Title: Access Denied
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Fandom: Hannibal
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Sequel to "The Wheels Are Turning."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***
Will turned over in bed, staring up at the ceiling.He'd tried everything that he could think of to make himself fall asleep, everything short of taking sleeping pills. The last thing he wanted was to get hooked on prescription medicine.
He had the pills, but he didn't want to take them. He didn't want to rely on medication to help him sleep; somehow, it didn't seem quite right to do that.
it was just so frustrating, he thought as he turned over and thumped a fist on the pillow, trying to find a cool spot to rest his cheek on. Not being able to sleep was like not being able to access his memories of the night of the attack; it was as though there was an "access denied" sign across them.
He needed to access those memories, just as he needed to get more sleep. Both of them were eating away at his sanity -- and at his health, as well.
Somehow, he needed to find a way to access both his memories of that night, and whatever would help him to be able to sleep. Though he had no earthly idea how to do it.
He'd always had problems sleeping, but they seemed to have multiplied.
Will didn't think that it was thinking about his job that kept him awake. He'd never had this kind of trouble sleeping when he was a cop, and he'd seen terrible things then, too.
But those things had been nothing compared to what he'd seen since he had been working for Jack Crawford. They were nothing compared to what the Chesapeake Ripper had done.
The thought of the Ripper made a shiver go through his slim body. What if it had been the Ripper who had attacked him, and that monster had somehow decided to let him go with merely a warning? What if he was the target of a serial killer, and his days were numbered?
Will almost wanted to laugh at that thought. It was ridiculous to think that he, of all people, could have survived an attack by the Chesapeake Ripper.
Of all the people who the Ripper could attack, he was the one that the killer would most want dead. After all, he was the person who was pursuing the Ripper, hunting him down.
He was the person who would be front and center in the Ripper's sights; he was the person who could get into the killer's mind, who could begin to fathom what his plans were, and find out his identity. Why hadn't he thought of this before? It had been staring him right in the face all along.
Will sat up in bed, his blue eyes wide. The Ripper had attacked him. It couldn't have been anyone else. That fiend had tried to do away with him, but he'd somehow escaped.
That was the only explanation, wasn't it? No one else wanted him dead -- at least no one that he'd been able to think of. It had to be the Ripper.
He had to call Jack and Hannibal, and tell them that he'd figured it out.
But no, he couldn't call them now, he thought, glancing at the clock. It was two o'clock in the morning -- neither of them would thank him for disturbing their sleep.
It felt as though all of the "access denied" signs were slowly being pulled away, and he was finally able to delve into what had happened to him -- and come up with some answers.
He'd have to move forward slowly, Will cautioned himself. He didn't want to rush into anything, or jump to conclusions that would prove to be false. He had to take methodical steps, and make sure that he was on the right track before he moved from one place to the next.
But at this point, he was sure that he'd made something of a breakthrough. He couldn't help feeling that this idea of the Ripper being his attacker was the right one.
Who else would want to harm him? Who else would feel that they had to dispatch him -- or at least shake him up to the point where he would be useless at his job?
Well, he wasn't useless. He wouldn't be knocked off his feet that easily.
Will sat up and swung his legs out of bed, kicking the covers back. There was no way that he'd be able to go back to sleep tonight. He might as well get up now.
As soon as he could call Jack and Hannibal in the morning, he would. He felt that he was finally being granted access to his memories, and he wanted them both to know as soon as possible.
Would they buy into his theory? Will hoped so.
At the moment, it seemed to be the most plausible answer that anyone could come up with.
***
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