Rated M because of some explicit slash scenes, some mentions of hetero-sex, mild language, and canon-typical violence. If you need more specific warnings, feel free to ask me in a private message to send those to you personally before you read the story.

Thanks so much to NykyrianKiara and Jennyyu73 for the wonderful betawork, and to I heart Reid 23 and Nnoitra-Szayel for their help.

Chapter 1: The Plan

The doors are closing behind Jack Crawford, each with a loud bang, as he walks through the corridors of the institute with determined steps. The air is filled with the foul, pungent odor of medicines. An eerie, uncontrollable laughter echoes through the place, sifting from a distant, locked room.

He turns to the left at the end of the passage and enters a room not different from an interrogation chamber at a police station. He chooses the chair opposite the door, although all available seating options seem equally inconvenient with the cold iron racks holding the uninviting, cracked wooden pieces together.

Crawford sits down with a resigned sigh. He wonders how long it may take for the guards to escort Will here from his cell. Maybe he should have bought a cup of coffee from the black, glossy snack machine by the entrance of the building.

Jack did not visit Graham in the last few weeks because he hates to see the man in chains with the lifeless, unnaturally sedated look in his eyes. He is not very pleased by the fact that he is here today, but he had to come to talk to Will.

His gut keeps telling him that something is not quite right.

Will is back to his senses and perfectly lucid – that's what Jack read in the reports of Will's attending psychiatrists. He takes his medicines, and doesn't even have fever anymore; he hasn't been delusional for more than two weeks now, according to his doctors' expert opinions, and Graham still hangs on to that poor story about being framed by Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

At first, it seemed utterly ridiculous. Jack didn't believe a word of it. But as time passed, and Will was being insistent as ever, Crawford started to feel uncomfortable about the theory.

He knows Will, and he has always believed him to be a decent, trustworthy man. Will might have many weaknesses and negative traits in his personality, but Jack is sure that being a heartless, calculating murderer is not one of them. It is a thought he simply cannot accept. Graham could have committed those crimes while being the captive of the massacres of his nightmarish hallucinations, but since his head has been clear for weeks now, and yet he still rehearses his initial version about the happenings... Well, that is a definite sign that Jack should have second thoughts about the story and should try to entertain the baffling possibility that it might be true. That's the reason he came to visit Will today. He decided to help him.

The door opens, and the guards push Will Graham inside.

The young man seems skinnier than the last time Crawford saw him, and there are black-and-blue, round marks on his lower arms at the places where the hastily working, disregardful nurses tend to inject medicine under his pale skin. His curly hair is matted, his hospital clothes are worn.

Jack has to make an effort to hide the commiserative look from his face.

Will's chains silently jingle as he sits down on the opposite chair by the other side of the table. Crawford mumbles a greeting which is not returned.

"I'm sorry I could not visit you lately, but Bella was not feeling well, so I had to help her with the housework. I also had tons of reports to read over in my office," Jack starts the conversation with a miserable, see-through apology. He regrets it the moment he says it, but it's too late to take it back.

"It's okay," Will answers apathetically, keeping his eyes on the shiny, metallic surface of the table. "I'm not much of a company as you can probably see."

Awkward silence falls onto the room for a long while.

"I spent my last three days pondering over every possibility on how I could help you," Crawford says, then wants to pull the corners of his mouth into a friendly smile, but fails. "There is not much we can try. You need to understand that officially, there is nothing I can do for you. The investigation has reached a dead-end. All the evidence we collected points towards you."

"So, it's over. I will rot here in a cell like a criminally insane serial killer." Will's words are full of bitterness, but he doesn't seem surprised. "Is that why you came here? To tell me to accept my situation and rest in peace?"

"No." Jack's voice becomes encouraging. "I do believe that you are innocent, and I'll try to help you, but we need proof. And..." He pauses, seems to gather his thoughts, and then continues, "Firstly, I have to tell you that anything I might say to you from now on is strictly off the record. It's just... you know, like it has never happened, like I've never said anything..."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Will wearily nods.

"Very well. It's about your accusations against Doctor Lecter. Do you truly believe that he is the one behind this? That he is the copycat killer, trying to frame you?" Crawford leans closer to the younger man with an inquiring look on his face. He tries to find out from the sad emptiness in Will's blue eyes whether the probable answer would be an earnest one or a delusional supposition.

"It's not just a belief," Will hisses. He obviously became tired of the constant reiterations of his theory which is taken seriously by absolutely no one. "I know it."

"I visited him yesterday," Jack answers slowly. "It was a dinner party, and there were five other guests attending as well. I had the opportunity to look around a bit unnoticed, while the doctor was in the kitchen, and I can assure you I saw nothing suspicious."

"Did you expect him to keep cut-off bloody fingers in his cupboard or what?" Will murmurs mockingly.

"When I talk to him, I can't catch anything in his words that might prove that he is up to no good. If he is a serial killer, then he indeed hides his true face well. I can't get to him." Crawford rubs his broad forehead. "There is only one way. You are the person that earned the doctor's trust once. You were almost like a friend to him. You need to convince him to trust you again, and you need to acquire some evidence from him that could change the direction of the investigation towards him. If you are able to come by even a tiny piece of proof, I'll help you get it to a lab, have it processed, and do everything in my power to free you from here with the results."

Will shrugs ruefully. "He would never trust me. He fully realizes that I know the truth and what my opinion is about him. I can't just start to pretend to be his friend again as if nothing had happened."

"I suppose you are right," Jack replies with a slight frown on his forehead. "You can't convince him about your good intention towards him as a friend, that's apparent. Friendship is too much of a pure and mutual relationship to be credible in your situation."

"What else are you insinuating, then?"

"Maybe, we should consider a more complex and less calculable method." Jack cautiously weighs every word he utters.

"What?" Will looks up at him uncomprehendingly.

Crawford clears his throat. He doesn't like that he has to speak out. "Perhaps," he hems again, "you should show him some signs of a deeper fondness for him."

At first, Will gapes at the older man, taken aback. "What the hell...?" he groans then, catching the meaning of Jack's suggestion.

"I know that it sounds odd, but I think that pretending to be in love with the doctor would be the best way for you to make him let his guards down," Crawford explains with a brooding look on his face.

"You... your idea..." Will stutters, quite astonished.

"It's the only option if we want to prove your innocence."

"You can't call it an option." The younger man finally gets his voice back and speaks sharply, rapidly. "I absolutely object to this idea. And even if I agreed, there would be no chance of success. I haven't been good at showing my affection towards those that I feel something for. How do you expect me to pretend to be in love with a serial killer whom I never considered more than a friend even when my attitude about him was at its best? And now..."

"I see that it's not easy," Jack interrupts, "But there isn't anything else I can think of. You have to admit that my idea might eventually work."

"No, it can't, it wouldn't!" Will protests vehemently. "Doctor Lecter would never fall for a weak attempt of deception like this."

"He'd have no reason to suspect that it's a lie."

"Why? Because I look exactly like a lunatic overwhelmed with pathetic longing for a sadistic psychiatrist?" A mirthless smile appears on Will's face.

"It's not what I meant. What I think is that Doctor Lecter knows you, so he knows perfectly well that you are honest and straightforward, and that you have some difficulties with emotions and personal relationships. He would never expect you to be able to fake love for him."

"Do you understand what you are suggesting?" Will snaps. "You want me to act as a prostitute for serving the best interests of the FBI in catching a serial killer."

"Well, it's a harsh way of phrasing it." Jack looks away. The gesture makes obvious that he has already realized what his idea means. "It's not about the achievements of the FBI. It's about regaining your freedom and your life."

"I can't believe that you are trying to persuade me to do something like that." Will leans back on his chair and folds his hands. His chains give a sharp clank. "You can't really think that your sick plan will actually work. And even if you believe that it will, you should hire a professional instead of trying to talk me into."

"You are the only person Doctor Lecter has any interest in."

"But not in the way you suggest!"

"How can you be so sure? Have you ever talked to him about the possibility of a romantic affiliation between the two of you?"

Crawford's question seems to catch Will unsuspectingly.

"No, of course not! Are you completely out of your mind? He used to be the only friend I ever believed to have, and, yes, we had a connection, or at least I thought we had had, but nothing like the one you are talking about. I even told him about my relationship to Alana, and he tried to help me understand my feelings for her."

Jack starts to patter with his fingers on the slab of the desk. "Do you have any other plan how to solve the situation?" he asks impatiently.

"No, but–"

"What's there to lose, then? I'm certain that if you can make Doctor Lecter believe that you are in love with him, he will trust you, even though he doesn't return the feeling."

Will nervously clenches his fists. "This is the worst idea ever."

"Alright," Jack gets up from his chair. "I'll give you a week to think my suggestion over. We will talk about the details next Tuesday."

"We don't need to talk about it again. My answer is a definite no."

"Just think about it." Crawford walks towards the door, pretending that he did not see Will feverishly shake his head with disapproval.