ranks as before, he could go knocking on his door (or breaking it). Hannibal Lecter would have had the influence necessary to gently get him back into it, he knew. Unfortunately, if he was the Ripper, he wouldn't have to do anything more than leave a victim displayed and Will would be spurned into getting back in the saddle, facing the proper direction. For Freddie Lounds to play catalyst to that might be both beneficial and harmful, Will banking on it being the former. Drawing murderous art into the light, dragging Will back into darkness, wasn't she a handy journalist to have on call? Someone to keep on ice.

[redhairring]

Anything that looks like it came from back home. Oh, she certainly knew what he meant by that. Anything gruesome and murderous that possibly had flowers stuck in its abdomen or was impaled on a deer. Any of those murders with the...creative touch would indeed excite her interest as well as probably cause Will to be sick to his stomach. Anything that screamed Chesapeake Ripper.

"I'll do one better and give you a heads up when I get there." But after she's taken pictures. And possibly badgered police officers. And did everything that would help benefit her before she did things that would benefit Will.

[infomodder]

Anything that screamed Chesapeake Ripper would be enough to get him clawing back into action, had been the unsaid danger he meant whenever he talked to Chilton. If it started up now, after this conversation, his first real move would have to be carefully planned. Who to go to, who to say what to, who to leave hanging.

...not literally.

"Works for me."

Muttered, disliked—not Freddie's offer, the fact that it could happen, that it would happen at the hands of someone Will thought was the only person he could trust, could rely on. Betrayal would sink in worse later on, as brutal mentally as the Ripper was physically, but for now? Will was going to sit there, finish his drink as slowly or quickly as he felt like it, and try not to mope. Or, try not to look like he was moping more than usual. Not in front of Freddie Lounds; thank God he spent most of his time around her looking miserable in every single way.