Title: The Coldness of Certainty
Pairing: Will Graham/John Reese
Fandom: Hannibal/Person of Interest
Prompt: 9, Cold
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely John Reese or Jordan Hester, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Will's head jerked up when the phone rang again.
He stared at it, not wanting to pick it up. The last time it had run, John had been here, and he hadn't hesitated to answer because there was someone with him.
But this time, he was alone -- and even though he hadn't heard any words, or even something strange like heavy breathing on the other end of the line, he had still almost been overcome with a sense of menace, of walls closing in on him, of someone coming after him.
Hannibal. That was the only person who would be calling him at work and not speaking. Hannibal was trying to intimidate him, make him do something foolish.
Will squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath as he reached for the phone.
He wasn't going to be intimidated by Hannibal Lecter. He wasn't going to let that monster back him into a corner. Not this time. He'd been through that before.
When he had almost died after he and Hannibal had taken that precipitate plunge in to the foaming waves and rocks beneath them, he knew that Hannibal thought he had finally won, that he owned Will. But he had gotten away. He had put that scourge behind him.
And he didn't intend to let Hannibal draw him back into that world again. He wasn't going to give in to that evil, that darkness. He would keep it at bay in any way he could.
The phone kept ringing, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out, pick it up, and speak a single word. There was a coldness in the pit of his stomach, the coldness of certainty.
He was sure that it was Hannibal on the other end of that line. And he didn't want to pick up the phone to find out. He didn't want to hear that despised voice, that broken accent, the voice that would bring back all of the terror that he had worked so hard to put into the past.
But he was at work. He couldn't simply let the phone keep ringing without answering, or he wouldn't be doing the job that he was paid to do. He had to answer.
And besides, it might be John calling him.
The thought made Will brighten; for all he knew, John had looked up the bookshop's number in the phone book and decided to call. It was a definite possibility.
"Hello?" His voice was light and airy when he answered the phone, but there was no answering voice on the other end. There was only silence, as though whoever had called had given up hope of getting an answer and hung up already. Then, he heard the resounding click.
A cold chill raced down his spine, followed by another, and yet another. That hadn't been John. He was sure of it. And it hadn't simply been a customer inquiry.
It had been his greatest enemy, trying to track him down. And succeeding.
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