waking dream /night·mare/ (nīt´mār)

Graham takes a slow seat when Alana goes back for the chair, only coming to rest once she's seated as well. "I guess it would," he answers lightly, before continuing to ask, "So, what was so tantalizing about your class that kept you late? You said your students were asking you questions."

Clarice patted her side with her free hand quietly out of force of habit. Being a student was not an easy thing to be when you already had two degrees under your belt, plus other training. But here she was. She had heard several things about Will Graham and his talents and she was eager to see what she had to offer him.

Crawford's name was the spark that finally beckoned the man's attention. He turned a tired gaze up from the papers scattered across his desk, and met her eyes for a moment--just a moment. Her face was familiar. Graham racks his brain for a name.

“It’s been long,” Graham answers, nearing one of the extended vertical windows and peering out the glass at the darkening sky. Leaves shudder on a breeze and it reminds him that he still has his jacket on. Leave it, he thinks. No point in getting comfortable. The subjects he and the good doctor broach in these sessions rarely leave him feeling comfortable—or comforted.

His suspicions were correct. He looked up to find Will near another window, having pushed back the curtains with his arm and stared out. Hannibal realized he hardly ever stared out those windows himself, unless he was expecting someone, even then, he’d rather stay composed at his desk rather than spy. He knew in Will’s case, he wasn’t spying. It was a distraction.

Rest. Graham muses about the word, trying to recall the last time he'd really felt rested. He spent most of his days in a daze, the highlights peaking like an iceberg out of the water, and the rest muddled beneath it. He'd teach a class, and then forget what he did after. He'd arrive home and realize he'd driven there on auto pilot. He'd find himself staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom and struggle to remember when he showered and climbed onto his mattress. A mess.

You get scared to walk home? [Graham turns the idea over in his head. Funny. He’d never seen Katz look scared before, so the thought had never occurred to him. It’s only natural that someone working closely with dead and very often mutilated corpses would be uncomfortable in the dark. He only realizes now that he had viewed her as an exception to the rule.]

No, not scared. Just aware. I prefer to be the one doing the examination, not the one being examined. [ Beverly removed her hands from her pockets to cross them over her chest. ] And maybe a little bit paranoid. [ Easy enough to admit, fear was in everyone, though the amount varied depending on the person. ]

I know the feeling. [The cadence in Graham's voice is teasing, but it's obvious he's not really making a joke. He'd become recently well acquainted with paranoia.]

“Will,” Hannibal stated, allowing a warm amusement to tinge his tone the way a touch of salt would bring the sweet from pastry. The other man was abrupt, but retiring and Hannibal had allowed him to take the adroit turn from rude into eccentric with only the mildest touch of recrimination. He understood that silence would speak louder to Will than filling the space with useless words. He’d been finishing his notes from the previous client and folded the journal on his desk, the chair rolling back silently on the rich oriental rug. As he stands, he shakes out his watch to check the time.

"I was in the neighborhood," Graham replies. What he doesn't say is that he had been waiting nearly three hours for the session to begin.

You sound like my ex. He’s a detective, very interested in the criminal mind. Personally, I’m fine with staying away from murderers. Irene Adler, good to meet you.

You know, lately I'm starting to disagree with your ex as well.

Oh... Yeah. Sure. [Graham sets down his papers, points briefly, then steps into the hallway. The machines are a little tricky to find, so he figures leading the way is better than remaining a constant calling card if the man got lost.]

Good is an understatement.

[Left alone in the lab, even for just a minute, leaves Graham with the overwhelming sense that he’d made the right choice. Maybe being alone is exactly the opposite of what he needs right now. ‘Good is an understatement’. Beverly was right—as usual. She was more perceptive than Crawford gave her credit for. When she returns, Will takes a place by her side and walks down the dim hallway and away from the dead.]

I can’t afford a hangover, not with these kind of hours. [ She glances at him and smiles. It was empty and the sound of their mismatched strides echoed through the lonely hallways.]

You get scared to walk home? [Graham turns the idea over in his head. Funny. He'd never seen Katz look scared before, so the thought had never occurred to him. It's only natural that someone working closely with dead and very often mutilated corpses would be uncomfortable in the dark. He only realizes now that he had viewed her as an exception to the rule.]