Chapter Text
The murders were fresh. Even without the crimson spattered on the walls and pooling on the floor Will would have recognized them, that buzzing jolt only the violently dead left behind.
Alone within a tumult of activity, Will stood, placidly considering the staircase. He closed his eyes and a pendulum swung in his mind, dismantling the mental forts he kept between himself and the places where the living weren't often welcome. His fingers curled around a length of old, frayed rope within his jacket.
When he opened his inner eyes the scene had changed. Gone were the police and the bodies; in their place, Mrs. Theresa Marlow stood before Will. Her husband's form was indistinct, here and then gone, hovering near the stairwell like static caught in the air.
Will focused on Mrs. Marlow, approaching her and speaking in an even tone. "Do you remember what happened here?" Winston heeled at his side, alert.
"Who are you?" Mrs. Marlow demanded. Her voice belied her calm, which was ironic considering she didn't actually have vocal cords anymore. "How did you get in?"
"I need you to concentrate," Will evaded. "A man broke into your house. Your husband was shot," he continued steadily. Mrs. Marlow flinched, her translucent skin blanching as she backed a step away. "You tried to contact the security company but you were in shock. How did the man convince you to give your password? What did he look like?"
"I don't—I can't..." Mrs. Marlow shook her head, again and again. Her image began to lose coherency.
Cursing himself, Will reached out, hesitated, and then plunged his hand into the spirit's chest. Gooseflesh broke out along his arms before he jerked free, shivering and shaking out his hand to clear the pins and needles. Winston had his ears back, disapproving, but Will ignored the dog's censure. He couldn't lose Mrs. Marlow yet.
Will could no longer see the wall through Mrs. Marlow and her skin had taken on a healthy tint that was a mockery of her living form. She stared at him in shock. "What did you just do? I feel..."
"I'm in a hurry," Will interrupted, clenching his hand and relieved when sensation returned quickly. "Do you remember what I asked?"
She did.
--
Click. Will lowered his remote, staring up at his students without meeting eyes. "Mrs. Marlow was a recent spirit, found within a day. Even so, she wouldn't normally have the strength to stick around. It was her killer's design, keeping her alive and aware of her impending death, that lead to his capture." Behind him, Mrs. Marlow's body filled the screen, blood fanned out around her head. "Why do you believe Mrs. Marlow needed to die? Tell me your design."
His students stirred as the lights came on. As usual, they murmured to each other, wondering if it was a day he'd accept questions. It wasn't. He'd weeded out the skeptics from his class within the first week, but even the sensitives were trying on his best days and most of his class was just the curious or hopeful, thinking maybe they could learn to do what he did if they put in the effort or took enough notes.
People didn't like to accept that some things just weren't possible for everyone. He thought it might have something to do with the American dream.
A prickle up Will's spine brought his attention around from the papers he'd been packing away and he frowned. The living weren't Will's specialty but even he could recognize this one. Jack Crawford had a hungry, forceful energy to him. Light sensitives would respond to it without thinking, trying to help him, to fit themselves into him and become part of something larger.
To Will it felt like arms pushing him somewhere he wouldn't want to go.
Jack was smiling and jovial as he shook Will's hand and introduced himself needlessly. Will didn't have the ability to forget people once he'd noticed them, and Jack had made a particular impression on Will.
Forensic ectomology was a very new, very difficult to quantify field. The skeptics had a hard time believing the results that talented sensitives could pull. It wasn't helped by the fact that outside of Will Graham those talents were touchy, unpredictable things. Difficult to analyze, impossible to reproduce.
Jack had been one of those trying to shut the field down before it could begin. He believed in the solidity of the world around him and what his own eyes could see. He was brilliant with people but Will had seen rocks with more sensitivity.
Now he was in Will's classroom—the only place in the country where you could take a course on forensic ectomology—and he was being friendly. Will's eyes made it as far as Jack's cheekbones but there was no mistaking that his instincts had been right.
Jack needed him.
--
"You don't have any bodies?" Will clarified, walking with Jack through Quantico. Will hadn't invited Jack along but the larger man wasn't one to let a cold shoulder or hostile disinterest shake him off. Without really intending to Will had let Jack take the lead.
"No bodies, no parts of bodies, nothing that comes out of them," agreed Jack.
Will stopped. Jack kept going a pace, then gave him a look that indicated he'd better have a good reason for the delay.
"I need bodies, Jack," Will reminded. Weirder things had been said at the F.B.I. academy and he didn't get a stray glance from the stream of traffic. "I'm useless to you without them. Bodies or a fresh crime scene, and you don't have either."
"Well, maybe you can change that." Jack gave Will the same frustrating smile he'd seen on too many faces before. Faces that said things like, You just need to be more friendly, try harder, stop being so nervous. It put his metaphorical hackles up. "Why don't you have a look at what we've got, see what comes to you."
"I'd be wasting your time and mine."
Steel entered Jack's smile. "Let me be the judge."
Will's jaw clenched but Jack was already moving forward and Will found himself following again.
--
A very reluctant Will Graham trailed after Jack into the Nichols' residence. He'd been an officer, but without his talents he had argued to no avail that Jack could find other people more suited.
He hesitated in the doorway and Jack picked up on it, giving him a significant look. Will frowned, shook his head, but found himself searching for shadows. There was someone else here.
Will ignored the parents in the dining room: Mr. Nichols, with his talk of trains, desperate for his daughter to be alive; Mrs. Nichols, tight as a spring but trying to face her fear. Both understandable reactions. Very human.
Will asked after the cat. Cats were useful; most of them were natural sensitives. The parents hadn't noticed it, so Will passed along the insight to Jack that they were in a crime scene. He climbed the stairs, still ignoring Mr. Nichols, who had apparently joined the list of people determined to discomfit Will by imposing on his time.
The cat paused its scratching at a bedroom door to catch Will's gaze with its own cold stare and flatten its ears. He thought it might smell Winston, or, well, sense him at least. He wasn't really sure how cats worked. He had the father hold the cat, which had the benefit of keeping Mr. Nichols away from him as well.
As Will approached the room a current went through him. It was fainter than somewhere a murder had happened but still distinct. He'd pulled his crime scene gloves on as he entered the hall and he opened the door now, gazing down at a much calmer death scene than he'd have expected. He remembered that he had a living person along too late and had to hold a shouting Mr. Nichols back and send him downstairs, sparing an exasperated thought for Jack. He'd warned the man he wasn't social.
Stepping into the room and centering himself, Will closed his eyes, touched the worn rope, and imagined the pendulum.
Elise Nichols sat on the edge of the bed, wearing the simple white nightgown she'd had at her death. Clothing was interesting in the afterlife, on this in-between plane. Maybe this outfit was one of the last things in her mind when she died, or she'd hoped death was just a bad dream.
The girl met his eyes, then looked down and smiled. Winston ran to her, placing his head on her lap and lolling his tongue when she petted his spotted fur. The mutt looked immensely solid beside the young woman; Will could see the fall-colored pattern of her covers beneath her.
He kept back, not risking an accidental touch. "Elise." The girl nodded, her attention on the dog. "I need to know what you remember."
Frowning, the girl pushed long, dark hair behind her shoulder. "I'm not sure. I was on the train—I remember a girl. I made it home. There was someone by my window..." Elise ruffled Winston's floppy ears. "I'm dead, aren't I?"
"Yes," Will agreed softly.
"Are mom and dad...?"
"They're fine. So is the cat," Will added, just to be thorough. "Your mother's strong. She'll get your father through it."
Elise didn't reply.
"Who was at the window?"
"A man. He was so normal looking... a little like dad, but sort of bald. He—"
A woman stepped past Will. With some of his mental forts down she crackled with a low-level energy, the sort a mild sensitive with a lively, bright personality would have. That much living spirit rubbed against him, broke his trance.
Staggering, Will winced, suddenly aware of how dark the room was and the blue-red lights flashing against the ceiling. "You're Will Graham, aren't you?" the woman asked. Her small smile was intelligent and playful. It was hard for him to focus on her words as she mentioned his credentials. He stood, blinking and disoriented, as she asked him about his fieldwork and why the F.B.I. had rejected him. Forensic ectomology was good enough to teach but too unorthodox for a real agent, even if he'd been able to pass the battery of personality tests.
Jack's return was a relief, which said something about how Will's day had gone. Popping an Aspirin, Will related what he'd learned from Elise.
"Well?" Jack demanded. "We could have gotten that much from a basic profile. He's the standard age and hunting within his race. A middle-aged balding white guy isn't much to go on."
"I was interrupted," Will asserted, still rubbing his temple.
The room was now full of people; apparently Jack had a trio of science techs under his wing, all fluttering around the body. Will's forts had been thrown up in a hurry and kept leaking. People were appearing and disappearing, and some of the snatches of conversation he was catching didn't relate to anything in this dimension. He clutched the rope in his pocket and felt Winston's reassuring presence leaning against his leg. Beverly looked over with a distracted frown like she could almost see him.
"So we clear out the room and you go back in." Jack's voice had the tone it got when he expected to be obeyed without argument, which was most of the time.
Will shook his head wearily, eyelids fluttering as his gaze darted and he broke into an anxious sweat. "No—not that easy. I have to be... if I can't be calm, it's... bad," Will hedged.
"How bad can it be?" Jack demanded. Will wasn't playing into the neat procedure he wanted and he was taking his frustration out on Will. He heard Winston growl and he dropped to a knee, touching the dog before standing and stumbling for the door. He needed fresh air, less live energy.
"Bad," Will responded shortly. He escaped the room, feeling the prickling stares of everyone behind him—everyone, including Elise.
--
"No bodies, no parts of bodies..." - Jack, first episode of Hannibal. I tried to use as little actual dialogue as possible from the episode but I love that reply.
Title for the chapter is from the song of the same title by Imagine Dragons. Story title is from the song of the same name by Tegan and Sara. Also I'm dense and totally hadn't realized Elise Nichols was the girl it showed Abigail chatting up on the train. Damn I love this show.