Chapter Text
Awed silence filled the room, spreading through the air like a thick, sour mist.
Will wished that no one ever existed during these moments to bear witness to them. The last thing he needed was an audience during a time like this. He always knew it was coming, just never the exact time, or the exact location.
And there it was, glaring at him from where it sat on his desk in his lecture hall, far too big to ignore.
A basket of flowers.
Each one was white, with fiery pink insides. The arrangement was at least two feet wide, contained within a white basket with a pretty little pale blue bow. Tied to the bow was one very small tag, a thing that seemed to be glaring daggers into Will’s very soul.
Dr. Graham.
Will scowled at it.
He was well aware of the sour look on his face, one that matched the air of the room (at least, in accordance with how he felt). This time, the tag only said his name. Other times it would be something far more dramatic. “Beloved”, “Darling”, “ Bellissimo ”.
All things he had lost the right to call him.
“Do you, uh…” a voice said behind him. “Do you think they got the wrong one?”
Will sneered at that, instantly increasing the tension in the room. The wrong Dr. Graham , Price was referring to.
“No,” Will said, his voice low and taut. “No, they did not.”
"Definitely not," Zeller pointed out unhelpfully. "Those are, uh…those are sweet williams. I don't think you give those to anyone not named–"
"Yes, we get it," Will interrupted.
The trio from the crime lab stood behind him, gawking at the display. He remained ever rigid, his displeasure written on every part of him.
My classroom , he thought. My fucking classroom this time.
“What I wouldn’t give to have someone to give me something like that,” Bev joked behind him, clearly attempting to lighten the mood.
Will wasn’t in the mood in the slightest.
He stepped forward, ripping the tag off of the basket and scooping it up, pushing it in her direction.
“Take it,” he said, as though it were an offer. His tone made it abundantly clear that it was anything but. “It’s just taking up space.”
If the three weren’t slack-jawed before, they definitely were now.
“Will,” she protested, “are you sure you don’t wanna–?”
“Just get it out of here,” he hissed, far too agitated than he’d ever intended to come off towards her.
He hated still having that edge to his demeanor, especially towards the people in his life that he actually enjoyed being around. Beverly was one of them. She’d been the first friend he made after everything went down, and the last thing he wanted was for one shitty interaction to cause him to lose that.
Even if he would probably love knowing that it happened, and that he caused it.
Fortunately, Beverly was far more patient than that, the social butterfly that she was.
Before he knew it, the three were out of the room, led out by a Bev who knew Will enough to know when he just needed some breathing room.
He finally released the breath he realized he’d been holding.
Every month was like this. Every month, on the twelfth, at some point in the day, he’d receive some gigantic display such as this. Usually at his home, occasionally in the office he never used. Usually it was flowers, ones that he knew Will loved. Or at least, ones Will used to love until he was receiving them monthly as a reminder of him .
Every month, right on the day that they first met.
He grabbed the papers on his desk, not caring if they crinkled as a result, and shoved them into his briefcase. He really wasn’t in the mood to be forced to ponder the past once again.
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He’d barely been home for an hour when an all too familiar car began its slow pull into his driveway.
She exited her vehicle, the hounds all descending upon her at once, happy to see the girl that they loved so much return to them.
Will sighed from inside the house, rubbing at his face and disturbing his glasses in the process.
His day was about to get far worse, and he hated thinking that about her.
He opened the door as she finally began to approach. She noticed, smiling his way as though it was the most normal interaction in the world.
“Hey, dad,” Abigail greeted.
He gave nothing more than a nod, allowing her to come in alongside the dogs before shutting the door once again.
Without much further conversation they were in his kitchen, him using an old Keurig to brew them both some coffee. She sat patiently at the table, drumming a rhythm onto its surface with her fingertips.
She seemed to look a bit older every time he saw her, which admittedly wasn’t as frequently as he should. About once a month nowadays, and always because she drove to see him. He hated that he longed for it to be zero, if for nothing but to keep peace.
Just like her other father, her timing was always rather convenient .
Her hair was cut a bit shorter than before. She wore a light grey long-sleeved shirt with blue jeans, accompanied by a navy blue vest. Will’s eye twitched. She must have truly thought he was stupid if she thought he couldn’t see the blatant attempt to recreate his own taste.
Or perhaps she had gained it naturally. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
The timing always threw him off, turned his thoughts as bitter as the coffee he’d brew for himself. He always remembered her preference, though, and made hers accordingly. No cream either, unlike her other father, but two spoonfuls of sugar, exactly like him.
It was the only time that sugar ever got used. Yet he kept it around, didn’t he?
And then, apparently deciding that the peace wasn’t what she wanted to keep between them, she opened her mouth.
“Did you get his flowers?”
He stopped stirring her coffee, throwing his head up in exasperation.
“Abigail.”
“What?”
“Knock it off.”
She blinked, almost looking offended. “I was just asking if–”
“Abigail, your habit of feigning innocence may have worked when you were seventeen, but you’re not anymore, are you?”
All at once, she deflated. It sent an ache through his chest, but so did hearing from her person suit instead of her.
And then, much like himself, her disheartenment shifted into mild agitation.
“No,” she admitted. “No, I’m not.”
He finally approached the table, handing her the cup that had the sugar stirred in, sitting across from her with his own cup. They didn’t speak for another minute or so, before she finally piped up once more.
“You still have your glasses on.”
“I know.”
“You get pissed at my mask but keep yours on.”
He huffed then, taking off his glasses and putting them beside him on the table. He couldn’t exactly argue with her sentiment, nor did he exactly want to.
But now they were looking each other in the eye. Seeing into one another, reading true intentions.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he found himself saying.
“You don’t want me here?” she countered.
“That’s not–” He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. He also couldn’t argue with how he sounded. He hated how easily she could make herself difficult to argue with.
Just like her father.
“Your timing is always rather convenient,” he said at last, looking at her once again.
“Yeah, I know,” she replied, no longer attempting to hide anything. He appreciated it as much as it made his stomach turn.
“You always ask about the way I am with you,” Will began. “You always wonder why it’s not like before. And yet here you are, showing up on the same day he makes himself known. Tag-teaming.”
She swallowed, clearly not liking that response. “Have you ever considered,” she said back, “that the same day he has you think of us is the day I think of you? I get reminded of you just as much as you get reminded of us.”
The corner of Will’s mouth twitched, threatening to scowl. He refused to allow it to. “This isn’t about ‘us’, Abigail. You’re not in his game unless he wants you to be.”
Something flashed across her eyes, a visible byproduct of both fathers.
“When you started doubting him, and you started doubting yourself, you didn’t have to doubt me , too.”
The reply shot straight to his stomach, stabbing into his insides and twisting them around the blade. Even so, she wasn’t entirely correct.
“You two make a better team than you realize,” he said, ignoring that audible pain laced his words. “Your ability to plot together without so much as saying a word to each other is unmatched, even by–” He swallowed. “Even by him and I.”
She stared at him, her look not quite angry, not quite sad, but stern.
Determined.
“Then why not kick me out?” she asked at last. The challenge was in her eyes. A dare .
His jaw worked, tears at last beginning to prick in his eyes. The weight of these days always hung heavy on him, and Abigail always seemed to know the exact buttons to push.
Just. Like. Her father.
“Because…somehow, after everything, you’re still very intent on being my daughter,” he replied.
Her shoulders sagged slightly. Even so, she understood.
She was always the one coming to see him, staying a night or two before leaving once more. Spending that first meeting with them both holding the daggers of the past at each other’s throats before she would try her best to put a balm over their wounds, allowing them some semblance of the peace that existed before.
She really was just like her father, and it scared the shit out of him.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
It was Will who made the choice to leave, leaving Abigail with her only influence being him . It was a flurry of different angles, different faces of the same shape, to look back on how things were, and how everything made him feel. To see the gradual shift from when he first knew of her true position in his life. Her shift from complacency to action.
There were plenty of times he longed to go back, but he knew exactly what that would entail.
He would endure the pain of provocation as long as was necessary if it meant not living with that man.
But the reality was, if she had so chosen it, that if Abigail were to back off for good, Will would let her. He would let her remain with the father she’s better suited with, let her have her bitterness towards him for not joining them.
Bitterness was all the Graham family had left.
He hated that they could still be called that.
For now, they sat with their coffee and their memories and their silence, soon to be broken when she would inevitably beckon him to act like a father once again, even just for the weekend.
And he would comply, just as he always did.
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Will trudged into the building, bags under his eyes. He had hoped Abigail wouldn’t notice, but of course, she had. She always did. And she always had to point them out, looking for some way to pass on her other father’s advice.
And Will ignored her, as he always did when she’d start with that. They both knew why. She went on anyway, until he had to leave for work.
He was just setting up in his lecture hall, hoping to steady himself with familiarity. He knew this room, he knew his desk, and he knew the case he was presenting on.
And he knew the man entering the room.
Will looked up, Jack’s eyes blocked out by the tops of the frames of his glasses. Abigail had let out a soft snort when she saw him picking them up to wear them to work. This was why, and she knew it.
“Dr. Graham,” Jack greeted, smiling. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not that long,” Will countered, his jaw setting. “Last time you came in here, you needed me on a case.”
“Last time I came in here, you were just as quick to get to the point,” Jack replied. He didn’t seem annoyed with it at all, if anything he sounded relieved that he wouldn’t have to face small talk before getting to the only thing he would care about in the following weeks: the case.
“What do you have for me?” Will asked.
“Several missing kids whose families are dropping like flies,” Jack replied.
Will’s brow furrowed, but he nodded anyway.
As far as Jack knew, Will didn’t have a family. Some vague mentions of his father from years past, but that was about it. Will’s home life hadn’t interacted with his work at all, actually, so when it fractured, his work did not.
Until today.
“I would’ve contacted you over the phone,” Jack said, “but there seemed to be a bit of a mix up. Turns out there’s two Dr. Grahams in the area.”
Will’s jaw set.
God, can anyone just shut up about it? Do they not think the joke has been made thousands of times already?
“I’m well aware,” Will said, just barely biting back a sour expression.
“Oh, good,” Jack said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Because it turns out we could use you both.”
Will froze.
He didn’t look up. He didn’t move or breathe, allowing the information to process, to swell in his mind before sinking rapidly to his gut. His nerves grew fuzzy in his insides.
“You want me to work with him?” Will spat, looking up at him at last with nothing short of a glare.
Jack, now thoroughly confused, blinked. “Well…ideally, yes. You’d both prove very valuable to this particular case. Is there a problem?”
“A problem?” Will repeated mockingly, his throat letting out a short, bitter laugh before he could prevent it. “Yes, I have a problem . I’m not working with my ex-husband.”
It was Jack’s turn to freeze, the situation at hand slowly catching up to his mind, the shock in his eyes fading into a brand of remorse.
“Separated.”
Will’s head jerked, his now wide eyes meeting the figure that loomed in the doorway of the lecture hall without him having noticed it enter at all. His heart hammered in his chest, anxiety spilling throughout his being like acidic bile.
“If you’re going to air out our dirty laundry, Will,” Hannibal said all too calmly, “I would prefer the information be accurate.”