Dr. Alana Bloom stood in the entryway of Will Graham's lecture hall, careful to hover in the shadow as to not disturb his practice. It must have been practice, because his words were echoing across an empty room, chairs beckoning for someone to listen. Alana was there, of course, but she wasn't intending to interrupt. He stopped, suddenly, a wispy curl of charred chestnut hair falling in his face. Will brought his hand to his face and leaned into it, as if it offered relief. He almost looked to be shuddering, but only barely, concealing it to the magnitude of a tuning fork. The ringing was still there, an instability he could not mask; the reason she had come to talk to him.

She wanted to offer that hand he could lean into, she wanted to be there to support him, she wanted to hold him and take him away from his work. He kept going back to it and crashing deeper into ruin, and part of her, half of her, even, knew she couldn't pull him out of it. One thing she did know was that she really wanted to stay at his house that night. That she could not deny. Practically speaking, it was probably best she did not. But she could almost taste the need on his lips, and it was a need she couldn't ignore.
Sadly, Alana was a professional. Her duties often surpass her instincts.
With that, she put her toe forward, offering a click to the silence. Will looked up, shocked and a little disoriented. The screen he had been talking about was not illuminated. The chairs were vacant. The lights were off. He blinked twice and looked straight at Alana.

"You're very eloquent, Will. It's truly a shame nobody was here to hear you."
"I.. thank you. I just figured I'd go over some things before they do. It was jus- what are you doing here? It's nice to see you."
"Last night.." Alana walked up to Will, watching him shift backwards, almost bracing for his anticipated disappointment.
"I know, I'm… not good for you." He looked down, avoiding her eyes, and Alana stepped closer in response, her hand lightly brushing his chest.
"Maybe not. This work isn't either, but it still brings you consistency, doesn't it?"
"It's anything but consistent. It's a sadistic cacophony of red herrings and nightmares. But it's something I'm good at." Will inhaled deeply and adjusted his glasses. "When you have a mind that spends its waking consciousness being other minds, putting it to some use gives you some sort of…identity." He swallowed.
"Is that anything like stability?" Alana asked him, with a tint of hope, but largely laced with low expectation.
"It can be if it means you'll stay." He placed his hand over hers on his chest, but hers slipped out from under his fingers.
"You can't try to deceive yourself and feign stability at the same time. I want to stay, Will, but I can only see me making you worse."
"Alana, you'd only help, please-"
"My psychiatric interest would blanket that of my romantic interest. I want to come back when that's reversed." She leaned forward, tilted her chin up, and placed a kiss on Will Graham's cheek. His eyes watered and he pulled her in close, breathing in the clean lavender aroma of her hair.
"Okay," he whispered into her ear, and then tucked his head into her shoulder, allowing one tear to fall.

Alana took a deep breath, unintentionally collecting an unusual warmth from him, reluctantly pulling back from Will and, as she looked up, eyes flickering from his lips to his eyes, she delicately placed the back of her hand on his forehead. He almost unnoticeably flinched at the coldness of her skin on his burning flesh. Her gaze grew more concerned yet, and as to not rouse suspicion, she slowly flipped her hand back around and ran it down his cheek. He swallowed, trying to look away, sadness further overcoming him. Alana knew she should stop as she saw his pained body language. After a moment of silence, she turned and walked out, heels clicking just as startlingly loud as they had when she entered.

xx

Something was not right. It was not as if she had not noticed until now, but the air he gave off was significantly marred, fading in robustness, like a veil had been removed and the vital organs of Will's thoughts exposed themselves to every slash the world constantly offered them. For some reason, this unearthed a new realization: that Dr. Lecter should have noticed Will's distance, his discomfort, his… sickness. Be that of the mind or the body. Dr. Lecter should have done something about it, or at least alerted Jack, because if anybody cared about his well-being, it would be Hannibal, right?

What if she was wrong? What if Jack and Hannibal were pushing him equally as hard? Alana knew he was not strong enough to be thrown out there, and she knew certainly now that he had broken. Not only could she see it; she could feel it. Jack, maybe not Hannibal, at least she so dearly hoped not, treated Will like a precious piece of china, wrapping it in tin foil and arguing that a layer of strength would protect him, and turning a blind eye when he shattered. It made her sick.