Work Header

Pay Attention, Man!

Work Text:

Jack Crawford didn't get to the head of BAU just by batting his eyelashes. Although it's a wonder how Will Graham, Empathy Extraordinaire, can be oblivious to... this.

Jack's counting down the remaining ten minutes before he call pull Will to a new Ripper crime scene when he hears the giggles. There's two girls to his left; brand-new trainees. He knows that not everyone in a lecture hall takes notes but the two girls to his left aren’t blogging. They’re going into extreme detail but not about the impaled body Will’s got projected up on the screen.

“Don’t you just love his cute little butt?” one of them whispers to the other.

“He’s like an adorable little puppy!” the other giggles in return.

Jack ends class ten minutes early.


“Wouldn’t Graham look fantastic in a collar?”

The words cause Alana’s eyebrows to shoot up nearly to her hairline. She’s sitting in the front of Will’s lecture hall, annotating his lectures.

“Ugh, I bet he gets all flushed and pretty and pink.”

“Mmmm I bet it’s delicious.”

Alana’s tempted to cap her pen,  turn around and find the girls talking, and give them both a stern lecture on appropriate classroom etiquette but Will rubs his neck absently as he rambles on about insect decay and… well Alana is inclined to agree with the girls behind her.


Hannibal can smell it all the moment he walks in on Will’s lecture.


Well this backfired, Freddie thinks dryly as she taps her fingers impatiently against her laptop’s keyboard. All she wanted was a chance to wring some dirt on Graham out of his students. She hits play on the small tape recorder she’d brought along with her.
“Has Professor Graham ever lost time during class? N-no, Ms. Lounds, never!” The girl’s voice is tinny from the small speakers. “He’s never even gotten angry. I wish he would though,” a giggle, “I wish he’d get angry at me and tell me I’ve been terribly naught- I’m sorry, what was the question?”

With a groan, she deletes the conversation. She’s pretty sure her beloved Tattlers wouldn’t read an article entitled “Will Graham: Inadvertent FBI Heartthrob”.


Beverly’s marking out her notes when the girl next to her taps her friend on the shoulder.

“It’s D-Day,” she giggles to her friend.

“What’s D-Day?” Beverly asks. Test day?

The girl casts an appraising look over Will before turning to Beverly. “D-Day means Graham’s showed up in jeans.”

Denim Day,” her friend purrs.

Beverly allows herself a glance at the faded rear of Will’s jeans (oh who is she fooling, she’s been staring since day one) and smirks. “I picked a good day to show up, didn’t I?”

The girls high-five her.


Will can hear buzzing outside his office door like flies. He’s stayed after hours to help conduct a pre-test study session on decomposition in desert regions and how sand can affect identification. There’s a hesitant knock on the door.

“Come in,” he says absentmindedly. The door opens and Will immediately wants to sneeze at all the perfume assaulting his nose.

Two dozen of his female pupils bustle into his classroom and judging from all the miniskirts, lipstick, and cheap perfume, Will gathers that none of them are really here to discuss decomp and sand activity.

The study session goes… well. A few brazen girls wink at him; one makes an obscene gesture with her tongue. After two hours, he shuffles them all out, even the ones who simper and ask for some one on one time.

He finds Abigail in the hallway with a soda. She’s eyeing the girls and as soon as they pass, she bursts out laughing.


Abigail has to wait until her breathing returns to normal. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

Another round of giggles attacks her. “You’re their fantasy. The hot and lonely bachelor of a professor!”

It finally dawns on Will. Well… that explains a lot.

He briefly wonders if anyone else knows.