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Title: Behind the Wheel
Pairing: Will Graham/Everett Hobbs (Original Character)
Author's Note: Everett's face is Benedict Cumberbatch.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Will Graham or Lee Fallon, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
Will stared uncomprehendingly across the table at the man who claimed to be his new lawyer, wondering just how this had happened. He hadn't asked for new representation.
He almost couldn't piece together what the man was saying; he heard the words, but the questions in his mind overrode them to where they didn't make any sense. His name was Everett Hobbs? He was related to Abigail? And didn't think that Will had killed her?
Will shook his head, feeling bewildered and overwhelmed. "Wait, wait. Start over at the beginning, please. I'm not getting all of this."
The man sitting across from him sighed softly, then folded his hands on top of the table and began over again, his tone patient and forbearing. "Will, my name is Everett Hobbs." The soft voice, the British accent, washed over Will like a flood of warm water.
That had to be the most pleasant voice he'd ever heard. He wanted to bathe in it, drown in it, let it overwhelm his senses and lull him into calm tranquility.
He sat up straighter, focusing on Everett's face, concentrating on his words.
"I'm a cousin of Garret Jacob Hobbs, the man you killed a few months ago." Everett leaned forward, his pale blue eyes focused on Will. "I don't blame you for killing him."
He continued, his voice still very soft. "I know what he was. I know that he was a killer. I didn't know what he was doing when it was going on, but I knew, from the little time I'd spent with him over the years, that he was .... unbalanced. I'm not surprised that he was a murderer."
Will nodded, indicating that he understood what Everett had said thus far. Well, here was one person who seemed to have a little sense in this crazy world.
"I don't believe that you killed Abigail, either. Or those other people you're accused of murdering. In fact, I know you didn't." Everett's voice was firm and strong, his conviction undeniable. This man actually believed in Will's innocence. That much was obvious.
It was more than his so-called "friends" had given him, Will thought, wincing. They were all so willing to just go along with Hannibal, to throw Will under the bus.
They actually believed that he was a killer, that he was evil.
Yet this man, someone who didn't even know him, was convinced of his innocence. He was already warming to Everett, feeling that this man was someone he could like.
Everett continued, his voice calm. "Don't ask me how I know just yet, Will, please. But I do. Not just because I don't believe that you're a killer now that I've met you face to face, but because I've had some experiences of my own that I believe will unmask the real murderer."
Will perked up at that; his brows rose, and he leaned forward, his intense blue gaze fixed on Everett's face. "And what are those experiences, Everett?"
But the other man shook his head, looking regretful. "I can't prove anything yet. I don't have any concrete evidence, other than what I saw. I'll be told that I can't be sure of it, given that I'd taken a blow to the head. But I know what -- and who -- I saw. I'm sure of it."
"And you think that this person who did whatever it is that you saw is the Chesapeake Ripper," Will said, his tone thoughtful. "Well, this is .... interesting."
Could this man help him? Or was it just more mind games?
Everett didn't seem like the kind of person who played those kinds of games. He appeared to be as far from Hannibal as anyone could get.
He was certainly a lot more attractive than that ugly reptile who had framed him and put him behind bars, fighting for his life, Will thought to himself. Everett was one of the best-looking men he'd ever seen, he didn't look at all like some stuffy, uptight lawyer type.
Will couldn't stop his gaze from resting on the other man's mouth. Everett had the most incredible lips he'd ever seen. Lips that practically begged to be kissed.
What was he thinking? Will raised a hand to rub at his eyes, wondering why his mind had wandered along that path. It wasn't like he'd ever been attracted to men.
But apparently, he was now. Well, he'd had a few same-sex crushes in high school and college, though he had never followed through on them. Maybe he was just feeling this way now because of being in prison. But the attraction felt like more than that.
There was a definite physical pull towards Everett, and he had to wonder if the other man felt it, too. It was too strong to be simply a one-sided infatuation.
Judging from the way Everett looked at him, he felt something, too.
"Will, I want to help you." Everett's voice was soft, but the words were strong and firm. "I believe that I can. At least, I hope I can. Please let me try."
Slowly, Will nodded. What could it hurt to let Everett try to help him? He seemed to be thoroughly convinced that Will was innocent, and he needed to have someone on his side who apparently had such a strong belief in him.
No one else did, that was for sure. His FBI-appointed lawyer was half-assing it; that had been clear from the start. That idiot would lose the case, and not care.
But he cared. This was his life they were playing with, and other than Everett, nobody really seemed to care about that. Even the people who claimed to care about him were all willing to throw him under the bus, and dance to Hannibal's piping.
Well, he wasn't going to let that happen .And if Everett could help him, then he'd acquiesce to whatever this man wanted to do, as long as he walked out of here a free man.
He had nothing to lose if he agreed to let Everett help him.
"I'm more than willing to let you try," he said slowly, keeping his gaze focused on Everett. "I just hope you can. The person who framed me did a really good job of it."
"I know they did," Everett murmured, a frown passing over his features. "But they didn't close up all of the loose ends as well as they might think they did. I think I can pull some strings and send their little house of cards tumbling to the ground."
"I hope you can," Will muttered, looking down at his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. "Because if you can't, I might end up facing the death penalty."
"It won't come to that," Everett said, sounding firm and determined. "If you're convicted -- and I'm absolutely certain you won't be -- the death penalty won't be granted. There are too many people who would want to study you, to get into your mind and discover how you think."
"They should be trying to do that to the person who actually did this," Will said, raising his head to look the other man in the eye. "He's the psychopath. Not me."
Everett's gaze met his, steady and unwavering.
Everett knew, Will realized. He knew that Hannibal Lecter was the killer. Will had no idea how that could be, but he knew that Everett was aware of the fact.
Whatever connection Everett had to Hannibal, it obviously wasn't a pleasant one. It was obvious that Everett had some agenda -- and as long as it meant putting Hannibal Lecter behind bars where he belonged, Will would go along with it, and help in any way he could.
"I know you aren't," Everett said softly, his gaze never leaving Will's face. "Believe me, I do. And I'm going to prove it, Will. I'm going to set you free, and clear your name."
Will sincerely hoped that could be done. He wanted to believe that more than anything.
He wanted to trust Everett, needed to trust him. He needed to believe that this would work out, that Everett would prove his innocence and get him out of here. From now on, he would put his trust in this man. He had nothing left to lose if he did.
"Then I guess you've got yourself a client," he said, his voice very soft, a smile curving his lips. "You're in the driver's seat now, Everett. Here's hoping you can navigate the road."
For his own sake, he hoped that Everett would be capable behind the wheel.
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