A/N: So this is the last chapter. I was holding off on posting it because I wasn't happy with the ending and wanted to have an epilogue posted at the same time. I'm still not happy with the ending, and I don't have an epilogue to save face with, but I thought I'd been stalling long enough and just had to resign myself. Hopefully I will have time towards the end of the year to write an extra, small chapter, but it's best to assume I won't.

Anyway, it's been a needlessly long wait, but I hope you've enjoyed Dog Days.

Dog Days

Will felt he had been called to the principal's for not having a sick note. Even though he doubted Hannibal had tattled on him, the profiler had the distinct impression that the Jack knew that Will had blown off work the day before.

As he sat in the office, he hoped that the other man would be perceptive enough to not overly chastise him. He tried to keep the dejectedness off his face, not wanting too many questions asked about his day off, but he hoped the hangover pounding in the back of his skull was visible enough for Jack to know that he had paid for his deception.

In the very least, Will had something to distract Jack, as he had forced himself to think about the case. It had been a desperate attempt to ignore how much he liked Steve so that he could prepare himself for the worst through detachment.

He'd Imagined Steve killing him over and over and it hadn't particularly hindered his feelings for the strong man. It had, aided by Will's remaining scotch, helped numb the guilt and pain that had gripped him, and he'd been able to curl up on bed, running through the dream so much that he hadn't been able to sleep.

It was a small mercy, for as terrible as he felt that morning, hungover and tired, he had at least avoided whatever else his unconscious wanted to throw at him.

"Are you sure?" Jack asked as he looked up from the barely coherent scribbling that covered Will's copy of the case file.

"Yes. The girl drowning in his blood was an accident."

"And a failed medical student?"

"Well... Maybe not failed," Will conceded, "but he didn't finish med school. He could have, but didn't. He... He needed to learn how to perform surgery so that he could partially lift the heart out of the chest without killing the person... He needs to see the heart stop beating... And he needs to know that he's the reason why."

He trailed off, swallowing a sour taste as he remembered the contorted planes of Steve's face.

"Thank you, Will." Jack said as he filed the vandalized file away to the side. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

Will nodded, not entirely sure what Jack was referring too, but not wanting clarification. He looked at the papers scattering the desk, knowing almost instinctively that one of them would be handed off to him. Thankfully, the bigger man didn't seem to want to give him another case just yet. Perhaps having learnt from the past, he seemed to be handling Will gently and didn't want to overload him.

"I was expecting you to take two days off; Alana's taking your classes today."

"I... stayed in bed most of the day, and I... felt better. And this is important," he gestured to the file, "I thought I should get it to you as soon as possible."

Jack leant forward in his chair and spoke clearly, "Will, you should be at home. Taking care of yourself is the priority now and you need to allow yourself time to recharge."

Will, again, nodded. Although he wondered whether what Jack was saying came out of concern, fear, or Hannibal's influence. It was possible that it had been prompted by Alana, as she was the one most likely to baby him, but he liked to think that, after their talk, she would allow him the space to learn how to baby himself.

"I'd like to work on the case a little more, maybe see the body. I might be able to get something more for you, or confirm what I got from the file."

"Only if you're up to it, and you go home straight after."

"I promise."

At Jack's nod, Will tried not to spring from the chair too fast. He slung his satchel over his shoulder and went for the door, intent on seeing a murdered body and no chatty colleagues along the way.

Keeping his head down as he walked, Will tracked the familiar route to the morgue. He didn't know what he wanted to see in the bodies there, but somehow he didn't think it would necessarily relate to the case. Perhaps, he just wanted reassurance that he hadn't committed himself to being the victim so much so that the he could see himself in the draws.

He paused outside the door, hearing a heated argument regarding which movie best portrayed an accurate future, and shook his head slightly. After so many heavy, stilted conversations, having such a frivolous one, even amongst friends, seemed so alien.

Will pushed open the doors, interrupting the debate as he turned into the room and saw Price and Zeller on opposing sides of a metal bed, a cut and killed woman between them.

Although he two men had often been accused of being inappropriate and disrespectful, Will knew that it was not the case and respected their ability to bring the mundane and the palatable into their work to compartmentalise what they did. It was an enviable method that Will knew he would never be able to do himself.

"Hello," he greeted, causing them both to look up in slight shock that he'd greeted them so cordially when he usually ignored their banter in favour of the bodies.

"Hey, Will. What's up?"

"Just thought I'd..." he gestured to the woman between them, "take a look."

The two scientists looked at each other. They weren't vocalizing anything, but from the strange expressions that crossed Price's face and the furrowed brows of Zeller it would have been obvious to even the least perceptive person that they were speaking to each other.

"Sure," came the eventual answer from Price as he moved aside.

Will couldn't tell who had lost their argument, as they both seemed to have conceded something in allowing him to approach the body. He suspected that they both weren't quite sure how to deal with him since he'd been released, as they had been the ones to confirm the evidence against him, and Will hadn't really made an effort to let them know how he was with the whole thing.

Even before they had been accused him of murder, he'd never really been... friendly with them.

He realised that had It had been unfair of him to accuse Steve of not fitting in with his world when Will didn't even fit.

"H-How have you guys been going? Good?"

"Yeah," Zeller started, carefully, "We're alright, but there's nothing new on her."

"And nothing we can use to ID whoever did this."

Will nodded. "I'm sorry to hear it," he looked at the woman open on the bench, took a breath to steady himself and corrected breathily, "but actually I was asking about you both. Not work."

"Oh. Ummm... We're good!"

"Thank you for asking."

"Okay..." Will relaxed slightly, the conversation was going well. "That's good then."

"And yourself?"

"Yeah, we heard you were down with the flu."

Huffing a laugh, Will adjusted his glasses and gave them as much of a smile as he could manage. "Nothing nearly that dramatic." He took a few steps toward the victim on the table, close enough to see his reflection in her face. "Can you tell me about what you think happened?"

"Haven't you read the file?"

"Yeah," Will shrugged, removed his glasses and squinted down at the woman, "but I want to hear it from you guys."

Will walked out of the morgue feeling as if he had accomplished more than he'd intended, even though he'd had no idea what he'd wanted to achieve when he'd entered.

It was possibly the least confused he had ever been walking away from a dead body.

He had been worried that perhaps he had been so affected by his position as 'the victim' that he would be unable to see anything but himself in the corpse. Looking down at her, he hadn't known what he would see; whether he would be her killer or whether she would have his face... or both, as he wouldn't put it past himself.

He hadn't.

Perhaps it had been because, after talking with the two men in the lab, he felt as if he'd put something to rest and Will made a note to talk to them in a more friendly way more often.

Maybe he could have a healthier relationship with Steve if the kind soldier was not the only stable, human presence in his life.

"Oooff."

Will tumbled backwards. He'd been searching in his bag for the bottle of water he'd bought and stashed there, needing it to dull the hangover's headache, but had collided with someone while his head had been down. He landed heavily on the ground as a few things spilled out of the bag, including the plastic bottle he had been making a grab for.

A pair of heals appeared in his vision, and their owner picked up his water bottle before he could recover.

"Should watch where you're going."

"Yeah, sorry."

He accepted Beverly's hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet.

"Glad to see you're staying hydrated," she pointedly didn't smirk, "since you're not feeling well."

"Yes, well... Yeah." Will accepted the water bottle back, giving her a sheepish smile as he unscrewed the top and took a mouthful. As he lowered and swallowed, he gave the smirk that she wouldn't. "The beer and scotch probably didn't help."

She chuckled, "no doubt."

Will looked up at her, appreciating the deliberately muted concern. He knew that she had worried about him when he had been gaoled, but after being released there hadn't been any sort of tension; she hadn't babied him or tried to avoid him.

It was nice.

"Beverly, are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

She blinked and frowned slightly. "Nothing," she explained, "do you want to do something?"

The confusion and surprise in her voice was tapered, but noticeable.

"I'm having dinner with a friend, but we're both supposed to bring someone so it isn't... so it's more casual." He shrugged, trying to hide not only how much the dinner meant, but also the significance of him asking her.

She was, he knew, the closest thing he had to a friend. Will wasn't sure he had any close friends besides, perhaps, Steve, but Beverly's friendship had been consistent before and after he'd been accused of murder, which he was very thankful for.

Although he wanted her to know how much he appreciated it, Will didn't want to seem desperate to try and replace Hannibal's companionship.

"...'So it isn't' what?" she asked with a half-smile, as if she already knew.

Will steeled himself, deciding that if anyone wouldn't make fun of him for what he was feeling, it would be Beverly.

"So it wouldn't be as if he and I were on a date."

She tilted her head and took in his face for a moment. For someone who analysed crime scenes she seemed to do an excellent job with people too.

"Which of you didn't want it to be a date; you or him?"

Will gave a bitter huff of a laugh. "Both and neither... I think..." he looked down at the ground, his head throbbing as his throat and chest seemed to close as he voiced something he didn't particularly want to admit, "I think I've screw it up."

Beverly shook her head, gripping at Will's arm in an effort to console him without being overbearing.

"So for this dinner, do you want me to be your wingman? Try and talk you up for this guy?"

"I want you to be you... and maybe try to fill in any awkward silences."

"I can do that." She moved past him and towards the lab, calling over her should "but before dinner, you have to tell me all about him."

They had all come to the agreement that dinner at a restaurant, as Steve and Will had attempted previously, would be slightly too awkward and had instead decided on an upscale bar. Will had arrived earlier with Beverly so that he could relax into the surroundings before the other arrived.

The two of them had seated themselves at the booked table with a beer and Will had started to explain how he had met Peggy and then Steve. He didn't go into the harder parts of it and was keeping it fairly simple in regards to them getting to know each other and Steve accepting Will's convoluted past. It seemed like such an ordinary story that he worried it was boring Beverly.

However, she seemed to be interested. She had asked questions about Peggy and Steve, whether she was well behaved, what Steve looked like and whether Will had met any of his friends.

She also seemed genuinely excited for him to have met someone, which convinced Will that he had asked the best person to come to dinner with him.

"You hadn't told Hannibal?" she intersected his story, not surprise in her voice as much as curiosity.

"No. I didn't want..." Will frowned, "I was having trouble with the case, and I was worried that maybe Hannibal would say it was a bad idea to be with anyone so soon after getting out."

"Why would it matter if he did? You didn't like Steve enough to make that decision on your own?"

"I think Steve was the reason I was having trouble getting into the mind of a killer. I couldn't stop being me, I couldn't imagine myself as the killer, because I was too happy being me."

"There's nothing wrong with being happy, Will."

"There is if it means people die."

Beverly shook her head, "Your being happy doesn't cause people to die. It just means you have to catch killers the same way as us mere mortals."

Will shook his head, agreeing to some degree. It was part of his identity and as much as she seemed to understand that, it didn't seem as if she knew how much it meant to him. He supposed that he had fought it so much, almost as much as it fought him, it would be easy for people to misunderstand.

"Maybe."

"After everything that's happened to you, wanting something better doesn't make you selfish." She gave him a soft punch in the arm, "It's about time you put yourself first." Her gaze drifted over his shoulder and she gave a small smile. "Is that him?"

"Errr." Will looked over at the door as she waved Steve and Natasha over. "Yeah, that's Steve"

"Nice."

Will ordered an entrée for his main course, as his stomach was in knots trying to figure something to talk about that was banal enough for company but didn't seem as if he was being cold and shutting Steve out.

He had hoped that Steve would be bringing Clint with him, as Will had gotten along with the other man during their limited interactions. He didn't feel comfortable with Natasha, as he couldn't gleam from her practiced facial expressions. It was clear that she had been trained well and from a very young age and Will avoided her gaze from the other side of the table, unsure about how to be around her.

Beverly seemed to be doing most of the talking, telling some of the less grisly stories about her work. She held both Steve and Natasha's attention enough that it wasn't overly important if Will was focusing more on the drinks list than the people at his table.

Although, the profiling consultant had noticed that, while Natasha seemed interested and okay with the topic of crimes scenes and murders, Steve looked concerned and often glanced over at Will, trying to see what the profiler's reaction was to the stories.

However, Will didn't know whether Steve was waiting for Will to contribute to his perspective, or making sure he wouldn't become upset by them.

Or perhaps it was something else entirely as, while Will thought he usually had an accurate read on Steve, he was being particularly reserved at that dinner.

Will worried that it may have been because of the uncertainty of the relationship and the confused state he had been in several days before, rather than anything to do with the dinner and company.

He gently nudged Steve's leg under the table and sent him an inquisitive frown.

Steve smiled slightly and shook his head to tell Will not to worry.

"I want to inspect which vodkas they have before I risk ordering a cocktail," Natasha smiled carefully at Beverly, "Would you like to join me?"

"Sure."

The forensic investigator stood, smoothing her dress down before she stepped away from the table.

Steve had complimented Beverly in it when they had arrived and it had made Will feel slightly embarrassed that he hadn't noticed, even though she didn't seem to mind or read anything into it. He had been so appreciative that she had even come that he hadn't noticed that she had put in the effort for him.

"Will?"

He blinked, and looked away from the two women. "Yeah, sorry, what?"

"I know you don't really like crowds and this kind of thing, but is it okay? Are you okay?"

"I'm... fine." He sounded far more surprised than he'd intended. "A little confused about what we should be doing, but I'm okay, I think. What about you? You looked... like you wanted something from me, but I'm not sure what."

Steve shook his head and smiled slightly. "There's a lot I want from you, Will, but I'll be happy with whatever you're willing to give me." His smile faded slightly, "Why didn't you tell me about the kind of stuff you have to deal with at work?"

"I did."

"You made it sound like people being stabbed or shot, not skin angels and totem poles."

Will winced, but wasn't upset at Beverly for bringing it up at the table. It was true he hadn't gone into details about the kinds of things he did and he knew Steve probably assumed it was less macabre, but he didn't see why this misunderstanding would upset him.

"Why is it important?"

"It's not, I suppose." He picked up his fork and started fiddling with it, "I just feel as if I've not really understood what it is you do. And I encouraged you to go back to it."

"You just stated what I already knew; that I need to help people in order to be myself, even if it means losing sight of who that is for a while." He wanted to touch Steve, maybe to remind him that they could connect as equals instead of being treated like delicate glass then needs to be protected. "Even if you hadn't I would have gone back anyway, I just wouldn't have felt as happy or strong about it.

"It's okay, Steve. It's..."

"A part of you," Steve finished. He smiled, but it was pared back, as if he knew how unsettled that truth made Will. "It's just, it's not something I think I can understand. I thought I could, but this is really different to... anything else."

"That's why they think they need me. Because I'm different to everyone else. Because of... that."

Steve looked over at the two women at the bar, "But is it the same now, after the..." he dropped his voice for a moment, "hypnotism? Do you connect to it the same way, or is it hindered now, since you have a new perspective?"

Will frowned. He could tell that Steve was struggling on the edge of a concept; trying to figure something out but the realization wasn't coming. The profiler wanted to help, to give Steve clarity, but he didn't know what the other man was searching for and couldn't determine what Steve needed to hear to feel more secure.

"It's a little more difficult. I can see it, but I can't feel it. It's less, but it's better... I don't want to feel it as much as I did before."

Steve studied him for a moment, something flickering in too bright eyes.

"Is it because I'm the killer?" the word sounded flat and hollow, "in your dreams, is that why you don't want to feel?"

"I don't want to feel it because I want to be happy, Steve. That's-" Will hesitated, looking back over at the girls and seeing how far off they were , but also so he wouldn't have to look at the person opposite him. They were rebuffing a man who was hitting on them, so they would probably be returning soon unless they were in a particularly vicious mood.

"That's why I let Hannibal hypnotize me. He- I thought that maybe I was too happy being myself with you to feel myself as being the killer. I want to help people, but I don't want to stop being happy, so I'm not going to connect to it the same way I used to. Yes, it's because of you, but not because of the dream."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Beverly and Natasha chose that moment to return to the table, cocktails in hand.

"Looks like we're interrupting something serious."

"Do you want us to leave, or have we come back in the nick of time?"

Steve stood and pulled Natasha's chair out for her before she sat down, but didn't answer.

Will nodded and gave a tight almost-smile as Beverly passed over a glass of scotch she had carried over from the bar. She gave him an inquisitive look, wanting him to confirm if he wanted the dinner to continue or not. He gave her a nod and swallowed everything that had been in the neat glass.

'It's fine' he mouthed, behind a half-lowered glass.

He knew he would have to talk to Steve after dinner. They had decided to get together to try and play things more casually, but Will suspected he could never really do anything casually, especially not when he felt so strongly about something. Someone.

He was scared about how it might go, but Will realized that Beverly had been right and that it would be okay if his happiness meant he couldn't solve cases with the same efficiency as he had before. He was still a trained detective, and there was no reason for him to cling to that part of himself when loosening that grip meant he could gain something... more.

Will took a breath and resigned himself to the night by asking Natasha how she met Steve.

It was a trite topic, but Will made the decision to just enjoy the dinner for what it was and struggle through the rest of the discussion with Steve later.

Will drove Beverly home, as she claimed to have had too many drinks. She seemed happy and light, but, really, not drunk enough to warrant a chauffeur. The profiler suspected that she wanted to get him alone to talk as they had before Steve and Natasha had arrived, but all Will wanted to do was curl up at home and try to figure out what he'd wanted to get out of the dinner, and whether he'd managed to grasp it.

"Is it bad that I want to eat this now?"

Beverly was staring into the swan of leftovers she had secured.

"We just left." He pointed out.

"Would you judge me if dug in? It might stink up your car."

"Go ahead."

She peeled apart the foil wrapping with a happy noise and dug her fingers into the makeshift bowl. "So, Natasha's a complicated one. What did you think of her?"

"She's guarded," Will explained while keeping his eyes on the darkened road. "I don't know much about her, but I get the feeling she doesn't want me to."

"I like her."

Will shrugged.

"I like him too. He's seems very sweet... not at all like someone I'd have pictured you with."

"What? Someone sweet?"

"Someone clean and sunny. I always imagined you with someone more worldly; someone more like Hannibal."

Glancing over at her, Will scoffed and decided that she must have been drunker than he'd initially thought. It was true that he would never have imagined himself with someone as open as Steve, but it was possible that he hadn't seen the point of liking someone like Steve when the possibility of it being neutral was so doubtful.

Beverly was right; the man was clean and sweet. 'Sunny' was a good a word as any to describe Steve. Will was too buried into serial killers and death to come up with an appropriate adjective to accurately reflect what Will thought of the blond.

Steve and Peggy were great friends that had come into Will's life.

"Happiness suits you, Will." She stated, soberly. "I imagined you with someone like Hannibal, but I never pictured you happy there."

"I'm surprised you could picture me with anyone; I never could."

She made a humming sound to acknowledge Will's honesty as she carefully dug into the glove-box to try and find something to clean her hands off with. He kept glancing over at her, taking his eyes off the road at intervals and looking over as it seemed that she had something else to say but was finding busywork to avoid it.

Will suspected that, even though he didn't know what she was going to say, it wouldn't be anything unfamiliar to him.

During the dinner Will had watched the other three at the table chat. He asked some questions and tried to contribute to the conversation, but he had actually enjoyed being among them, listening, rather than making awkward attempts to be socially engaging. His silence had drawn Steve's attention, and he'd looked worriedly over at Will for a while until he was satisfied that the other was content.

The profiler had appreciated it.

It had been obvious to him that something needed to change since he had come back. He would have been lying if he said that he wasn't a little hurt about how quickly everyone had accepted him as a monster, but knew it was partially his own fault. Will had been locked inside his mind so much that he'd never connected enough to anyone for them to trust him, but he wanted to now.

Previously, it had seemed that opening himself up to such vulnerability would be terrifying. He was already so encompassed by others that he was afraid that allowing someone else access would be devastating.

However, since that behaviour had led everyone to feel that he could do... that he could be something so monstrous and horrific, Will was starting to feel safer letting people got to know who he was. If he showed them the extent of his darkness, they wouldn't assume it was bottomless and he could forge a safety net from the connection he made with people.

And he wanted Steve to be at the centre of that.

Will just had to try and figure out how to finally articulate himself now that he knew what he wanted.

In an ideal world Will would have gone to Steve's place. It would have been a symbolic gesture to let the other man know that he was willing to step out of his life and embrace Steve's rather than expecting anything the other way around.

However, he didn't particularly want to walk into whatever army accommodations had been set up for their super soldier. While there had been no prominent hesitation on Steve's part in regards to being attracted to the same-sex, Will didn't know if it would be appropriate to make any sort of suggestions on a military base.

There was a park close by. It was not a dog park and so Will would never have suggested it if he wasn't trying to say something with its proximity, as he didn't like the notion of an area deliberately devoid of canines. There were several soldiers running around in a morning fitness routine, but Steve would have known they'd be there when he agreed to meet and so didn't feel self-conscious on the super-soldier's behalf.

Will watched the men and few women jog on the gravel path that ran near the bench where Will sat.

"Hi," Steve approached him from the corner of Will's gaze, he crossed the small grassy area before and taking a seat next to him, letting their knees touch as he angled himself. "Are you okay? You sounded urgent on the phone; I couldn't tell if you were worried or excited."

"Both, maybe. We didn't really get to talk much after the dinner, or during it, really. I just wanted to know if you'd gotten what you wanted out of it?"

Steve glanced over towards the path Will had been watching, but didn't seem to see anything.

"I'm not sure what I wanted out of it, or how I expected it to go, but I think it did help."

"Good," Will stated with earnest, "I think it helped me to maybe figure out what I want to do as well."

"Really?" Steve hooked an elbow over the back of the bench, his eyes seemed guardedly hopeful at Will's nod. "You seemed really confused about what you were feeling... Well, what you said was really confusing and so I assume you were confused."

Will huffed a self-deprecating laugh. "I know. Sorry. I guess I just needed someone who wasn't as close to the problem to look at it. Beverly made things sound... so much simpler than it felt, but she was right. You make me happy and I don't deserve to be miserable because of the work I do. I don't want my work to be my life, it shouldn't dictate me.

"What I'm trying to say, I think, is that you deserve better. You don't deserve to be a part of my life, and I can't expect you to when even I don't deserve that life." Will brought his gaze up from where it had settle on the grass to make sure Steve was still with him. "I want my work to be my work, and I don't want you to me more of a part of that than you already are, but everything else...

"I don't have a world outside work, but I'd like to. I'd like to have you. And your world... If that's something you might want too."

Steve seemed to allow Will his speech with a moderated expression on his face and a good measure of patience. It was difficult for Will to know how much he had accepted or even understood, as the words had come out in one large chunk, stuttering slightly at the end but delivered with more confidence than he could have hoped.

Although they were visible to the soldiers on the adjacent path, Will hooked his arm over the back of the bench, as Steve had, and let his fingers brush Steve's forearm behind the wooden panels. He knew his hand was shaking and clammy from nerves, but he also knew that Steve would appreciate the gesture.

The unfolded position made Will feel even more exposed; something that was not particularly desirable given the vulnerability of his admission.

Steve, who body language always seemed so open and honest to Will, even when being shy and withdrawn with his insecurity, seemed to pull in on himself without pulling away from Will's touch.

"I care about you a lot, Will, and you're right; you should be happy. With everything you do, you do deserve something wonderful. I'm..." Steve flushed, "I'm not exactly sure why you've decided I'm... worthy of your affections, but I'm glad that you have and I'm sorry if you've ever thought I didn't want to be a part of your... part of you."

Steve sighed and closed sky blue eyes. "We've both earned a life better than what we have. You do deserve to be happy, Will, but so do I... which is why I've already accepted the job in New York."

Will's body froze; the painful thudding of his heart being the only moving part of his body.

"I'm so sorry," Steve breathed. "You're very special, Will, and special to me, but I can't stay here. I don't feel like I can help people from the army base in the way this century needs; I think I need to be with the Avengers and maybe try to find my own life away from the memories of war and you... You need to find out who you are outside of work, and I don't think I would be of any help."

"Why not?"

The blond shifted to reclaim his arm and ran a hand through his hair before folding them in his lap, settling his gaze on the clasped digits.

Will followed suit by pulling his limbs in towards himself and retreated inside the more shame-filled recesses of himself, bracing himself for an answer he didn't know how to prepare for.

"I know that you are still feeling victimised," Steve started his slow explanation, "and I don't blame you for it. Really." He reached out slightly, but rethought before he got close enough to touch Will. "I think if I stay then I'll make it worse. I don't want to presume I know what's best for you," he prefaced his explanation, "but I don't think my presence is going to help you discover who you are beyond being a victim."

"I-Is this is because of my nightmares? You being the killer?"

"Yes," the answer came with more confidence than desired, "and I'm sorry, Will, but it just really worried me... I don't like people being bullied, and I don't like being used to bully people."

Will realized he must have been frowning when Steve gave a slight sigh and seemed to both straighten and deflate at the same time. "I guess it's my turn to be confusing. It's like you're bullying yourself into staying the victim. I know that doesn't make much sense, but I don't want to be too big a part of your life if it means I overtake your work and my presence keeps you feeling victimised."

"You don't want me to dream about you like that." Will summarised, feeling as if he was being punished for something he couldn't control. "I don't want to either, but how do you know it won't get worse if you go away?"

"I don't, but if staying makes it, or anything else, worse, then I don't want to lose my feelings for you by seeing..."

"No," Will did his best to swallow, "No... I understand. It's... I understand."

"Wil-"

"It's fine."

"No it's not. I wish staying would be the best thing; I want to stay with you... I just can't. I don't feel like this is my place."

The brunet knew that Steve's last statement was the crux of the matter. The timeless soldier deserved to have a place for himself where he felt safe; somewhere he didn't feel used for his physical enhancements or good nature.

Part of him, the part of Will had been accepted as necessary for his work, his gifts, had been using Steve has a tool to keep himself in a weaker position. Even though he felt strong around Steve, safe and accepted for who he was, if not for what he did, part of him couldn't seem to accept that and had implemented him into a position he didn't deserve.

As much as Will wanted them to somehow exist in the same world, he had the suspicion that Steve was right and the only way they could accomplish equal existence was to be apart.

"I don't want you out of my life completely," he admitted.

"I don't either." Steve said quickly. "Don't think you can't contact me or visit, or ask for me to come here." he placed a hand over Will's, "I don't want you to be alone, Will."

"And if you need me..."

"I will. I promise." Steve smiled sadly, "But I would like it if you could do something else for me."

Feeling his hand twitch under Steve's, Will looked away as the warm presence remained steady against his skin. "Yes?"

"I don't want you to be alone," Steve repeated, although with a change in the undercurrent. "I can't tell you what to do, so the favour I would like for you to do is for you to consider talking to Doctor Lecter again."

"What? Why? I've already been seeing him. Jack made me."

"I'm not trying to make you, and I know you've been having sessions and let him hypnotise you, but Ithink you might feel less alone when I'm gone if you and the doctor were on the same page about things. If I can't be there to help you I'd like to know someone can, albeit in a different way. I know you feel like you can't trust him anymore, because he should have known about the brain infection, but I'd like you to try."

Will remained silent for a moment, his brain turning over a little too quickly for him to decipher any particular thought or feeling. He found himself succeeding to speak when he thought he wouldn't be able to.

"If you think you can find a place in New York then you should go. If my... trying to forgive Hannibal will make you more comfortable in doing that then I can... I will try."

He had felt his hand flinch under Steve's, but the heavier one remained strong.

"If you ever need me, if you ever want me, I'll be back as soon as I can, for as long as you need."

"You don't need to-"

"No. No, I don't need to, Will."

"Okay," He looked away, "Thank you."

"Will..."

The soft hand removed itself from its resting position and brushed against Will's jaw to guide his gaze up and into Steve's; a move which didn't meet with much resistance.

Steve's lips were warm, as always, and just as understanding and comforting as they always had been. They were tinted with sadness, but Will was sure his felt the same and as tentative and reaffirming as the contact was, he knew it was a good-bye.

"You don't have to be alone," Steve whispered when they parted, "You don't deserve to be alone."

"Do you feel as if you wanted the relationship more than he?"

"No... No, but I think, maybe I needed it more."

"Perhaps."

"Right... So does that mean you disagree or not?"

"I do not know enough about Captain Rogers's situation to create an informed opinion on that matter. However, I do believe that, although your association has ended, it shall continue to prove to be a fruitful experience for you."

"He's living in New York; I don't see how anything can continue."

"Not the relationship itself, Will, but you have grown and shall continue to acclimate to life beyond encephalitis."

"Amongst other things."

"Indeed, although I am certain all involved will regain your trust admirably."

"We'll see."

"Perhaps it was because of Captain Rodger's disassociation with that period which allowed you to trust him to the extent you did."

"Meaning I couldn't have trusted him otherwise?"

"Not at all; he seemed particularly wholesome. Merely that you were able to be someone else, someone unhindered by pervious relationship, and experiment with reinventing who you are beyond the accusations of mental instability. You may now leave that person behind and become yourself again, having used him to move on."

"Well, I definitely didn't feel like myself when I was with him, that's true. Not the me that I know, at least."

"Now you have the opportunity to regain yourself through rebuilding your work and friendships."

"It's not as if I have anything else to do with my life."

"Although I cannot say I approve of that sentiment, I cannot dispute it."

"Regardless, that's what you think I should do; throw myself into my work, again, try to trust people, again, and keep taking care of my dogs."

"Yes, Will. Without the encephalitis to either aid or hinder you, you may return to your usual life; helping the FBI, re-establishing your relationships as they were, and, indeed, taking care of your canine companions."

Associating Steve with a modern piece of technology seemed at odds with who the man was.

Not that Will's television was particularly modern; he had to buy some new digital box and install something on his roof in order to actually get broadcasts, yet it was only barely able to connect to his set.

Will had rearranged his living-room too. It seemed fitting as he'd already had his life upheaved and readjusted; that now he had to learn to let go of certain things, shift them around and refocus. Not everything in his life would be the same after being falsely incarcerated, just as it wouldn't be the same after having met, loved and let go of Steve.

Most of his furniture was pointed at the screen, rather than the semi-random positioning they had adopted before. There was still a small chair at the window, and another in a corner with a pile of papers and machinery parts, but the chance of seeing Steve meant he did most of his work with lighted images flashing across to him, the sound muted.

It had been several months since Steve had left and it seemed as though his dogs missed Peggy almost as much as Will missed the human.

The television was showing a news broadcast, a memorial for invasion of New York in a heart-warming piece about those who had helped rebuild parts of the city and extended a hand to those who required one or more.

There were mentions of the Avengers being present, Tony Stark being the main spokes-person at that time, giving a conceited interview that Will could see covered and bluffed how important the community effort was to him. There were also some distant shots of a man in a maroon shirt, although it was obvious that the person directing the camera wasn't sure how he was relevant to the celebrity.

No mention of Steve specifically, but, somehow, Will knew he was there.

It was comforting to know that his friend was doing something important in New York. It wasn't all work with The Avengers, Will knew that, but it helped people in a way Will never could. In a way that didn't require people, including himself, being hurt or victimised before he could provide some sort of aid.

He was securing life, without absorbing death like Will did with his work.

The profiler searched the background of the mundane interviews for any sign that Steve was there.

He felt slightly like a stalker, one of the thousands of fanatics who idolised one or more of The Avengers. He did have a personal connection to one of them, which at least made it feel less desperate, but it still seemed as if he were doing something he shouldn't.

Will knew it was in no small part because of Hannibal. Over the months their session had slowly become more open, with Will talking a lot more about Steve and how things had been after he'd been released. He hadn't heeded much of Hannibal's advice as it mostly concerned him letting go and moving on from the short lived companionship.

However, he wasn't ready to write off the experience as something to be solely in the past. He knew it was probably not something he should hold with much hope, but Will wasn't sure if the feeling of disillusionment came from Hannibal's desire for Will to not glamorise the experience.

Sometimes the time he had spent with Steve seemed as good as he remembered and believed it had been, but in others Will wondered whether he had indeed projected more meaning into what they had done together.

He didn't know whether he felt awkward and 'stalker-ish' with his feelings just because of Hannibal's influence, or whether he had reason to be.

The news report continued without much sign of Steve, and Will tried not to be too disappointed.

Will promised himself that he wouldn't watch the next Avengers related news report, but knew he was a liar.

He closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose from beneath his glasses for a moment, feeling the ache of the artificial light behind them. It was only for a second, but he had opted for one of the more important moments of the program, as he felt Holly's floppy ears brushing against his ankle as she nudged him with her nose.

The profiler lowered his hand and blinked as the screen came back into focus.

It wasn't Steve, but a familiar English Foxhound with her tail wagging as she snuffled around a few young boys; who were kicking a ball around while one of their parents talked to a reporter.

Will sunk back into the couch and accepted a well-earned smile.

He didn't know if he would see Steve again, whether they would both move onto lives where they grew without the other, but he wasn't ready to give up on what he'd felt. He now knew he could have a life that felt fuller and spilled beyond the darkness that he had once readily embraced, for fear of disappointing Jack, Hannibal, and the families of the victims.

Knowing that there was an alternative was a great comfort.

And knowing Steve was out there, doing good and just... being Steve, was enough to keep that comfort close.