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Will Graham: Delicate Threats Part Five
This is the final part of this series. If you have any series ideas or any ideas in general, please let me know. I've had a ton of fun writing this and I hope you all have enjoyed it.
It was an elegant affair, hosted in the sprawling glass-and-steel conservatory of the Reynolds Foundation. It was a place where money glittered in every champagne flute and the air smelled faintly of orchids and polished floors.
A friend of Richard's was hosting a brunch. Nothing over the top, just something where people with a ton of money got together for a fancy breakfast.
(Y/N) looked stunning in her pale blue midi dress. Her hair had been swept up, gold jewelry at her throat. She laughed gently at someone’s joke, one hand resting lightly on Lyla’s head.
Will stood not far, talking with Jack. Richard mingled nearby with a senator and an ambassador’s wife. His eyes always flicked back to his daughter.
Security was tight. Every exit manned. Guests vetted.
There was no reason to be on edge. And yet. One second she was there. The next—
She wasn’t.
Will noticed first.
His eyes scanned the crowd automatically. The blue dress was gone. Lyla stood alert, ears twitching, but didn’t bark.
He started moving. Calm at first. Lyla immediately followed him.
“Jack,” he said tightly, “Where’s (Y/N)?”
“What?” Jack turned.
“She was just by the fountain—she was just right—” Will’s voice was rising. His heart was already in his throat. “She’s gone Jack.”
Chaos bloomed. People were checked. The building was locked down. No alarms had gone off. No one saw her leave.
Will’s hands shook as he grabbed a passing agent. “Get surveillance footage, anything you can. Check the damn floors, the staff, everyone.”
Jack was barking orders. Richard looked like he’d been punched in the chest. Lyla was growling now, circling, nose low to the ground.
A tray clattered to the floor. Someone screamed.
Someone else asked, “Didn’t she just walk past the orchids?”
But no one saw anything. At least not clear enough to make an official statement. It was like she’d vanished. Like thin air had opened its hands and swallowed her whole. And for Will, it felt like he couldn’t breathe.
No one was okay.
That same afternoon, the conference room at the BAU had become a war room. There were laptops open, phones ringing, walls papered with security stills and maps. Agents filtered in and out, hushed and tight-faced. The lights were too bright, the air too still.
Will sat in the far corner, fists clenched on his knees, staring at the grainy surveillance footage. His jaw was locked so tight it hurt.
She’d just disappeared.
No struggle. No sign of panic. One minute she was standing beside a flower arrangement, and the next she was simply gone.
He hadn’t even said goodbye. He hadn’t kissed her that morning. He hadn’t protected her.
Footsteps. Sharp, deliberate. Will looked up, expecting fury. But Richard Sullivan wasn’t angry.
He was wrecked.
Still composed, somehow, in the way only men trained by legacy and control could be, but his eyes were glassy, shoulders tight.
Will stood automatically.
“I’m—” he started, but Richard lifted a hand.
“This isn’t your fault,” Richard said quietly. “I don't need you to apologize Will. I don’t blame you.”
Will blinked. “You should.”
“I won’t.” Richard stepped closer. “There was no way to anticipate this. Not with the level of security we had. No forced entry. No tripped alarms. It was a small event. Nobody even knew it was happening besides the people who had been invited.”
He exhaled slowly, voice lower.
“This had to come from the inside. Someone’s been watching. Listening. Maybe longer than we realized.”
Will’s mouth was dry. His voice broke on the words. “She trusted me.”
Richard didn’t flinch. “And she was right to.”
Before Will could respond, a shrill ring cut through the silence.
Everyone froze.
Jack answered the phone on speaker, standing in the center of the room.
“This is Jack Crawford.”
A man’s voice filtered through the speaker. Calm. Unhurried.
“I need to speak with Richard Sullivan.”
Richard stepped forward, jaw tight. “I’m here.”
A pause.
“You have a very brave daughter.”
Will surged forward, but Jack held a hand up.
“I don’t care who you are,” Richard said. “Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.”
The voice hummed, almost amused. “We already have what we want.”
Will’s heart stopped and his knees nearly buckled.
Alana was by his side in an instant, grounding him with a hand on his back.
“She’s fine,” the voice said smoothly, as if that was enough. “She’s a fighter. I can see where she gets it.”
Richard’s breath caught. “Then tell me. Tell me what this is about.”
Another pause. Then: “You’re preparing to announce your support for the International Transparency Bill, correct? The one that forces private political donors to reveal foreign investments?”
Richard’s brow furrowed. “Yes.”
“We don’t want you to support it. That’s it.”
Richard froze.
“We’ve tried other ways. Letters. Threats. Your security got tighter, so we got smarter.”
“You’re doing this over a vote?”
“A very public vote. One that will impact a great deal of very powerful people.”
Richard’s voice cracked. “I’ll drop the bill. I’ll make a statement.”
“Maybe,” the voice said. “But first, prove to me you’ll follow through.”
“I said I would—”
Jack stepped in, voice sharp. “We need proof of life before anything moves forward.”
Silence.
(Y/N)’s voice came through, faint but clear.
“I’m okay, Dad. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Will’s head snapped up.
“I mean it,” she said. “I’m fine. But my dress is ruined. It was the custom Sherri Hill one. The one mom helped me design so I’m pissed.”
Richard made a strangled noise that was half-laugh, half-sob.
(Y/N) continued, “Also, how’s Lyla?”
The man’s voice returned. Calm. Pleased.
“You have your proof. I’ll consider your offer, Richard. Keep your phone close.”
Click.
The line went dead.
Will stared at the phone, pulse roaring in his ears.
(Y/N) was alive. But she wasn’t safe. Not yet.
And someone inside the Bureau had helped make that happen.
Five day later, Richard Sullivan was pacing the bullpen of the building. Everyone was too scared to approach him. It was clear that he hadn't eaten or slept since his daughter had been taken right from under his nose.
The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled, his tie loosened, the lines under his eyes deeper than anyone had ever seen.
“I’m calling the number again,” he said, gripping his phone.
Jack stepped in, voice low but firm. “No. That’s exactly what they want. They're looking for a panic response. We wait for them to come to us.”
“I’ve been waiting.” Richard’s voice cracked. “She’s been gone for five damn days.”
Silence stretched through the war room. Nobody knew what to do at this point. How to help. At some point during the third day, Will had to be removed from the room because he was completely unraveling.
He sat alone in the break room, elbows on the table, untouched coffee cooling by his hand. His hair was a mess. His shirt rumpled.
He stared at the table like it had answers he couldn’t see.
He wasn’t allowed in the room anymore. Not with the way he’d been snapping. Not with the way he’d nearly choked an agent who suggested (Y/N) might’ve run away on her own.
The only thing that made him move at all was Lyla. She sat under his chair like she was grieving too.
The phone rang.
Everyone froze.
Jack answered again, hitting speaker.
“I assume the offer still stands,” the same distorted voice said. “This time, we want cash. Offshore account. Large, untraceable.”
Richard stepped in. “How much?”
The man gave a number that made everyone’s eyebrows lift.
“I’ll pay it,” Richard said instantly. “I don’t care what it takes.”
Jack cut in, “Not until we hear from her again.”
A pause. And then her voice.
“Hey, Dad. And I’m assuming Jack is there too, so hello.”
It was hoarse. Fragile. But her.
Will burst into the room. No one had to call him, he just felt it in his chest. “I’m here.”
“Hey, Will,” she whispered. “Are you still being broody and standoffish?”
A breathless, broken joke. But it was her.
Richard clutched the edge of the table so hard his knuckles went white.
“(Y/N),” Will said, swallowing hard, “Are you—”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Well. Not okay okay. But I mean, it could always be worse.”
Tears slipped from Will’s eyes.
Behind them, one of the agent's screens flashed. “We’ve got a bounce point. North of Winchester. Industrial park. Looks abandoned but it’s not.”
“Move,” Jack said. “Everyone, now.”
She didn’t know where she was.
Concrete walls. Metal chair. No windows. There had been a mattress at first, but they took it away after she tried to block the camera. The lights stayed on 24 hours a day. Cold. White. Endless.
At first, they were kind.
They fed her. Spoke to her like she was a guest. But then she didn’t cooperate. And things got worse.
They weren’t physical toward her, at least not yet, but the threat hovered. Instead they controlled everything else. No food yesterday. No hot water. No clean clothes. No answers.
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
She missed Lyla’s warmth at her side. She missed Will’s rough voice in the mornings. Her eyes stung.
But deep in her chest, buried beneath fear and hunger and exhaustion, something stayed lit.
Will was coming. He had to be. The sound of boots came first.
Voices. Shouts. A door kicked in.
She blinked hard against the bright lights. The sudden chaos made her flinch, but someone shouted her name.
“(Y/N)!”
She turned. Will. Eyes locked on her.
“Will—” she started to stand, but her legs gave out.
He crossed the room in seconds, catching her before she hit the ground. Wrapping her up. Holding her like she was the only thing that mattered.
She sobbed against his shoulder, body trembling.
“I knew,” she whispered. “I knew you’d come. I told them you were coming.”
He said nothing, just buried his face in her hair, shaking, clutching her like if he let go, she’d vanish again.
Outside, Jack helped Richard from the car.
And when Richard saw her, disheveled, pale, wrapped up in Will’s arms but alive, he didn’t try to hold the tears back.
Lyla cried too, loud and high-pitched until (Y/N) reached for her.
"Hi baby," she whispered kneeling down beside her.
The reunion was chaos. There were tears, hugs, breathless apologies and through it all, Will never let go. Not once.
At the Bureau, she sat in the glass interview room, shoulders tense but her chin high. She wore clothes that Richard managed to swing by her house and grab, a blanket wrapped around her. She was in an oversized deep navy sweater and leggings. Jack, Hannibal, Alana, and Will watch from the other side of the one-way glass.
She spoke clearly and honestly while Richard held her hand and she gave her statement.
"They were kind. At first. I think they thought I’d come around. Thought I’d convince my father quietly. It was a man from the brunch. He asked me to come see something. I thought I recognized him. I followed. Then I don’t remember much. They didn’t hurt me, at least not like that. But they made sure I knew I was powerless."
When it was done, she looked toward the mirror, knowing they’re behind it.
“We need to take you to the hospital now (y/n).” Alana said gently stepping into the room.
"They didn't hurt me." (y/n) told her. The last thing she wanted was to go to the hospital and answer more questions.
"I understand," Alana nodded. "But we need to check for more than broken bones, sweetheart."
The silence was deafening.
Richard instantly grabbed (y/n)'s hand again. Will paled, swaying slightly, looking a little sick.
(Y/N), shaken but steady, said, “They didn’t touch me. Not like that. I swear. Please believe me Alana. I would’ve told you.”
Alana squeezed her hand. “I do believe you. But this is about protecting your future. Your mind. Your power.”
They go and afterward (y/n) sleeps for 24 hours straight.
Will doesn’t move. He sits beside her bed with his hoodie on, hair messy, face hollowed with guilt and exhaustion. He listens to her breathe. He watches her dream.
At one point Richard says, “You can rest, Will. I’ve got her now.”
Will shakes his head.
“No,” he says softly. “You trusted me once. I’m not walking away now.”
By the time (Y/N) stirs, the world already knows exactly what had happened.
“Sullivan Heiress Kidnapped Under FBI Protection — Who’s to Blame?” - Critics slam the Bureau’s top profiler after high-profile security failure.
“FBI Profiler or Forbidden Lover? Questions Swirl Around Will Graham’s Role in Heiress Abduction”- An agent’s personal ties are now under investigation.
“Too Close to Protect: Bodyguard’s Affair with Political Royalty Ends in Kidnapping” - Experts say the lines were blurred—and so were the consequences.
“Agent or Accomplice? Public Trust in BAU Shaken After High-Profile Kidnapping” - Richard Sullivan remains silent as scrutiny mounts.
Will sat on the couch, scrolling silently through the news feed. His jaw clenched with each headline. They were worse today, meaner and messier. The kind of stories that blurred truth with suggestion just enough to make it believable.
(Y/N) looked up from her place on the other end of the couch. Her laptop was still open, but she hadn’t read anything on the screen in the last ten minutes.
“Will,” she said quietly, “stop reading that.”
He didn’t.
“It doesn’t help,” she added. “It just makes it worse.”
Will’s thumb paused on one article.
“Sleeping on the Job? Or Should We Say Sleeping with the Job? Will Graham's Emotional Involvement Blamed for Heiress' Abduction” - Insiders allege protection became personal long before the incident.
He scoffed under his breath, but before he could close the screen, (Y/N) caught a glimpse and laughed, an actual laugh, small and hoarse.
“That one’s funny,” she said, grinning just a little. “I mean how do you come up with "Sleeping on the Job? Or Should We Say Sleeping with the Job?" That's probably the best one I’ve seen all day.”
Will turned slowly, eyebrows drawn. “You think that’s funny?”
She blinked. “I mean… a little? I was kidnapped. I’m allowed to have a sense of humor.”
He didn’t smile. Just stared at her like he didn’t know how she was still breathing under the weight of it all.
“How did you live like this?” he asked. “The press. The pressure. The people staring.”
She shrugged, still half-laughing. “Panic attacks.”
He didn’t think that was funny either.
Her smile faded a little. She reached out, brushing her lips against his cheek.
“I don’t blame you,” she said, soft and certain. “Not even a little.”
Before Will could say anything back, Richard appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, exhaustion stamped across his face.
“Okay,” he said. “Enough of this brooding, silent, love-stricken nonsense.”
(Y/N) sat up. “Excuse me?”
“You two are miserable,” Richard said plainly. “I’m miserable just watching it. You need to figure it out. Talk. Fight. Make out. I don’t care. But do something. Because I’m too old to witness this much emotional constipation.”
Will blinked. “I—”
Richard pointed at him. “Not a word, Agent Graham.”
(Y/N) stifled a laugh and raised a brow. “Well, since we’re talking about doing things—”
Richard groaned. “Why do I already regret this?”
“I want to do an interview.”
He stared at her. “No.”
“Dad—”
“Absolutely not.”
She stood, suddenly serious. “People think this is Will’s fault. That he was distracted. That he was unprofessional. That he let me get taken. He didn’t. He’s the reason I’m alive. And I’m going to say that on record.”
Richard didn’t respond at first. He looked at her, really looked at her, the strength in her spine, the steadiness behind her eyes.
“If you do this,” he said finally, “I pick the network. Someone I trust.”
“Done.”
“And therapy gets bumped to three times a week.”
(Y/N) groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“Non-negotiable.”
She nodded. “Fine.”
Will said nothing. But the look in his eyes said everything.
Two weeks later, (y/n) sat across from a talk show hosts. Someone that everyone knew. The studio lights were too bright, but (Y/N) didn’t flinch. She wore soft blue and Will knew it was for him. It was his favorite color on her. He hair had been pulled back in a low, elegant twist. There were flowers on the coffee table, tea in her hand. She looked calm. Unshakeable.
Will watched from the living room in Virginia, the remote loose in his hand. Alana sat beside him on the couch, trying not to smirk.
“She’s terrifying,” she said. “In the best way.”
Will didn’t respond.
Onscreen, the interview began.
The host, polished and sympathetic, opened gently.
“Thank you for being here, Miss Sullivan. First, how are you?”
(Y/N) smiled faintly. “I’m doing okay. Everything has been really hard, but I'm managing.”
“You’ve received an outpouring of support over the past few weeks. But there’s also been a lot of speculation.”
She nodded. “That’s one word for it.”
“Would you like to clear anything up?”
(Y/N)’s smile sharpened. “Yes. First of all, I was never left alone. I wasn’t taken because of some lapse in security. This was planned. Coordinated. And the person assigned to protect me, Will Graham, did his job better than anyone else could have.”
The host tilted her head. “I'm assuming you know this, but there are rumors about the two of you. That it became something more than just protection.”
(Y/N) paused. Then said clearly, “I fell in love with him.”
Will blinked hard.
The interviewer leaned forward. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“I think it’s easy to look at someone like me, someone from a political family, with money and influence, and assume I’m untouchable. But I’m not. I’m human. I was scared. And Will made me feel safe. Seen.”
The host waited. Then asked, “Do you regret falling for someone in the middle of all of this?”
(Y/N) shook her head slowly. “Not even for a second.”
Will swallowed hard, still staring at the screen.
“She’s gonna break you,” Alana said softly, smiling.
“She already did,” Will whispered.
After the interview, Will’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
Beverly. Jack. Hannibal. Richard.
All of them. Calling, texting, leaving voicemails.
But none of them were her.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing the hoodie he shouldn’t be wearing in July, the one that smelled vaguely like her perfume because she always stole it.
Lyla paced the hallway like she could feel the static in the air too.
And then his phone finally lit up.
(Y/N) Sullivan Calling
He answered before the first ring finished.
“I love you.”
It was immediate. Unfiltered. As easy as breathing.
There was a pause. Then:
She giggled. “You didn’t even say hi.”
“Didn’t need to.” He leaned back, eyes fluttering shut.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
“I love you.”
“I like hearing you say it.”
“I’ll say it as many times as you want.”
She was quiet for a second, and then said softly, “I’m coming home.”
“Good,” Will said. “I’ll be waiting at the airport.”
A few hours later, she came off the plane in soft linen and dark sunglasses, hair in a braid over her shoulder. People stared. Of course they did.
But she didn’t look at anyone else.
Just Will.
He was waiting in the corner, awkward and beautiful, holding her favorite drink and a small bouquet he picked up from a street vendor outside.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, smiling so wide it hurt.
“You made cookies,” he said back. “I had to match your energy.”
She threw her arms around him and he dropped everything to catch her. The coffee and the flowers, gone. She kissed him right there in front of half the terminal, and he let her.
When she pulled back, she was crying a little.
“Don’t do that,” he whispered, brushing his thumb under her eye.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
She sniffled, then smiled. “Want to come home with me?”
He looked at her like she was the only thing in the universe.
“I am home.”
