SUBLIME, Hannibal Lecter

x. another version of me

He turned toward the glass, as if he could somehow meet Miriam Lass's eyes through it.

On the other side, Jack Crawford watched Miriam, waiting, hoping, hoping she would finally confirm his suspicions. Deep down, he knew she wouldn't. But he still hoped.

After a long silence, the woman shook her head. "It's not him," she said firmly.

"Are you sure?"

She shook her head again, certain. "Yes. He's not the Ripper."

. . .

The afternoon air seemed to have brought a strange calm with it. There were no police sirens, no chaos, just the low murmur of the forensics team moving with measured precision. Sloane walked slowly along the perimeter, her eyes sharp, focused. Very few things could truly shake her on the job, and this scene was one of them, even if she would never let it show.

Jack had sent her ahead without him, "to keep the situation under control," he'd said. It wasn't the first time he'd sent her alone because he had other leads to follow, and she hadn't asked for explanations. With Jack, she had learned quickly how to read between the lines.

Mobile floodlights bathed the area in cold light, erasing every trace of shadow. Everything was clean, too quiet for the weight of a miracle. Miriam Lass alive. Everyone knew it.

Sloane still couldn't quite believe it. The first survivor of the Chesapeake Ripper.

A car stopped behind her. She recognized the engine, Jack. She turned, ready to see him.

But he wasn't alone.

Her stomach dropped, though her face remained utterly still. Will Graham stepped out beside him, his jacket pulled tight around his shoulders, carrying the air of someone who no longer belonged there, yet had somehow returned anyway. The world seemed to shrink, or maybe it was just that she couldn't feel anything at all.

The sound of snow crunching beneath his boots grew louder, like a muffled drumbeat. Sloane didn't move. Didn't speak. She just looked at him. And that was enough.

Will stopped a few feet away. He hadn't prepared anything to say, and even if he had, the words would've died in his throat. He'd imagined this moment a thousand times, but never like this. Not with her looking at him like a stranger.

Then his gaze dropped lower. To the ring.

A sharp punch to the gut. A silent insult.

"You're serious?" The words slipped out under his breath, barely audible, but cutting. It was enough to make her raise an eyebrow, her look sharp as glass. No answer. No defense.

Jack, who had been silently watching, finally cleared his throat. "You're both here for a reason. Will, Winters, come with me." A clear order. And a clear that's enough.

Sloane held his gaze for a brief moment, then turned. She followed Jack as if Will weren't even there. As if he had never been there.

Will's eyes followed her, then he too followed Jack. She wasn't the Sloane he remembered, or maybe she was. She was the version of her he had met the first time, before he'd learned how to crack her open, make her laugh, make her breathe.Now she was ice again, and he was on the outside.

"Sloane—" he started.

She didn't stop. Didn't turn around. "It's Agent Winters, Graham."

Four simple words. Flat. Clean. Then the sound of footsteps on the snowy ground blended with the hum of generators, and Will slowed down.

"The property was condemned years ago," Jack interrupted. "Apparently the Ripper has been using it since that time."

The former agent and Sloane scanned the place, assessing. Remote. Anonymous. Perfect. They followed Jack to the entrance of the house. He led them down the stairs, to the place where he had found Miriam Lass the night before.

They passed the cellar with the well, where Will lingered a moment, staring.

"Will," Jack called. "In here." Then he cast a worried glance toward Sloane, a glance she didn't miss. Whatever she was about to see, she wouldn't like it.

Jack led them into what looked unmistakably like an operating room. A sterile table, surgical tools, jars filled with liquids that looked disturbingly like blood. Then Sloane's eyes caught on something else. The display boards, the ones Beverly had been mounted on. Her gaze snapped back to the jars.

"It's Beverly Katz's blood," Jack confirmed what she was already thinking. "He drained her before he froze her before he cut into her," he explained. Sloane froze. Her stare hardened even more.

Will watched her silently. Part of him wanted to comfort her; the other, more rational part, knew it would only earn him a punch.

"Chesapeake Ripper's latest victim, he was found in the other cistern," Jack continued. "The water in his lungs is what led us here." He showed them photos from the crime scene.

Their eyes moved across the bodies, the wounds. Their minds worked in tandem again. It was strange, that feeling, being back in sync with someone. But that was exactly what Jack wanted. To pull Sloane away from Hannibal Lecter by bringing her back toward Will Graham.

Jack then led them to the spot where he had found Miriam Lass, shining his flashlight down the well. "We found Miriam down there. She believed the Ripper brought her here to kill her. He was saving her to be his last victim," he explained, repeating everything he and Sloane had learned only hours before. "He knows we're close to catching him."

Will let out a dry laugh. He was about to speak, but Sloane's voice came first. "He's been caught before," she realized aloud.

Will turned to her, eyes wide. It was almost like that invisible connection between them was still there. He nodded. "Catch a fish once and it gets away... it's a lot harder to catch a second time."

Sloane kept her gaze forward, not meeting anyone's eyes. She stayed silent as Will closed his eyes and did what he did best, reconstructed.

She stayed silent, trying not to think.

Stayed silent until Will finally opened his eyes and spoke a single word. "It's theater."

"Every time the Ripper kills someone, it's theater," Jack commented.

"He didn't bring Miriam here to kill her," Sloane said, narrowing her eyes. "He brought her here for you to find."

Will wanted to answer, wanted to ask her how she could understand the Ripper so well and yet fail to see that he was the man she lived with.

Jack looked between them, confused. "But the Ripper's not self-destructive. He doesn't want to get caught."

Sloane nodded but stayed silent, letting Will respond. "He wants you to catch someone," he said after a pause. "Like he wanted you to catch me." His tone turned sharp, bitter. He shot one last glance at Sloane, then spoke again. "Somewhere, in all this evidence, you will find something that will lead you away from Hannibal Lecter."

Sloane exhaled sharply. "Graham—" she hissed, but Jack cut her off.

"Miriam Lass has already done that," he said, making Will turn toward him, avoiding Sloane's eyes.

"Two years. It's a long time to have Hannibal in your head. You can't trust her, Jack. You can't trust any of this to be what it seems."

Sloane gave them both a deadly look. "If even one more word is said about my fiancé, I'll request a transfer to another unit," she snapped, then turned and walked out of the house, ignoring Jack's calls after her.