Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adeline likes Will Graham. A quiet man with a soft, closed lip smile, an endearing mop of curls, and dog hair habitually decorating his clothes. She met him as his veterinarian, bumped into him often when he volunteered at the same shelter she did; occasionally had run-ins at the only local grocery store.

He’s nice to animals.

It seems like a small thing, but it’s really not. Vet medicine was infamous for its high suicide rate, and anyone close to the field could see plain as day why. Animal neglect, abuse, vitriol from ignorant clients.

Pleasant, handsome men who doted on their dogs like children were far and few between.

Will’s a teacher of some kind, she knows from snooping at his volunteer paperwork–though he did not specify in what capacity. Ood, really–the more she got to know him, the less that career path made sense. He wasn’t the most socially… graceful. Straight-forward, borderline rude. Refreshing to a doctor, less so to a student–or so Adeline imagined. She’d assume he wasn’t gifted many “#1 Teacher” mugs at the end of the year.

Adeline keeps things professional for two years. She’s not one to date–doesn’t have time between work, the shelter, and her particular hobbies–but things change one adrenaline filled, bloody evening.

“I need help!” she hears the yelling from the back, where she’s taking inventory of their onsite pharmacy. It’s almost 7PM on a Thursday night, she’s bone tired from back to back twelve hour shifts, but her heart kicks into gear the moment she recognizes the voice. Will Graham wasn’t a panicker.

Adeline rushes around the front counter with a vet tech on her heels. Will stands in her lobby, blood smeared on his slacks and button-up, a mess of fur and mud and gore in his arms.

“Oh my god,” the vet tech–David, their newest, greenest–turns white as a sheet, frozen in indecision.

“Guy had a knife, was beating the dog,” Will explains, voice raised but no longer out of control, just determined. He looks Adeline in the eyes, his gaze a carefully contained cyclone of raw emotion. “Please help–she’s losing a lot of blood.”

Adeline doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to. She takes the poor thing from his arms and begins directing her tech. Assess the damage, stabilize, call in more staff for emergency over-time. It would be an expensive night for the clinic–she doesn’t hesitate.

The dog is not lucky, the knife wounds alone have nicked multiple important bits, and when the appropriate staff arrive Adeline dives head first into several hours of grueling surgery. Will Graham, she is informed by her staff, refuses to leave the lobby.

Despite it all, she stitches the last wound with a stabilized patient and an all-around optimistic staff. The nightmare wasn’t over, the next few nights would be a truer testament to the dogs' will to live, but for now everyone could take a deep breath. The urgent care was done–now the silent battle against infection came into play. The next shift could handle it from here.

She grabs the long-discarded collar while her staff busies with the last of clean up–a scuffed, faded name tag states “Lady Bug” in curly font. She leaves it behind for later documentation.

Adeline’s legs feel hollow and her eyes burn with exhaustion when she finally makes it back out to the lobby. The sun is just beginning to paint the morning in hues of orange and pink. 

Will is still there, pacing with nerves, still covered in blood. They'd both pulled an all-nighter.

“Lady Bug’s okay for now,” her voice breaks him out of his trance. He bolts towards her with purposeful strides, diligently listening to her update. “It’s not good, she’s stable but that could easily change. We’ll need to keep her under observation for a few nights, watch for infection, make sure nothing has been missed.”

Slowly, to give him a chance to pull away, she raises a comforting hand to his shoulder. 

“Any later and she would have died. You saved Lady Bug’s life.”

His shoulders sag incrementally, the urgency gone and leaving his body deflated, tired.

“Thank you,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. “I wasn’t even sure if you were open–couldn’t remember today’s schedule. Thank you for helping her.”

He smiles, amused, then adds: “Thank you for helping Lady Bug.”

She smiles in turn, exhausted but kind, nodding in assurance. Then a thought crosses her mind–the mirth fades. Adeline walks to their lobby cooler, pours them both a small paper cup of water.

“Can you tell me anything about who did this to her?”

Will’s expression shutters, a dark glean in his eyes and a stern tick in his jaw, but in a blink it's gone. Replaced with an almost professional neutrality.

“I was driving back from work, noticed a red pick-up pulled off the side of the road. White male, middle age, bald. He had her tied to the grill and was just… beating her, out in the open. Fists, boots, the knife.”

His lips thin, bloodless, and he takes a calming breath–she understands the need to recompose. His description paints an ugly picture, a senseless violence Adeline is unfortunately all too familiar with in her field. How many times has she put an animal back together, how many times has she failed and they've died a tortured death? And how many times were those not accidents, but the result of human cruelty?

“I had to pick between grabbing her and stopping him. Wasn’t able to get a plate. Is there an address on the tags, did she have a chip?”

A dark creature rears its grotesque head, claws scratching at the back of her consciousness. Not unfamiliar, but it has been slumbering for some months, awakened now by the mindlessness of Lady Bug’s condition. Adeline makes a split second decision. 

“Nothing on the tags, and I haven’t had the chance to check for a chip,” she gives a defeated, exaggerated sigh, wiping both hands down her face in a performance of fatigue. “Listen, I’m exhausted–you don’t look much better than me. Let’s go home, clean up, get some sleep. I’ll have to file a police report anyway, and I can check for a chip then. Would you mind coming back here this evening?”

She can see he wants to argue, wants to check for a chip now, but his empathy stretches to more than just dogs–she looks a hot mess, the bags under her eyes are severe, her hands shake with every sip of her water she takes. She doesn’t have to fake it, she’s about ready to collapse. 

Will relents, nodding in agreement.

“Right, absolutely,” he says. “I’ll come back later–thank you again. And I hope you get some sleep.”

She does, just not a lot.

After five hours of sleeping like a corpse, Adeline is up and packing a light duffle. Change of clothes just in case, gloves, a first aid kit with a scalpel. She puts on old work out clothes and a baseball cap–nondescript, forgettable. Takes a bus, leaves her phone at home.

Adeline had lied when she told Will Graham she’d wait until that night to scan for a chip. As luck would have it, Lady Bug has one.

Robert DeFranco. Address just at the outskirts of town, on the very edge of Wolf Trap. The red truck could be seen through Google maps, sitting in a dilapidated trailer park filled with residents the world would rather just rot than have to deal with. 

One such resident wasn’t rotting fast enough.

She checks facebook to find more concrete evidence he still lives there before she commits. It’s a public account, filled to the brim with conspiracy nonsense, but recent pictures corroborate the chip's information. She doesn’t look too closely, she doesn’t have much time. He’s single, doesn’t have many friends. It’s enough for her to hunt him down.

The suns high in the sky when she reaches her destination, but the park is deathly silent save for the TV she can hear blaring from within her target abode. There are beer cans strewn across the front yard, the scent ripe enough to signal at least some are recent additions to the lawn decor. 

She takes a chance, tries the front door–it’s unlocked. The hinges are loud, but she doesn’t hesitate. Based on the stench of alcohol coiling inside, Robert wouldn't notice a marching band busting down his door. 

Predictably, she finds him passed out in a recliner, beer spilled in his lap. 

Adeline sets her duffle down quietly, eyes roaming the trailer as she pulls out her gloves and knife. Disrepair was in every facet of the home–from mold, to burn holes in the carpet, to the window AC that produced cold air only in gurgled huffs. She spots a picture by the TV–a small child hugging a familiar, auburn fluff: a much younger Lady Bug.

She investigates the back two rooms of the trailer–an empty bedroom, the bathroom. No one else is here, which hopefully means Mr. DeFranco does not have custody of his son. Well, if he did, that was about to end–for the child's benefit, truly. 

Adeline stands over the man's sleeping form, lip curling in disgust. There was a very obvious blood stain on his pant leg–he didn’t even bother to change after what he’d done. She thinks back to the mangled dog at her office, drowning in a cocktail of drugs just to stay alive, remembers the sheer terror and agony she’d seen in Lady Bug’s eyes before she went under.

Her knife strikes forward fast–she catches him between the ribs. Robert’s eyes shoot open, but he doesn’t make more sound than a startled gurgle. He looks at her with huge eyes, then down at the knife in his side. She waits for realization to begin to trickle in before she yanks it out.

He sputters, gasping, then begins to yell. It’s short lived. He tries to stand, immediately loses balance and falls, his face breaking his fall. Blood oozes from his nose and the chest wound, but it won’t be blood loss that kills him. It’ll be the collapsed lung; suffocation. He’ll die afraid, gasping, desperate. Just slow enough to regret his entire sorry life. 

Adeline waits until the waste of a man stops moving, stops panting. Dies a drunken, bloody mess, alone save for his killer, gripping desperately at the trailer's stained carpet. She takes her gloves off, hides them in her first aid kit along with the knife. Puts a new pair of gloves on and starts knocking over furniture, glasses, pushes a table skew. Make it seem like there could have been a struggle. A break-in.

She peeks out a few windows–the park is still dead, whatever other residents that live here are either away at work, or maybe rotting inside their own trailers much like Robert had been. She takes her chance for a clean exit, duffle casually swung over her shoulder, gait unhurried. Like she belongs.

She takes the next bus home. Showers the lingering stench of DeFranco off her skin, washes it out of her clothes, puts the first aid kit in her purse before heading to work. She's found the best, most inconspicuous place to be rid of bloody items is with other, less sinister bloody items. 

She's not surprised that Will Graham is already there, once again waiting in her lobby.

“I hope you were able to get at least some sleep,” she says in lieu of a hello. She doubted as a teacher he saw that kind of gore, that kind of suffering, often. “I know it’s not easy after seeing something like that.”

“Some,” he says politely, back to his usual, quiet self now that they're no longer in a crisis. It doesn't look like he's lying–he’s changed, but the clothing is terribly wrinkled and covered in dog hair. She imagines a fitful rest surrounded by his too-many-dogs. “You look, uh–better. I hope you got some rest too. I know a major surgery was probably not what you were hoping to do after a long day.”

Adeline laughs sardonically. “Isn't the first, won't be the last. It's part of the job.”

She has mercy on his back and invites him to her personal office. It’s small, but the chairs are more comfortable. She calls the nonemergency line on speaker phone, and together they report the incident. It’s not her first rodeo, unfortunately–though she wishes her line of work did not mean so many calls to the authorities. 

Will’s brief description of the initial altercation spurs their call to a top priority. A maniac willing to stab a dog in broad daylight could very easily turn their aggression to a human. A cruiser heads down, takes their full accounts, and the owner information from the chip. 

“He has priors, a warrant is out for his arrest,” the deputy is young, his stunted answers and awkward pauses tell Adeline he’s green. He tells them he’s called it in and he’ll be heading to the man’s residence, only a 20 minute ride from the office. She feels a little cocky–if this is who would be coming across late Mr. DeFranco, then–

“I’ll be coming with,” Will tells the deputy. Before the young man can argue, Will pulls out a badge. 

“Special agent with the FBI,” her face remains neutral, but Adeline feels her heart skip in her chest. FBI–had he lied on all his forms?

“Uh,” the deputy flounders, clearly confused by the new information, uncertain if he had to listen to Will at all. “Yea–I mean...”

He looks at the badge, then Will’s stern expression. Gone is the quiet teacher, in his place a deceptively calm ‘special agent’. The deputy’s complexion turns ashen, clearly terrified of denying someone from the FBI and getting in trouble.

“Just uh–follow behind me,” the deputy settles on.

Will turns to Adeline, this time placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“Thank you again, Dr. Black.”

“Just Adeline,” she corrects on autopilot, every part of her mind occupied with retaining the outer appearance of calm, and not the meltdown she feels building inside her. 

“Adeline,” he corrects, and it sends a weird, warm pulse up her spine when he says it. “I'll keep you updated on this case if you keep me updated on Lady Bug.”

“Of course.”

Will gives her one of his small, closed-lip smiles, before following after the deputy.

Once they’re gone, Adeline collapses into her office chair, boneless from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Christ, she was gonna have a damn heart attack at thirty-two.

Special Agent Will Graham.

Cold rushes through her veins, she replays her kill over and over trying to think of any way she’d given herself away. Was it obvious she was the killer, or was it only obvious to herself? Her hands were shaking with anxiety. There was nothing she could do now.

Stop, she tries to silence the internal turmoil. There’s no point in panicking.

If she had been sloppy in her arrogance, it was too late to correct. She didn’t really know what a Special Agent was for the FBI anyway, didn’t know what that meant as far as investigative or forensic know-how. For all she knew he was a pencil pusher using his badge to see to the end of a personal matter–of the monster being arrested.

Of finding his cold, rotting corpse.

She wills her hands to stop shaking, for her heart to calm. This wasn’t her first kill. It wouldn’t even be the first one investigated, though she did tend to make them look like accidents. Bitterly, though she knows this thought is moot, she wonders if they’d even waste resources looking into his death. What was the point when the world was a better place without him?

A childish thought, comforting in a childish way.

Adeline calls in her office manager–Judith–letting her know she will be unavailable for the rest of the day, she’s going home to rest. 

She checks on Lady Bug one last time–stable, in and out of sleep, but not quite out of hot water. Then on impulse–

“Hey Judith,” her office manager gives her an exasperated look, quite done with all the updates and extra tasks. “If Will Graham calls in asking for an update on the dog, or asks for me, go ahead and give him my cell.”

Judith furrows her brow, opens her mouth to comment, then appears to decide she doesn’t care and just nods in agreement.

Better whatever questions he may have come straight to her. Whatever level of damage control that might afford her…

Adeline makes it home just as the last of the adrenaline rush completely leaves her body. She kicks off her shoes, doesn’t have the energy for much else, and crawls into bed to pass out. She’d either wake up tomorrow for a brief Saturday shift as usual, or she’d be arrested. She couldn’t bring herself to regret killing Robert, and she was simply too exhausted to think about what the consequences might be if she were discovered.

Across town, in a run down trailer, a golden pendulum swings.

Chapter Text

The next day Adeline is holding her metaphorical breath until shortly after noon. She’s just helped a tech change the bandages on Lady Bug, hands gently petting the once-again unconscious dog in the few places that aren’t covered, when her shoulders finally relax. The anxiety in her gut untwists. She breathes a real sigh of relief.

She wraps up her halfday and heads straight home. Thinks about the book store, the tea shop, but ultimately she still feels exhausted from the last two days. She just wants to curl in bed and doom scroll.

Curiosity soon replaces her earlier discomfort. Who is William Graham?

She’s waiting for her dinner to finish when she caves and just googles him. She’s expecting a whole lot of nothing–perhaps Will Graham was even a common name and he’d be buried deep. Instead she finds– 

“It Takes One To Catch One”

The blog is… gaudy, to put it lightly, with bright red and yellow splashing across the screen like a grocery store tabloid. It does its job though–it certainly catches Adeline’s eye.

It only takes a few paragraphs to realize the content of the articles are of questionable quality. The writing was compelling, but the details… This couldn’t be true, right? It read so much like the Queen Elizebath scandals her grandmother used to read religiously from The National Enquirer.

Certainly TattleCrime seemed cut from the same cloth.

Yet still Adeline found herself engrossed. She reads everything there is, uses google to fact check certain items so she doesn’t feel completely gullible for using the blog at all.

What she knew as fact: Will Graham was a professor for Quantico, but he was also a special agent for the FBI. He has helped catch over a dozen serial killers in the last five years. Freddie Lounds (his biggest fan and his biggest critic) liked to refer to him as the FBI’s blood hound.

Her oven goes off. She closes her laptop with an annoyed sound, decides to be done for the night, and finishes preparing her food.

I like Will Graham.

The thought stings because it’s true. What she also knew as fact was that he loved animals beyond the point of seeing them as accessories, he dedicated not just his money but his time to the dogs in the local shelter. Had several dogs of his own, all rescues. He saved people too–for a living. He’d put himself on the line to save a dog just days ago, she could only imagine what he’d done for potential human victims.

Over the years she had never made romantic advances, despite her passive interest in the man. They had both remained single as far as she knew, simply two busy people with too much in their life to pursue such things, it seemed. Between working with his rescues, working at the shelter together, and just seeing each other in town, they had built up a comfortable acquaintanceship. She might even dare to call it the infancy of friendship.

Will Graham had compassion. A nice, quiet smile. He was handsome. 

Will Graham also put people like her behind bars, and was really fucking good at it.

She’d made her favorite comfort meal for dinner–french toast casserole–but it tasted bland. Unsatisfying.

Adeline hadn’t realized how much she liked Will until he could no longer be an option. Not as a friend, not for dating. The smart thing would be to completely distance herself, no longer see him or his dogs, pass him off to one of her employees.

She tosses her food in the trash, stomach twisting for a reason other than anxiety for once.

I really liked Will Graham.

She tried stopping once. Being a normal person, not a killer. Right before she opened her practice, working under another veterinarian's office on the west coast. A big city. Crowded. Lots and lots of clients, lots and lots of patients.

The cruelest cases of neglect would come walking into her shift and she’d–

Adeline completely understood why so many veterinarians and techs killed themselves. Watching the hurt, frightened, starved, unloved pets of the undeserving walk out of the clinic and back into the life that put them there.

If she didn’t kill them, she was sure the monster inside her would devour her. 

It’s Monday when she receives the first text. 

W: hey, its Will. 

It’s early morning, she hasn’t even had her tea yet–why is he texting her, how?

W: office manager gave me your number. wanted to check in on Lady Bug.

Fuck, she told Judith to give him her personal cell. A ridiculous lapse in judgement. To be fair, she had been running on very little sleep and a whole lot of ‘I’m going to jail for the rest of my life’s. Bad decisions were inevitable, and this seemed like a small one in comparison to what could have happened. 

She also hadn’t looked him up yet.

A: of course. Lady Bug has been doing great, I think we’re officially out of the woods.

A bubbly ellipses populates as Will texts back, and she groans. She hoped this was short and to the point. Maybe he was just deciding if he’d take Lady Bug back. Adeline had planned to make her the office dog–they hadn’t had one in nearly a year, since the last one passed–but if he wanted her, she wouldn’t fight it. She had resolved to start distancing herself. Lady Bug could go home with him and there’d be nothing more to say about it.

W: thank you again. I appreciate everything you’ve done for her.

That was super sweet to say, which served as a quick twist of the knife. She liked Will Graham, but she was irrecoverably broken, and he hunted people like her. With his credentials, in a game of cat and mouse, she wouldn’t stand a chance. When she thought he was just a frumpy high school teacher, she imagined–

It didn’t matter. Even if he was just a normal teacher, it never should have been an option in her mind. She wasn’t… right. She knew that, logically, and to drag another person into her world would be incredibly selfish and ultimately self-damaging. She was bound to be caught one day. Either behind bars or put down like a mutt with rabies, her ending was never meant to be a happy one.

And if she truly liked someone–the way she had quietly liked Will Graham for the past two years–she wouldn’t wish that inevitable future on them.

It was better if she simply remained alone.

The texts don’t stop.

Adeline tries to politely disengage, but her attempts are fruitless. At the one week mark of Will Graham’s texting, she asks him outright if he was wanting to adopt Lady Bug, in the hopes his interests were solely in deliberation for the dog.

W: I’d like to sit on the decision a bit longer–unless someone else is interested?

No, no one else is interested in the emaciated mutt that just racked up thousands in veterinary bills and weeks and weeks of physical therapy when the pound down the road had puppies in perfect health. He should know this–he does know this, doesn’t he?

Adeline can’t shake the feeling he knows something else, too.

And yet if he did know, why was she walking around a free-woman? Where were the sirens, the cuffs, the lawyering-up-while-her-life-crumbled-around-her? She couldn’t figure out a motivation of why he’d know and she’d still be free, and yet it was such a coincidence the Special Agent of the FBI would only be so chatty directly after stumbling across one of her kills.

It’s maddening.

Maybe he likes you. 

She rolls her eyes at the treacherous thought. There was no Nightingale Effect equivalent for vets and their clients.  Will Graham did not fall in love over a night marred by the drudges of day-old coffee and canine intestinal perforation.

And yet. 

And yet the texts continued. Innocuous, for the most part, but slowly they bled into personal. “How is Lady Bug” was eventually also followed up by a “hope you're doing good too”. How was Adeline’s day, how were the other animals in the clinic, he hoped she wasn't working anymore over nights–

She’d have to tell him to stop texting her, as awkward as that conversation would be. She had already swapped out herself for another vet for his pack’s annual appointments that peppered throughout the year. She’d find another shelter to volunteer at too. Setting a firm boundary now would just be ripping off the bandaid. 

Alone in the dark, staring grudgingly at her alarm clock, Adeline thinks about Winston of all things, and how she’d miss seeing him on his next check-up.

“Dr. Black,” Judith calls from the doorway, eyes tired and expression annoyed. It’d been another busy week. It was nearing the end of foaling season, and as the biggest rural hospital for Wolf Trap and the surrounding area, Judith had been dispatching house calls and vetting emergencies left and right. “Will Graham is here for you.”

Adeline blinks owlishly in response, thoughts blank from exasperation and anxiety. She hadn’t gotten around to telling him to stop texting her yet, but she had not expected him to just… show up.

Judith cleared her throat, a sharp eyebrow raised in growing impatience. 

“I’ll be out in a moment, not something you need to worry about.”

With a brisk nod, her office manager skurries off to the next fire.

Adeline takes a moment to compose herself, unsure what she was walking into, but very aware she needed to expedite cutting off whatever Will was angling for. She pulls on her lab coat like an extra physical barrier of protection before making her way to the lobby. 

Blessedly, it’s empty save for Will Graham himself–no patients, staff on break. He’s holding a cardboard box and greets her with his signature, muted smile as she scoots around the front desk.

“Mr. Graham,” she carefully uses his last name. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

You shouldn’t be here, is left unsaid, but she hopes it’s loud enough.

“Sorry for the abrupt visit,” by his tone, he’s clearly not. The forwardness is out of character for the normally reserved man. “I’ve been cleaning out my attic and I found quite a few old blankets and towels. You’ve said before the clinic goes through them like tissue paper–thought it was better donated here than Goodwill.”

He’s not wrong, and in any other scenario it’d be touching he thought to drive it all the way out to them. Consumables were a huge chunk of the clinic's budget, and anything helped. Unfortunately, she’s a serial killer–probably a sociopath–and he’s an FBI agent. It complicates the gesture. 

He set the box down on the counter, opening the top to pull the first bit of fabric free. Moth bitten, the pattern from the 90’s, but more than acceptable for sick or injured animals to use. She hates how thoughtful the gesture is, hates that she notices the way the corner of his eyes crinkle when he smiles back at her searching for appreciation, or how she finds the way he refuses eye contact endearing instead of annoying.

Such an odd, kind man. More confident than when she had first met him two years ago, less visibly anxious, but not cocksure. Just… sure. Of himself and his surroundings. Another thing she liked about him, in a growing list of ‘unfortunates’.

It was probably time to rip off the band-aid.

“The clinic definitely appreciates the donation,” Adeline starts politely, purposefully speaking as the clinic and not herself. “Though next time it can be left with the front staff.”

For his part, Will is undeterred, though for a brief moment Adeline gets a glimpse of the old Will Graham. His eyes dart from her chin to over her shoulder, his hands fidget anxiously at his sides before he slips them into his pants pockets. His shoulders hunch just the slightest bit, making himself smaller. 

“I know you’re buried with work, and this isn’t something I’d normally bother you with. I wanted an excuse to speak to you in person.”

She raises a sharp brow, schooling her expression to remain neutral, though her heart rate increases. Nervous. The unrelenting fear of him knowing rearing its ugly head. Is that why Will suddenly seems on edge–he’s going to confront her for her crimes now? 

What she isn’t expecting is–

“Would you go to dinner with me,” his voice catches awkwardly on the last word, and he clears his throat to recover. “Tonight?”

If you asked her, Adeline wouldn’t be able to articulate why she agreed to the date. Was it a horrible idea? Of course. Was it antithetical to her plan? Yes. Should a serial killer go on a date with the FBI? Resounding no.

And yet.

And yet her heart seized in her chest from excitement, not fear, when he had finally revealed why he’d driven all the way out to her clinic to see her. She was soft to his disheveled hair, social quirks, and fidgety hands. His compassion for animals was endlessly attractive to her. And the way he had risked his own skin to stop a maniac with a knife from killing Lady Bug?

The image of him frantic but sure in her lobby, blood soaked and determined, was seared into her eyelids in the most enticing way.

How could she have ever said no to him?

Chapter Text

Adeline is surprised by how Will Graham dresses for their date.

He’d asked her to one of the nicer restaurants in the downtown area, which by Wolf Trap standards wasn’t saying a lot. Still, the price tag was enough not to be completely cavalier and so some dressing up was required.

In all their years interacting she has never seen him in much else than khaki work pants or a wrinkled button up–occasionally a tweed jacket. Tonight, however, is a completely different animal. His dark dress pants are fitted perfectly, hugging his slim waist and cutting a fine figure. His shirt is pressed, tucked in, its deep burgundy flattering, yet not a color she’d peg him to wear. It seemed dramatic compared to his usual style of comfortable dark earth tones.

His hair is also more carefully groomed than she’s ever seen before, and when they greet each other, she’s surprised to smell a rich cologne. Embarrassingly, it’s enough for the beginnings of arousal. She flushes, but she can see the slightest pink gracing his own cheeks from nerves, and forgives the reaction.

It’s a date, afterall.

They exchange an awkward hello. They've known each other for years and yet they aren't much more than strangers. Do they shake hands? Do they hug? Will's earlier forwardness is gone, replaced instead by a skittishness she's far more used to. It makes the first interaction almost painful, and yet, it's more like the Will Graham she first met and she finds that comforting. They're both caught out on their back foot, flustered, unpracticed. 

The hostess rescues them, interrupting their stuttered greetings and asks if they have a reservation. 

It's a nice place overall, with hushed instrumentals, warm lighting, and the kind of minimalist decor that's just shy of trying too hard. It doesn't seem like a place Will would go to of his own accord, but what felt like the “correct” choice for a first date. He doesn't appear to be out of place per se, nor necessarily uncomfortable. Just like he's going through the motions of what he ought to do, not what he'd personally enjoy. It makes her wonder what it would be like to sit across from him at a restaurant where he's a regular, if such a place even exists. 

They're seated with menus. Will asks for a sweet tea, Adeline sticks with water, no lemon. It's stifling once the waiter rushes off. 

“So,” they both blurt in unison. Will’s jaw clicks shut, a nervous giggle rushes past Adeline's teeth before she can stop it. 

She wants to say they're being ridiculous. They're adults, not 16 and completely inexperienced. But for Adeline it's more than nerves of bad impressions or social faux pas. At the core of her anxiety is the fear of discovery–of having already been discovered. Despite the giddiness she had felt getting ready for their dinner, despite the feelings she's been nursing for who knows how long, accepting Will’s invitation was an incredibly stupid and self-defeating decision.

A killer going on a date with an FBI agent sounds like the start of a bad joke. She wasn’t sure she’d enjoy the punchline.

The logical part of her brain is adamant it is too coincidental that Will is showing interest only after discovering Robert DeFranco. The painfully emotional side is tired of being alone and aches for human closeness, if only for the short time it takes for a man to realize she's not quite right and leaves. 

Neither part can properly explain why he’d ask her out. 

“I would say I'm normally better at this, but I think we'd both know that's a lie,” Will says, eyes glancing over her shoulder, a wry smirk playing at his lips. 

Adeline sits back, her fingers tapping idly over the stark white table cloth, uncharacteristically fidgety. 

“It seems we both are rusty at this sort of thing.”

Will scoffs, self-deprecating and a little rude. More the same for the scruffy, antisocial teacher she thought she knew not weeks ago. Prickly when anxious. It brings a small but genuine smile to her lips.

“Rusty might be an understatement for me.”

“It can't be that bad,” she offers.

“The last woman I asked on a date tried to convince me to admit myself to a mental hospital.”

“That's pretty bad,” Adeline concedes, and she smiles with her teeth, trying to hold back the startled laugh she feels building in her chest. “But we can objectively say your latest attempt is going much better. That must count for something.”

“Is it?” he asks. “Going better?”

She hums to herself, as though his question required deep consideration.

“Well,” she swipes up her menu, furrowing her brows in exaggeration as she pretended to look it over. “Did the last time have a wine menu? Maybe a good porte would have stopped the whole psych eval line of conversation.”

She wins a smile from Will, his shoulders straighten a tiny increment. He was growing more confident, and with each sentence in jest Adeline felt less hunted. Like this really was just a date. Like everything truly was a coincidence, and their trieste actually would start over day-old coffee and gore. It wasn’t all some convoluted ploy to catch a killer.

They settle into a more comfortable quiet while they each decide on their meal. Will picks a salmon filet, Adeline goes for a gnocchi dish. Neither are big on wine, they discover, so the waiter makes the selection for them.

“I think this is normally the part where I ask what you do for a living,” Will says. “Odd to just be starting, yet skipping the beginning.”

“We simply got two years of small talk out of the way,” it occurs to Adeline she actually could direct that question back at Will, and it was probably rude not to, but she didn't want to ruin dinner with that line of conversation. Luckily he rescues her from the conundrum.

“You look lovely this evening,” he tries to say it simply, but there's color spreading down his neck. He really is rusty. It's endearing. 

“Thank you,” she accepts the compliment easily. “I have to say, you're quite handsome this evening yourself. I don't think I've ever seen you dressed up.”

“I’ve been told red is my color,” Will says it like it's a joke, though Adeline isn't sure what the punchline would be. 

The food comes and it's decent. The wine is better, and the more she drinks the less awkward the night feels. They ask each other personal questions between shared stories of their time at the rescue shelter. She learns he likes to fly fish, he's pleasantly surprised she enjoys fishing in general. They both like to read as a past time, though wildly different genres. She jokingly makes him promise to read one of her historical dramas in exchange for her reading any of his published papers, including the one about bugs and time of death.

They share a dessert and a new wine comes out, adding one more glass to the already two too many she's had. She realizes belatedly she's in no condition to drive. She isn't drunk, but she certainly isn't road safe. 

“Let me take you home,” Will offers. She waves him off at first.

“This is why God invented Ubers,” she tries. But he insists, the app isn't accepting her card for some reason she's too blurry eyed to properly read, and to add to it all it begins to rain. 

She relents. 

He has an old Volvo full to the brim with dog hair. It's familiar and comforting. Way better than an Uber.

Will laughs–she didn't mean to say that out loud. 

“I don't normally drink this much,” she admits. “I actually don't normally drink at all.”

“Was the date that bad?” Will asks, but his lip twitches up ever so slightly–he’s teasing her. 

“Oh, it was truly awful,” Adeline plays along. “Dreadful, really. So bad I got lost in the conversation and went through an entire bottle of overly priced wine.”

“And a glass of dessert wine.”

“Oh yes, who could forget the dessert wine? I think that was $12 a glass.”

Adeline had felt bad at first; offered to split the bill or at least cover the drinks. Will had declined, and by the way he didn't really look at the tab she assumed he could afford it all easily. 

“I think this just means your date could be a good provider,” Will goes along with their game. “Isn't that what all the podcasts talk about nowadays?”

She snorts. 

“You don't listen to those, do you?”

“No,” Will shakes his head. “Not for myself anyway. I've had to listen to a few for work. It was tedious.”

For work. For the FBI.

Her head spins, she leans back in the passenger seat. Still wasn't a line of conversation she wanted to have. Maybe never would be, as unrealistic as that was.

She has a sudden, half-formed worry. If he wasn't already suspicious of her, would avoiding talking about his line of work change his mind? If she wasn’t a killer and Will had still asked her out, would she avoid talking about his work with the FBI?

No, in fact she’d find it very interesting, probably ask enough questions to venture into rude territory herself.

“So what about your job?” Adeline forces past her lips before she can second guess herself. “What does a special agent do?”

There’s silence for a moment, too drawn out to be Will simply thinking of a good answer. His thumb rubs almost pensively over the steering wheel; all traces of mirth escape his expression.

“It’s not pleasant,” he states. “My work. It brings me to dark places. It’s not always... Good. For me.”

Adeline can sympathize. Some of the most heinous cases flash to the forefront of her mind. Negligence. Apathy. Depraved cruelty. She’s seen it all, seen what people do to things they think lesser than them. Just animals, as they see her patients. And with her own… peculiar urges, she can form an idea of what Will sees in his day to day.

And yet she stays in her field, treasures her career even. She couldn’t imagine doing anything else. If she didn’t help the helpless, who would? Her practice saw to thousands of cases a year, and her knife–while it could only safely erase so few of the worst offenders–still saved many more from ever needing her skills to begin with.

She wonders if Will Graham has ever put down a suspect. Snuffed them out like she has, dealing with them like a bad case of rabies. 

“You must find it rewarding,” she ventures, wondering if they’re one in the same in that regard. “Through the darkness, there’s some satisfaction. I imagine you worked hard for your position–that can’t be for nothing.”

He eyes her briefly, before his attention goes back to the road. He looks almost surprised by her answer.

“It is,” he agrees. “Rewarding, that is. I save a lot of lives.”

Silence again, but not wholly uncomfortable. She mulls on his words, inexplicably unable to separate her path and his own, no matter that they are starkly opposites.

“Is it worth it?” she asks before she even realizes the thought has formed. He doesn’t answer right away. She doesn’t blame him–it’s a crass thing to say.

Eventually, almost lost amongst the sounds of the road and the windshield wipers, he says:

“Sometimes.”

Adeline isn’t embarrassed of her apartment, not really. As the owner of the Wolf Trap Animal Clinic she has a generous salary, but her future dream of owning sizable land and expanding her clinic has her budgeting well below her means. It’s not a bad part of town, it’s just not the best. The building is old, weary, but the maintenance crew kept everything that truly mattered in acceptable shape, so for lower rent she was happy to accept its condition.

It’d be strange to simply word vomit the context of her housing choices, though parked in front of her unit with Will Graham, she wishes there was a natural way to bring it up. 

“This is me,” she says, almost sheepish. She blames the wine. “I appreciate the ride home.”

Will waves off her thanks, tells her it’s the least he could do. He gives her that smile she’s grown so fond of…

What if this was it?

The date was enjoyable, probably one of the best she’d ever been on, but that didn’t change the fact that trying to date Will Graham was a horrendous idea. She should cut it off, be smart, be safe. Going on dates with the FBI was the opposite of both of those things.

“Would you like to come up?” she asks, a little too abruptly, voice a little too loud for the small space. She flushes. If this was the only date she’d allow herself, shouldn’t she make the best of it?

“Yeah, of course,” Adeline is pleased to see Will almost as flustered as she is. He clears his throat, a nervous tick. “Please.”

She’s on the second floor, but there’s no elevator. She hyper focuses on the simple task of one foot in front of the other, realizing she’s maybe a little more inebriated than she first thought. The small trek to her door with her heels seems perilous, but she manages.

She lets Will in first, watches as he slowly surveys her domain. While her apartment was cheap, she did have a very particular taste for the decor. As a teenager she’d fallen in love with the cliche of French country and she had never truly grown out of it. Possibly something to do with all the historical romances she reads.

Adeline liked natural light and bright spaces. She enjoyed warm colors, natural materials, antique pieces. She didn’t have time to entertain DIY projects, but she found spending the extra cash on old, refurbished furniture meant quality and longevity. 

Will stands in the middle of her living room, eyes darting this way and that, as though trying to absorb every detail.

“I like to read,” she jokes. She had turned her living room into a glorified library. Almost every wall had a bookshelf, each full to bursting. There was no TV, though she kept a small one in her bedroom, mostly unused. 

She leans against a wall, studying Will studying her home. It’s a strange sort of interest he’s taken, beyond the usual faux perusal of her things a normal guest would do. He’s clearly reading the titles of the books, the authors–whether he’s committing them to memory to look up later or simply extrapolating on what they must be about, she’s not sure. 

He eyes her knick knacks and trinkets next. The gallery wall of pictures dedicated to every pet she’s had, or the designated office dogs her clinic has loved over the years. She wonders if he notices the distinct lack of human pictures–family or friends. If he does, he politely doesn’t mention it. 

Briefly, she wonders if this is how he looks at crime scenes. If this is how he looked at DeFranco’s home. 

She quickly buries the thought.

Will finishes his circuit of her living room by standing in front of her. He steps into her personal space, movements slow–intentional–so she can object if uncomfortable. She appreciates the gesture, giving her room to back out.

He’s at least a head taller than her, her modest heels not doing much to help. As he inches closer still, she has to look up. She notices slivers of green in his eyes, a spot of brown. Belatedly, she realizes he’s holding eye contact–one of the very few times he ever has with her. It’s… intense.

His eyes are piercing, even with his expression relaxed. They see too much, she thinks, almost feels dissected. Wonders if he likes what he sees right now, if she’s lived up to expectations. It’s one of the rare times that she cares what the answer is, so she’s mindful not to ask.

His lips are soft when he kisses her. She tips her head for better access, but allows him to set the pace. Large hands slowly slide into her hair, the pads of his fingers gliding over her scalp and sending shivers down her spine. He uses the hold to angle her how he likes, deepening the kiss. It makes her stomach surge with need.

She brings her hands to his chest first. He’s surprisingly firm, well toned. Practical muscle under his office-work softness; it makes sense for his profession. She lets her hands drift down, slipping beneath his shirt, but just barely. Her fingers tease the plane of his stomach.

Will’s hands tighten in her hair.

“Bedroom?” he asks, lips still close enough to brush across her own. She gives the slightest of nods, her skin pebbling in anticipation.

He doesn’t manhandle her, but he also doesn’t allow her full agency. He steers her ahead of him, letting her lead the way, but his hands grip her forearms firmly. She imagines abruptly changing her mind, trying to get away, and how she wouldn’t be able to. In his hold, she’d be helpless.

Adeline isn’t sure what it says about her that she finds that inexplicably attractive. 

Her room is much the same as the rest of the apartment. One wall dedicated to bookshelves encasing a cushioned window seat. Antique furniture, all real wood, the room light and airy, the fourposter bed a statement piece. She has too many throw pillows, a wingback chair by the closet for putting her shoes on in the morning. More pictures of animals, no family or friends.

Will takes a moment to scan the room as they first walk in. He holds Adeline to himself–possessive, controlling–and she can feel the outline of his hardness against her lower back.

He uses one hand to brush her hair away from her neck, noses at her pulse point, laying gentle kisses in his wake. It feels like a question, one last courtesy. A chance for her to change her mind.

Instead of verbalizing, she leans back more fully, tips her head to give him better access to her neck. He hums his appreciation and it feels like praise.

He’s quick but gentle undressing her. Lets her dress and bra pool at their feet, hands carefully exploring each new inch of skin unveiled. She’s wearing a lace garter, has always found them more comfortable and practical to hose. By the way he grips her tighter, feels his eyes burn into her hungrily, he likes them too.

Adeline expects him to take her to bed then, to lay her down in missionary and take her gently. It’s a first date, after all. Instead he walks her to the wingback, makes her kneel one leg on the seat, her hands gripping the back for balance. Her back bows in this position and she’s incredibly exposed. It’s embarrassing, and yet knowing he wants to look sends heat up her spine.

Will lavishes her with more kisses down her neck, her shoulders, her back. His hands caress her sides and tease the band of her garter, before pulling at her inner thigh, slowly widening her stance, exposing more of herself to him.

He holds her hip tightly while he plays with her over the thin material of her panties. She’s wet, and even with the slight barrier between his touch, it feels good. He teases her like that until her toes curl and her breath hitches. She rocks into his hand, needing more friction, no longer caring about her position with an orgasm hovering in the periphery.

Will slips beneath her panties and immediately slides two fingers in. It’s abrupt compared to his touches up to this point, but it’s good. Adeline gasps from the sudden intrusion, gripping his fingers in surprise, but doesn’t utter a complaint. It sends a jolt straight through her, and she almost loses balance with her precarious position on the chair. She grips the back more firmly, pushes back on his fingers impatiently.

“Feel good?” Will asks with an airy huff, amused. He doesn’t stop her from fucking herself on his hand, but also doesn’t speed up his own touch. Teasing her.

“God,” she all but whines, desperate but unable to find exactly what she needs with just the fingers buried inside her. “You’re being a bastard.”

“Am I?” his voice dips, and again Adeline feels as though this is a different man than the one she met years ago–or even the man she just shared dinner with–his confidence surrounding him like a dark cloak.

Will’s other hand leaves her hip and she hears the jangling of his belt. Belatedly realizes he’s still fully dressed while she’s almost completely naked. It feels like a control thing, and she’s not sure if she’s okay with that. She stops rocking on his fingers, brow furrowing as she tries to make sense of her own thoughts, mind addled by both arousal and drink.

The fingers quickly pull out of her, but only to hold her panties to the side.

“Will,” she begins, wants to ask that they slow down, or at least change positions–for him to undress, something. At the same time she feels a warm bluntness at her core, and Will pushes in before she can get another word in.

She sucks in an abrupt breath, head spinning with the suddenness of it. His fingers weren’t much in the way for preparation, and despite how wet she is there’s still a burn from the stretch.

She likes it.

He’s not all the way in, not yet, and as she feels him pull out she widens her stance all the more, dipping her hips, angling herself for easier access. When he fucks back in he bottoms out, she can feel the zipper of his pants pressing into her ass.

“Jesus,” she whines, knees shaking already. He’s holding her hips again, grip painful. He’s not moving and he won’t let her move, keeping himself buried as deep inside her as he can be. She can feel him throbbing, feel his cock twitching inside her, feel the blunt pain from the tip resting against her cervix. 

Too deep. 

It’s intense, an unpredicted turn to their night. Adeline has half the mind to tell him to get off her, nevermind their evening, it hurts, and yet the way he’s holding her stirs a strange pleasure in her stomach. An aching arousal that’s only intensified as Will’s demeanor became more domineering.

She’s still uncertain when he finally begins to move.

Her slick makes his thrusts an easy slide, her walls no longer giving resistance. His pace is quick but even, careful to bottom out with each movement, causing equal parts pleasure and pain. She’s never had such a concentrated abuse deep inside, and she whimpers pathetically with each painful contact.

She wants to say she doesn’t like it, except that she does. Her voice raises, a mix of moans and whines and Will’s and Stop’s. She doesn’t mean it and Will doesn’t falter for a second.

He slips a hand to her clit again. He doesn’t stroke her so much as give her the pressure she needs to find her own pleasure. With each thrust she pushes herself back onto his cock, then rocks forward into his hand as he pulls out. It’s an excruciating, overwhelming tempo, the brink of too much. 

Her orgasm rises quickly, almost as abrupt as their fucking, and it’s all she can do to hold herself upright in the chair as she comes on the cock still thrusting into her.

She should be embarrassed with the noises–how loud she’s being–but she can’t bring herself to care. Will pants from behind her, groaning his own pleasure as he fucks her through her orgasm. Now it is too much, and each time the head of his cock hits her cervix she yelps, tightening around him.

“Stop, stop, stop,” she all but sobs, tears blurring her sight. She’s collapsed against the wingback, limp. He grips her hips with both hands again, forcing her back to meet each thrust, movements growing erratic. She starts to claw at the back of the seat, the beginnings of a fight to pull away from him entirely, when he finally buries himself deep inside her one last time and comes.

She feels him shake with relief behind her while she quivers from overstimulation. Her cheeks are wet, her breath coming in uneven huffs. He rests his forehead at her shoulder blades, groaning his release into her skin. It feels intimate, their shared moment of lost composure.

When he pulls out, he’s gentle again. When she wobbles trying to stand, he catches her easily, and carries her to bed despite her half-hearted protests.

Her bedroom ceiling spins from above. Her heart is still racing and the wine has definitely caught up with her. 

“Stay,” she tells him as he tucks her into bed. She grasps one of his hands in hers and feels strangely clingy. She’s not one to get so attached, not so quickly, but she supposes there’s nothing quite normal about their affair.

He leans over her, head cocked as if considering. He looks her in the eyes again, and she swears she sees something there. Something… different. Perhaps if she’d gone easy on the drinks that evening, she’d be able to put a name to it.

“I’ll stay,” he agrees, then kisses her chastely on the lips. He parts long enough to pull off his clothes, placing them neatly over the wingback. She’ll never look at that chair the same again, she thinks, and smiles. A good memory, even if this won’t last.

He slips under the covers behind her, wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close. There’s not even a breath of space between them. He settles an arm under her pillow, the other over her stomach–possessive. She’d normally take issue with such a gesture, but with Will… she feels inexplicably safe. It feels right, good.

“Will,” she calls, voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Hm?”

“Not rusty,” she declares.

There’s a moment of quiet as he processes what she meant, and then he’s laughing, breath huffing warmly into her hair.

“Thank you,” Will says, a smile clear in his voice. “Though I didn’t realize I was being graded.”

“Does it matter if you passed?”

She twines her fingers with his over her stomach and sinks into a deep sleep before she can hear if he answers.

She comes to slowly, mind still at the shores of unconsciousness, darkness lapping at sluggish thoughts. It’s pitch in her room, the muted red light of her alarm clock letting her know it’s 3AM. There’s a sudden, intense feeling–almost like she has to use the bathroom, but deeper–and she moans into it.

There’s an arm loosely hooked around her neck and a cock fucking into her from behind.

She remembers Will and their date. Where it all ended. 

He hits the same spot again and she arches in his grip, hands flying to the arm around her throat. 

“Please,” she groans, though she’s not awake enough to really know what she’s asking for. Will hushes her, his voice deep and tickling her ear, sending shivers down her spine. It makes her clench around him, and he moans into her hair.

She wonders how long they’ve been like this, how long he’s just been using her. The thought sparks an unexpected pleasure deep in her belly, and quickly she finds herself sloppily trying to meet his thrusts. It’s out of rhythm, she can’t find proper purchase, but it's good all the same. A different kind of intimacy in the dead of night, and the way Will’s cock drags against her entrance with each thrust feels just right. 

She comes again, this time more gently. 

“Will.”

She feels her walls restrict around him, and quickly he follows her over the edge. The arm around her neck tightens, and somehow cutting off the circulation makes her orgasm more intense. He grunts in her ear, breathless, shallowly thrusting into her while he comes–never loosening his hold around her throat.

She doesn’t fight him, stays still throughout, letting him wring himself out inside her. A strange kind of trust to give to a man she barely knows. Still half awake, it feels right.

When he finally lets go, unwinding his arm to instead squeeze one of her breasts, she’s light headed. She takes a proper breath, feels the blood rush to her head. Feels warm, tingly. Good.

Will pants into the back of her neck, laying opened mouth kisses between his heavy breaths. He slowly grows soft inside her until he slips out, but he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t let go of her breast, an idle thumb swiping her nipple absently.

“Go back to sleep,” he says. Adeline doesn’t like being told what to do on principle, but she feels boneless after two orgasms. She falls asleep before she can decide if she wants to argue.