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“It’s your day off, Kid,” Morgan frowned at Reid as the young man tossed a familiar case file into his satchel, head bent low so that his long hair fell into his face.
Reid looked up at the other agent, blinking and frowning, “And?”
“And,” Morgan sighed, “you’re going to Baltimore. Again.”
Reid’s lips pursed slightly as he slid the leather strap over his shoulder and attempted – unsuccessfully – to straighten his crooked tie.
“Again?” he asked, raising a brow.
“It’s the sixth time in three months,” Morgan said, “Hotch told you to call the custodial interviews off.”
Reid blinked, shaking his head, “That’s why I’m doing it on my time off instead of on the bureau’s time.”
“I just don’t think you should go, Reid,” Morgan said, “you’ve tried to crack him and you haven’t. Let it drop.”
His jaw set in determination and he shook his head, “He’s talking to me, Morgan,” he said, “He’s never talked to anyone before, not even Dr. Chilton. I can get him to open up; I just have to keep trying.”
Morgan looked unconvinced, “I don’t like this, Reid,” he said, “If it were anyone other than Hannibal Lecter…”
“What’s different about Lecter?” Reid demanded, “I’ve talked to dozens of other serial killers. It’s my job. It’s our job.”
“I just have a bad feeling about this,” Morgan wasn’t usually one to go by gut-feeling alone but this had been bothering him ever since Reid had decided to go back for a second interview with Lecter.
“The last person Hannibal Lecter took an interest in was Will Graham, and he got a knife to gut.”
Reid’s sigh was a bit less exasperated this time as he eyed his teammate, “He can’t hurt me, Morgan,” he said softly, “He’s in a cage. I’m just sitting on the other side of the glass and talking to him. That’s all.”
Morgan didn’t look convinced, but before he could say anything else, Reid glanced down at his watch and shrugged apologetically.
“I’m going to be late,” he said, “I’ll see you Monday. Don’t worry about me!”
Hannibal watched Spencer sit with a smile on his face. He hadn’t expected him to be back so soon after their last session, which Spencer had ended abruptly after Hannibal attempted to get him to talk more about his father.
Spencer was frowning as he sat, hands on his knees, long fingers twisting at the fabric of his pants anxiously.
“You seem agitated, Spencer,” he noted, eyeing him curiously.
Spencer let out a puff of air and looked up, his eyes skirting over Hannibal’s quickly without making proper eye-contact.
“What is this?”
He hadn’t meant to phrase the question quite like that and certainly hadn’t meant for it to come out so sharply, but it was out and there was no taking it back so he leaned back in the chair and finally met Hannibal’s dark gaze.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand your question, Spencer,” Hannibal said, his voice gentle and even.
“This,” Spencer said, waving his hand around vaguely. “These interviews. You’re not answering any of my questions.”
“That’s a question you should probably ask yourself, Spencer,” Hannibal said, “Why do you continue to return if you aren’t getting the cooperation you need from me? Especially since your supervisor hasn’t ordered you to return and you’re here on your own behalf.”
Spencer frowned and looked down, his hands wringing together. He was silent for a long moment and Hannibal left him to his thoughts, enjoying the conflicting emotions that flittered across his face.
Confusion, fear, anxiousness, anger. They flashed across his wide eyes and puckered lips. His long fingers fidgeted and twisted in his lap and Hannibal wanted to drink all those delightful feelings as they rushed through his veins.
After a long moment, Spencer sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head and looking back up at Hannibal.
“I don’t know,” he said. His voice sounded small, like a child’s and Hannibal felt his chest swell with a long forgotten need. He had never wanted to touch Spencer as much as had at that moment. Watching his long, graceful fingers move through his messy hair, Hannibal found himself wanting to know what that hair felt like – was it as thick and soft as it looked? Did it smell as sweet as the brief wafts he could detect from his cage?
Unfortunately, the moment only lasted a second and Spencer quickly recovered, straightening up in the folding chair and composing himself. He swallowed roughly twice and Hannibal’s eyes tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple hungrily.
“I want to understand,” he said, his voice steady and clear, in spite of the doubt Hannibal could see still lingering in his bright eyes.
“Understand?” Hannibal asked, “Me?”
He nodded, “It’s what I do, Doctor,” he said.
“Yes,” Hannibal agreed, “You study the most depraved criminals. Do you think I’m depraved?”
“I’m not sure what I think about you yet, Dr. Lecter,” Reid admitted. “You haven’t revealed very much of yourself. I know you’re intelligent, I know you’re manipulative and I know you eat people. I want to know why.”
“Then I’m afraid, Spencer, that you are going to be disappointed,”
“Why won’t you talk to anyone about yourself?” Reid asked, “Is it because you don’t know why? Or because you’re scared to face why?”
Hannibal grinned, “Nothing so convoluted as that, Spencer,” he assured him. “I simply don’t wish to discuss myself because I am a psychiatrist –”
“You were a psychiatrist,” Spencer corrected him. His hazel eyes were hard, a bit angry. Hannibal normally would have been very upset if someone had dared to interrupt him, but in this case, he merely smiled and inclined his head.
“True, I am not practicing any longer,” he agreed, “But I know how psychiatrists think, I know how they dissect people and I refuse to allow my mind to be clumsily fumbled into by naïve and overzealous doctors trying to make a name for themselves.”
Reid frowned, “You’re talking about Dr. Chilton,”
Hannibal grinned, “He is tedious, isn’t he?”
He could see the young man fighting not to agree – it was clear he didn’t care for Chilton any more than his Will had. He wondered what Chilton had done to upset Spencer and felt an unexpected surge of anger at the idea of the irritating doctor attempting in any way to speak with his Spencer.
Hannibal realized that this was the first time he’d thought of Spencer as his. He had become very possessive in a short amount of time. It wasn’t entirely his fault though. It had been far too long since he had been able to converse with anyone so near his level.
“I’m not Dr. Chilton,” Spencer told him, “All I’m trying to do is understand you.”
“Why do you want to understand me, Spencer?” Hannibal asked curiously, “It can’t be mere professional curiosity.”
Spencer hesitated and shrugged, “Force of habit?” he said, sounding entirely uncertain. He met Hannibal’s eyes for a second and then looked down, his brows furrowing slightly. “It’s my job to understand people like you.”
Hannibal laughed, “There aren’t many people like me,” he told him.
Reid smiled slightly in spite of himself, “True,” he said.
“So why is it that you long to understand?” Hannibal asked, “Why do you want to understand any criminal at all? It drives you to nightmares and any sane person would avoid trying too hard to understand what most would consider evil.”
“I…” Spencer faltered and then sighed, shaking his head. “I can save people when I help profile a murderer. Innocent lives.”
“Are you haunted by the lives you didn’t save?”
“No,” Spencer’s voice was hard and Hannibal raised a brow, not entirely sure whether he was being honest or not. It was difficult to tell whenever the young man was angry.
“How about the murderers you were unable to capture? The ones you couldn’t stop?”
A brief flash of something flittered across Spencer’s eyes and his fists clenched against his knees, but he didn’t say anything for a second, instead staring at Hannibal. He sat rigidly in the chair and Hannibal knew he’d hit another nerve.
This time, he didn’t let the shock of pain fade away. He prodded at it, marveling at the beautiful sight of Spencer’s expressive eyes widening, his breath quickening as his shoulders tensed and his delicate, kissable lips folded together tightly.
“You have nightmares about them, don’t you?” Hannibal asked, “About the killers you’ve profiled. You can see them at night whenever you close your eyes. Is that why you don’t sleep, Spencer? Because there are monsters lurking in your mind?”
The pain that flashed across Spencer’s face as Hannibal’s words dug into him like a dagger. He may as well have been bleeding and it was such a glorious sight. Hannibal couldn’t stop himself from leaning closer and reveling in the way the young man flinched despite the thick glass separating them.
He inhaled sharply, taking in the aroma of sweat and fear and anger as Spencer’s fingers slowly unclenched themselves from his legs. How Hannibal longed to step right up close to the young man, invading his space and taking in his scent as his heart pattered away wildly in his chest.
For a moment, he lost himself in his imagination and Spencer’s tight, slightly pitched voice drew him out again.
“I should go…” he sounded doubtful again, but he stood quickly, the chair scraping against the floor rather loudly. He clutched his leather bag like a shield and his eyes were too wide. Hannibal had gotten too close to an unhappy truth and his beautiful Spencer was going to run.
He thought again of Will and smiled a shark-toothed smile. He would be back, Hannibal knew. Whether Spencer Reid wanted to accept it or not he was now and would forever be one of Hannibal Lecter’s beautiful, brilliant little FBI agents.
-end-