Chapter Text
Sunlight, though barely visible, washes its way over the horizon and into a second-story window. It lights an accumulation of motion in its wake; catches human forms as they walk quickly through the halls, muttering amongst themselves, pondering over things that are not their business. A set of eyes lands on the coat of a man walking past them and into the door to his study. Another gaze follows. They wait in anticipation, watching him sit in his chair and notice an opened parcel on the wooden surface of his worktable. They wait.
The date is August eighth, 2021, and a package has been delivered to the desk of Agent Jack Crawford, FBI.
Brian Zeller, dressed in his lab coat and standing next to Jimmy Price, waits in the doorway as Crawford gives him a meaningful, questioning glance while reaching for whatever is inside the packaging.
"Zeller," he says, and the man nods as he leans on the doorframe.
"Yeah."
Jack clears his throat, pointing to the package. "Why is it open?"
Zeller tips his head. Shrugs. "Yeah, it may have been... torn at the seam a bit on its way here."
Crawford nods. "A bit."
Zeller purses his lips. "Mm-hmm."
"I thought it was my National Geographic magazine," Price interrupts as he shoulders his way politely through the doorway. "The package size was the same. An honest mistake."
Jack raises a brow. "You get your National Geographics... sent here." He points to his desk in questioning. Zeller gives Price a look.
Jimmy nods, deciding that this is the new-and-updated version of the truth, and then realizing that he's going to have to change his mailing address so that his magazines actually start showing up to work. Something he has learned at his job with the FBI, if anything, is that Agent Jack Crawford follows through when investigating claims, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. He will be checking for magazines, dammit.
Jack reaches slowly inside the package, pulling out a leather-bound book with an engraved cover—what looks like custom lettering—combined with notes and words defacing it with handwritten permanent marker.
"'The Misappropriated Entries of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, M.D.,'" Crawford reads, then looking at one of the inked messages below. "'Hey, Jack.' And a... smiley face— Alright, guys, what is this?"
Zeller and Price both hold their hands up in attempt to display innocence. Jimmy, pointing expectantly to the cover, suggests opening it.
"Before you pass it off as some sort of practical joke," he advises, "you should probably look inside."
"Oh, you know what's in there? So you've been reading my mail, too?"
Zeller laughs humorlessly. "Oh, come on. Once we saw it, we couldn't peel ourselves away. You wouldn't, federal offense or not."
Jack sighs. "Dr. Lecter and Will Graham have been dead for six years, you two," he remarks harshly, sitting back and ignoring the book. "You don't think this is just some impersonated garbage thrown into our hands to mess with our perception? Make us go a little more insane to distract from our jobs? Give me a break."
Price hesitates. "I... really, really suggest," he says, slower to give it more dramatic meaning, "that you read what's been laid out for you."
"Six years!" Jack says again, but is met by blank looks as his employees wait for him to do as advised. Tentatively, he sighs and opens the cover, his features falling as he slowly reads through the opening pages, his hand smoothly reaching for his phone.
Panic then sets in, deep in the middle of his eyes. Zeller sees it before Price does, and he makes a move forward to grab the book. Jack snatches it before he can.
Crawford sounds out of breath. "I have to call Prurnell."
Zeller scoffs. "And say what? The cases have been closed. They've been pronounced dead, based on camera footage. They went off the cliff into the rocks on the sea. There's evidence."
Jack stands up, pointing violently at the book. "If that's evidence, then what's this?" His face hardens, his glare piercing. "This looks like some evidence to me, Brian! Looks like they're still out in the world, having the time of their lives!"
Price is next to jump in, hoping to calm the situation while staying solidly positioned by the door. "You know the rules just as much as we do," he says calmly. "In order to reopen a case, you need substantial new evidence. They're alive, but there's no evidence disclosed that claims they did anything; their statuses are inconsequential to the actions."
Jack Crawford's mouth presses itself into a solid line. He stares them down and takes a long breath through his nose.
"You know what?" he says, his tone eerily quiet; terrifyingly reserved. "I'll read their book. And I will find some damn evidence."
He sighs, sitting exhaustedly back down in his chair and holding his forehead with a tense hand. The book remains open, and he returns to its pages, reading over it as Zeller and Price decide it may be best to leave the room.
Crawford spends his morning downing lukewarm coffee, feverishly tearing through the book in hopes of getting a recount of anything that he can touch. But, overall, the only insight he gains is that he wishes he knew Graham and Lecter a little less.
Price and Zeller, returning to their stations, joke about what they know he's discovering, having absorbed every detail of the journal themselves. They decide to read it again later, after Crawford has left again, for fun.