ifeelwounded (ifeelwounded) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-10-28 16:56:00 |
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Alana was having a hard time before she inhabited the mind of a neurotic lesbian WASP, so after she found herself in such a strenuous position it got worse. Will was there, but before his illness took hold, and she was glad for that, so glad. Hannibal seemed confident he was in control. Abigail was there and alive, and she shed more than a few tears when she spoke with her former patient. Of course that led to an interesting conversation she'd pick apart more later on, but Alana had enough time to adjust to where she was now. She was an introspective woman, so there was time spent thinking over what the greater meaning of everything was, and how it was possible. She took on a new client, somehow, which simply fell into her lap. It was something like real life, what she was getting used to, only not exactly. Eventually she knew it was time to face Will. She was in better control of herself and not likely to scare him. If he was innocent of Abigail's death, this version of him, she never wanted Will to have to live with that horror. Alana still had to prepare herself before she showed up at his house. This was common long before things went ugly. She was very careful around Will. They were never alone in the room together, so she could keep her professional curiosity at bay. When she broke that rule, it led to tension between them, and she overthought way too much. He needed their friendship. And she needed to know he was safe and well. Alana planned on calling him beforehand, but she thought she might lose the nerve if she did. So there she was outside his door instead, wearing a simple dark blue dress with a black peacoat over it, and her hands in the pockets. The last time she came to this house, she was there for the dogs. You've faced serial killers and criminals and severely mentally damaged people. This is just Will Graham. Keep it together, Alana. She lifted her hand and knocked at the door. Will hadn’t expected anyone to show up at his door. As far as he was concerned, he was out here alone, with nobody to call on him for work or otherwise because work was on hold and nobody actually wanted to spend time with him outside of professional events, which was fine by him. He was … happy, or at least peaceful, being left alone in his house to do what worked best for him. Sure, it didn’t help clear out the nightmares or the hallucinations or the feeling that something under his feet was shifting, about to crack open and take him down with it, but … at least things weren’t getting any worse. Alana’s declaration that he was going to get horribly sick aside. Maybe he was sick. He’d always assumed he was just inherently broken in some ways, and that the little gifts that came out of it had their fair share of downsides. That was how things worked. How they’d always worked. But maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe it wasn’t normal to have to deal with this. Maybe his life wasn’t so condemned to being what it was. Maybe this would answer questions that he’d long since assumed didn’t have answers. But there were still a lot of questions - new questions - that he wanted answers for. More pressing things than his own ruinous brain. The knock at the door startled him even though the dogs had been looking up and over before it came. Will set down the book he was paging listlessly through and carefully approached the door. He glanced out one of the windows on the way, leaning to try and see who was there, and the car was familiar enough before he even got a glimpse of the figure standing there. It was why he opened the door without as much caution as he normally would have. “Dr. Bloom.” The last time she’d been here had been … the chimney was boarded up, but not fixed. Not really. “I sort of expected a call … c’mon in.” He opened the door to let her in. Just like that, Alana felt less nervous. She should have felt more nervous, considering everything, but it was natural to be at ease with Will. That was part of the problem. It was still difficult for her to see him as a danger. Right now, he wasn't one. She worried about him, and wondered if he got checked yet for his mind, but she couldn't jump right off at that point. "I know, I'm sorry. It was rude to show up." After a moment, she reluctantly added, "I wasn't sure if you'd invite me." So she showed up instead. Definitely rude. With the door open as an invite, she came in, and greeted the dogs with a warm smile and a gently offered hand. She showed more of a familiarity with them than she had before, when she showed up for the chimney. That was a memory she was still conflicted over. I don't feel like I dodged a bullet. "Alana. The doctor is not in the house right now." As if she could separate herself from that part of her. She said when it came to him, she couldn't fully. That was true now too. Almost immediately she directed her attention toward his fishing lures. They said those were covered in evidence. On that front she was skeptical ... or in denial. "It's strange how normal our houses feel. I'd say we were back home for real, if I didn't know better." It felt familiar and yet fake at the same time. "How are you?" “It’s fine. Just a little startled, that’s all.” Will shook his head at her words. If it was rude, he was the last person to try and bring it up; if she’d called he knew he probably would have put her off another few weeks, or months. Any indignation was smothered by the fact that she was there and not backing away, that she was offering a hand to his dogs instead of warily walking around them, that things were … quiet, for the moment, rather than the neverending chaos that was usually the case. Home. Yes, for once he was really, actually home, and it was enough of a comfort to put him in a relaxed frame of mind. And body. His shoulders weren’t tense and he went to clear newspapers and dog-haired blankets off another chair so she could sit down rather than starting to pace toward the windows or back to the bookshelves. “It’s real enough,” he said, setting the little pile down and gesturing for her to have a seat if she wanted. “Right now it’s real. Maybe in a couple hours it won’t be, but I’ll take what I can get. I’m all right.” A very short answer to a question that needed a much longer, more detailed one. “You? Still dealing with your whoever all right?” He didn’t broach the subject of his own brain yet. Of the sickness she’d told him he had waiting quietly under his skin, curling through the brain matter in his skull. Will had done five minutes of research on encephalitis before shutting his laptop and going to bed, which had been the worst possible plan; since then it had stayed firmly out of his range of thought through sheer willpower. "Apparently my manners were left behind in our world. Or however that works." Alana was still learning the lingo people used, or how to describe what was happening to them. She assumed he would go with avoidance if she gave him the choice, and she didn't judge him for that. She just wanted to see him for herself. He looked much better than the last time she saw him, but that wasn't saying anything. He was sick and feverish and out of control then. "That's probably the best way I've heard it described so far," she said with a genuine smile. Alana took the seat he offered and watched him, perhaps a little too closely, but she tried to relax and put them both at ease. "Real enough. I was at my house, and everything is exactly where it should be. I keep expecting something to feel wrong." Her office was the same way. She felt real. They weren't ready to approach his mental illness yet, she could see that in his body language, and Alana was fine with building that way. It was her fault for jumping so quickly to the end before she knew where he was. "Yes, she's very easy to get along with." She smiled wryly and ran a hand through her hair. "I might have gotten off on the wrong foot by offering unsolicited life advice. I usually have more tact than I've shown since coming here." That went doubly true for dealing with him. Real enough. It was a hard phrase to swallow, even if a few days earlier he’d have used it himself. The situation was too bizarre not to be real, so it had to be, mostly because if it wasn’t and somehow that turned out to mean he wasn’t there was going to be some real difficulty for Will, diseased brain or not. He didn’t think about it. There had to be some pillar of stability in his life, and he was going to cling onto the comfort that he was absolutely real like it was the only thing left in the world. “Advising people’s what you do, isn’t it?” Will said, sitting down in his chair again and looking slightly to the right of Alana, eyes fixing on the chipped paint on the wall past her shoulder. He needed to get that fixed. Along with half the house’s exterior. It might be a good project to start on now, while he had time. “None of us are at our best right now, so that’s still pretty tactful. You two talk much?” There was still silence in his own head, and Will wondered if it was the normal kind or if the second pair of ears and eyes had turned away to give him some privacy. Did he need it right now? This was just two friends talking … One of the dogs put its head on his lap suddenly, tail wagging a little, hoping for food in light of a visitor. He ignored the begging eyes and rested his hand on its head instead. Dogs were simple. They didn’t need to be understood, they just … were. He didn’t have to try and think like them to realize what they were going to do next. And if there was ever a problem, they were there to wake him up in the middle of the night. The things that made her feel real all existed here. She breathed, she talked, she had a home and a life, her mind worked the same as ever. If there wasn't that other voice, or the strange door leading to an unknown hotel, or the certainty she was an 'Alter,' Alana would be able to move on. But she was self-aware and quick to question herself, her motives, her surroundings. So as much as this was real, her analytical mind pointed out to her easily enough it wasn't, not truly. She was aware that like others on the journals, they might have 'material.' Her very first day someone brought up knowing Hannibal, and not because they knew him personally. Her curiosity might some day get the best of her, and she had a sinking feeling she would not like what she saw. But right now, right here, she was existing, and so was Will. It had to be enough. "It is what I do, but I usually try to wait for people to ask. Or offer up the information themselves." Alana knew more about Anna than the other woman was comfortable with. Not all her secrets, she kept a respectful distance, but it was an intrusion. "I wouldn't say much, no, but she's a doctor as well. Medical, not psychological." They had an understanding and mutual desire for helping others. When Alana asked to go through the door, Anna accepted it and whatever she did there. It worked, so far. "Do you know yours?" He had it longer than she did. She wondered what it would be like, to share a mind with Will Graham. That type of thinking was why she tried to be careful around him. Being interested in someone was a healthy step from being fascinated by them. Alana smiled when she saw the dog. It said so much about a person, how they dealt with animals. She couldn't imagine a man as gentle as Will being violent enough to kill Abigail. Sick enough, yes, but not violent. "Did you think about what I said?" It was a soft way to start. A medical doctor. Someone not entirely familiar with what was going on, maybe who didn’t understand a damn thing, but who was accepting it and going with it and letting Alana through so she could live her life and Will could talk to her. Not a crazy person. Will’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he rubbed the dog behind its ears. Not someone who judged … probably. Who listened? Almost certainly, but that was a risk they had to take, now. And if Alana was all right with her, then it wasn’t an issue Will was about to push. “We don’t talk,” he said, which - after the conversation with Dr. Lecter - was about all he was going to say on the matter, since apparently this wasn’t the usual case, “but he’s about as normal as people get. Not a lot like me.” Societal awkwardness aside. There was no criminal connection, no pure empathy opening a pit in Aiden’s mind. If anything he lacked empathy. Will almost wished he could feel what that was like. And then her little question. His hand stopped, and the dog’s ears twitched up in question. He stared even harder at the wall past Alana. “ … a little.” That was true. It made him feel sick. Sicker, apparently. “It’s not really something I want to consider. Especially not now, when there’s still so many pieces missing in all these cases. And even if it’s true, and I can get treated - what if - ” Will stopped and tried to parse his words before he started again. “Was there any indication of how long I’ve been sick?” Not at all a crazy person. A sad and lonely person, at the moment, but very sane. Alana was glad for that, because she might be too intrigued by the wrong voice in her head. She was done with seeing people in the wrong light. She never played games with Will, he was very much a real person to her, yet he still went in a dangerous direction. It was so natural sitting here with him, it made her want to cry. Nothing was warning her he was dangerous. He was just Will. She didn't tell him that normal was overrated, or he was normal himself. They were both lies and he knew that. He was special. Unique. Brilliant. And it was a curse. "At least you're not at odds. I heard that happens here and it's dangerous." So far she saw most people working well with their other selves on the journals, but there was more underneath. "What if you lost your gift with treatment?" It was a fair concern. Will might not always like what he saw, but it was important, otherwise he would keep to his classroom. She knew it was his downfall, and they fed it. "How long since it started, you'll have to tell me. Symptoms start with fever, confusion, and fever leading to seizures and hallucinations." Alana should have seen the signs. He was talking about sounds from the chimney and he got too close, he lay down at the crime scenes. "Treatment is symptomatic, Will. Even if you do get medicated, it won't be forever." She’d read the words out of the air, unsaid as they’d been, and it made Will’s jaw tighten to hear it out loud. On the one hand, part of him would be glad to get rid of this curse of a gift at long last. No more destroyed minds infesting his, no more nightmares, no more wondering if he was wrong in his deduction of the evidence and if that meant another five or six people were going to die. No more being pulled out into the field to stare at mutilated corpses until he could find an answer. On the other … could he survive being without it? The thing that made him the person he was, every day, no matter how much it made him hate himself. To lose that would make him useless. Would mean he couldn’t stop the killers before they lashed out again. He wouldn’t have a place at the FBI, even as a professor. He’d be better off dead. “I’m always confused,” Will said with a faint, empty smile. “I don’t know about fevers. This house isn’t that well heated.” It had relevance when he thought about it, but in the air it seemed weird and unasked for. “I don’t have seizures. And I don’t … I don’t hallucinate.” Which was a lie. So much of a lie it almost didn’t get out. But how could he be sure what he was hallucinating as opposed to what was real when he saw such godawful things every other week? And when the dreams started turning into daymares, was that a hallucination or just insomnia coming back to bite him? “Oh, it’ll be forever,” he added, folding his hands in his lap and then setting them on the arms of the chair again. “One way or another, it will be.” There was much unsaid, between them and in general, and Alana thought it was time to have it out. Part of it, at least. In their situation, with what she knew about the future, being blunt might very well be what they needed. What he needed. She didn't know what to do, if he refused treatment. It looked like he might, to start with, because he was no where near rock bottom. And she could probably get him to where she was, if she told him the truth. That stuck in her throat. The moment she said it, that would be the end of the world for him. It might be the catalyst to break him ... or save him. At the moment, she was too afraid of making the wrong choice. Again. She knew what he was thinking, or at least she deduced as much. She was right about what he was afraid of, his expression said it, and she understood his reasons why. Their work was full of so much darkness, but it had purpose. Alana considered walking away too, finding a gentler path. There were people she could help outside of violent crimes and severe mental illness. But she kept coming back. "The seizures come later. If it's early, that means it will be much easier to treat, and you may never get that far." Alana did not fully believe him about the hallucinations. But it was wrapped up in his gift too, that might be why it was easily overlooked. She didn't argue with him that it could be forever. Sometimes that was true. Sometimes it was gone. "Will, people can slip into comas or they can die from it. It's infection in the brain." She leaned forward since she was engaged in the conversation, her elbows in her knees. "Please consider getting tested at least." His fingers dug into the arms of the chair a little harder with every passing second. The tendons in his hands stood out, skin white over his knuckles. Will tried to physically relax even if his mind was shifting into high gear. They could treat it, if they caught it early. And it was early. She’d seen late. She knew what he looked like when he was really sick. He wasn’t going to argue that seizures weren’t that bad or that he could handle it - those were lies even he couldn’t manage to get out - but treatment was … it was admitting he was sick, was weak, might potentially not be able to do the only thing he had any skill in at all. It could ruin all those cases he’d been involved in. If he wasn’t of sound mind now, then had he been during those investigations? Was there room to let those killers go free? But those were secondary concerns, the automatic ones that came from the part of his brain that was at least tangentially connected to the world at large. They fretted in the back of his head as her words drifted apart in his mind’s eye, leaving holes he stared into. Missing words. Missing meaning. Implications she might never have intended, that he might be reading into wrong, but - “Do I?” he asked. Getting tested was probably a good idea, but there was a more important answer he needed first. Set of answers, anyway. “Do I go into a coma? Or die? You know what happens, right? If you’ve already told me this much, you can tell me that.” Dying seemed strangely implausible. If he’d died, Will felt like that first conversation would have gone much differently. Alana would never forget the way he looked when he was really sick. Out of his mind. Barely conscious. Full of guilt and agony and fear. Will Graham was sitting before her broken, and she could not put the pieces back together for him. It was too late. He killed Abigail. There was no going back from that. Will wasn't showing any open signs right now that he was sick, and it was possible if he got tested wouldn't show anything. And Alana would pester him until it inevitably did. She took no changes now. The problem was finding a way to be persistent without scaring him. She almost wished she talked to Hannibal before coming here. But he probably would've persuaded her not to. "No, of course not, no." Alana forced a smile. "Will, if that happened, I wouldn't be here asking you to get checked out. I would call the EMTs and force you to the hospital." She should probably do that now, but he looked all right. She felt safe with him, not concerned about what happened to Abigail happening right now. Then again, that might have been how Abigail felt. Safe until she wasn't. "You'd have an Alana-shaped tumor attached to you until it was fixed." Her eyes started to burn in warning, so she got to her feet and wandered around the area, keeping her back to him or her body in profile so she could take a deep breath and will away the tears. Unprofessional. You're better than this. This was exactly why she was not supposed to blend personal with business. "Can't it be enough for you that I'm this worried? You have to know I would never push anything unless it was important." Alana looked at the bookshelves, staring at the side but not reading the words. So no coma. Like he’d thought, he didn’t die. There would have been pointed questions if that had been the case: fear and disbelief, more than just asking if he felt all right. Even Dr. Lecter would have mentioned something when they met. That concern was dismissed and neatly put away. Alana had no reason to lie about him not being in a coma, either, so he set that aside, too. He’d be in the hospital already, like she said. Along with her, waiting to see if he was going to be all right this time around. (It was so strange, thinking about something that was supposed to happen but that might not, now.) Her sudden movement drew his attention fully. Will watched her questioningly. She was keeping him from seeing her face - upset, clearly. Maybe it was just the thought of what might happen that was upsetting her. Maybe it was a memory that hadn’t happened yet. He hoped one of those was the case, and knew somewhere in the wretched pessimism that made up most of his soul that it couldn’t possibly be that simple. His fingers flexed on the arms of the chair. “No, I know that,” he said. “I know you’re concerned. I really do appreciate it. But I’m a little possessive of my mental processes, as … disturbing as they are. They’re all I have.” Those, and the dogs, and a familiarity with boat engines. A very limited skillset, he’d be the first to admit. “I need to know if I’m going to lose control of them, or … lose myself to them. Or just lose them. None of those is an option I can live with.” At the same time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know if he completely lost his mind, even if he could prevent it now. “What happens, Alana? I need to know. I need to know so I can stop whatever it is from happening.” Because something had to have happened. Or else she wouldn’t be avoiding the subject so much. Abigail had mentioned she thought Alana and Hannibal were keeping secrets, and it wasn’t a pleasant thing to realize she might have had a point. She knew it would end up here. It was why Hannibal would have suggested she kept away. At the same time, with Abigail around, and Will potentially getting sicker by the day, there was no way she could keep her distance. Alana sighed and rubbed her hands through her hair, brushing it back and over her shoulders. "I honestly don't know if getting treated for the illness will change your process. But I doubt it. You've always been skilled, Will, as long as I've known you. It's why Jack sought you out. You haven't been sick with this for that long." Whatever he could do, it was natural. Maybe he got better at it and more intensely involved with the sickness, but it was there to begin with. She felt certain of that. Her mind was going through scenarios of ways to explain without getting into detail. Alana was going to do that only as a last resort. She walked back over but past her chair and over to his instead. She crouched down next to his chair and gently patted the nearest dog, looking up at Will. "You lost control, because of the illness. You contaminated crime scenes, you passed out by my house after killing Abel Gideon. You saved me that night, but you were unstable." She remembered going out after hearing the gunshot, and seeing Will lying there. For a moment she thought he was dead. Alana put a hand over his, where it rested on the arm of the chair. "The last time I saw you, it was like I didn't recognize you at all." That part was at least completely true. The Will who killed Abigail and lost control of himself? That wasn't the same man. "You scared me, Will." She still fought the tears, but he could see them now, and it was just as well. "Please get tested, and then we can stop it." Her words weren’t as bad as he expected them to be. Killing a criminal was … he was still living out the repercussions of the last time he’d done that. The dead man was still chasing after him, at the edges of sight when he closed his eyes. But the fact remained that both Hobbs and Gideon were killers. He hadn’t gone on a spree, becoming one of them, unless he’d somehow broken into the psychiatric hospital where Gideon was being kept and killed him there. That made his brow furrow, but Will just listened to Alana instead, feeling her hand over his like a white-hot anchor to the real world. Or something similar, anyway. You scared me. He scared himself. Obviously this was worse than normal if she was telling him this in a desperate attempt to get him to a hospital. It was unnerving. How much worse could he get? “Did he escape?” Leave it to Will to focus on the crimes before his own well-being, even with Alana right there. “If he was threatening you, he got out … ” No. Focus. Either that had already happened or it hadn’t yet, in which case they could stop it and it didn’t matter. The issue with time here was starting to screw with him. There were tears at the edges of her eyes, barely visible but there, and her struggle to keep control made Will feel guilty. She was here about him, not Abel Gideon. “Yeah. Okay. I … can make an appointment, sometime. To see what they can find. All right? None of that’s going to happen.” Unless there was a threat against her, in which case he could only hope nobody died at all. Definitely leave it to Will to focus on the crime instead of himself. Alana smiled wanly at that. "He did. He was going after all the psychiatrists who worked with him before." She was not his primary, and pretty low on the latter, so she wasn't entirely certain why he targeted her. Probably because he knew it would bother the FBI. She didn't know either how Will got here, with as sick as he was, but she was grateful. If only she was smart enough then to demand more tests were done. But how could she know? He wasn't honest with her about his symptoms. Hannibal ... well, that was a conversation with her old mentor left for another day. "Thank you." Her relief was palpable. "I'll come with you. It'll be fine. Think of it more like pneumonia of the brain." Alana knew there was a terrible stigma attached with mental illness. As a psychiatrist she was trained to treat mental illness, but she also treated the person as an individual. Society might see her patients as crazy, and they wouldn't be completely incorrect, by definition. But they were people. And a physical illness or imbalance was the same in any part of the body, with treatment available. If only everyone saw it that way. Her hand squeezed his and her smile chased away the tears, although there was still sadness there. Alana could save Will Graham this time, and Abigail, but it wouldn't change her failure the first time. "Are you sure you feel fine right now? It does take a little time for it to set in." She started to check his forehead for a fever, and then realized she was already in his personal space more than enough. Will didn’t lean way when she reached in to put a hand against his forehead; it was an automatic reaction stifled when it came to her, when he’d already gotten close to her before. It was okay if it was her, was the internal rationale. Alana meant well. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t on the path of a full-blown mental breakdown, possibly a self-neglect-induced death; she was just trying to help. He offered a weary half-smile and reached up to pull off his glasses. “I’m fine right now, yeah.” Or at least, within a normal range for Will Graham. Not currently seeing things that weren’t really there, or hearing something caught under the floorboards. “I’ll call the hospital and try to get something set up. Let you know when it is.” He paused. He trusted her, but she was a psychiatrist through and through, with no extensive medical knowledge. “Do you think Dr. Lecter should be part of this? He might be able to offer a second opinion, or insight, or something.” Alana knew what it meant for Will to accept touch from someone and how hard trust was won from him. She was only sorry that trust was misplaced, before. "I'll get a second opinion from him, but I'm confident he'll agree with me. There's no harm in getting tested, and I know we both want you to be safe." Hannibal seemed to be from the same time as her, and he knew what Will did and how important it was to stop before it was too late. He was the older and wiser psychiatrist, yes, and someone she trusted implicitly. She was proud to be his protege, and his friend. "We'll figure this out, Will." And both he and Abigail would be safe, this time. She had to believe that. |