Abigail is with her two new fathers in the kitchen, perched between Will's legs, sitting on his chair with her back to his front while Hannibal prepares their breakfast. It's an unspoken rule that breakfast means no cannibalism, and she knows it only stays that way because no one brings it up externally to the eldest of her paternal figures.
He's figured it out, of course. But they just don't talk about it.
Will has an arm around her waist and his iPad in the other - he didn't sleep in their communal bed last night and he keeps her close now to make up for it. He mostly hides his unhappy mouth behind her shoulder, occasionally lifting his head to ask her to scroll through the news.
She has a big glass of orange juice and sips it, eyes wondering between the iPad and the father who cooks. His forearms are bare, sleeves rolled back, and a section of neatly parted hair has flopped forward onto his forehead. He doesn't tend it because he is intent on getting their bacon just right.
Will likes to crunch and Abigail likes it just cooked through, almost raw. He'll be suffering through a bowl of porridge, honey, and berries, having declared war on cereal. He suffers in silence, but they're both well aware of it. Will thinks he'll get used to it, but Abigail has less hope.
"I think I have a boyfriend." she volunteers.
Will's arm tightens momentarily at her waist and she thinks he hates the idea, she feels stupid for saying it out loud. Hannibal raises his non-existent eyebrows at her over his shoulder, then returns his gaze back to the pan. Maybe this'll go better than she thought.
"What makes you say 'think'?" He asks, with his back still turned.
Yup. Psychologist dad. Not gonna go well.
"I don't like that." Will comments, and Hannibal hums in agreement.
"Abigail. Why do you 'think' you have a boyfriend?"
"Well..." she does her obligatory iPad scroll for Will. "We talk a lot and he asked me out to the movies."
"What did you say?" Will asks, and presses his face back down into her shoulder.
"I said... I'd ask my dads."
"Did he say if you were going with anyone else?"
"Well, I told him that I didn't really know anyone anymore, so I couldn't invite anybody... But then he said that he just wanted it to be... Us."
"What movie?" leave it to Hannibal to psychoanalyse the movie choice.
She clears her throat.
"He said it was up to me. I don't even know what's on."
There's a long pause as Hannibal lifts the pan from the fire and fixes a steady, unblinking gaze on Will's absent minded face. Will manages to make and hold eye contact with the doctor before saying: "You can't nanny her forever."
Hannibal breaks the minor eye war he has with Will and goes about putting the crispy pieces of bacon on one plate, her on the other, making efficient little swipes with this amazing savoury sauce he makes out of nothing but plants.
"I don't want to 'nanny' you, Abigail."
"I don't think you do."
"He does, the way I see it." Will tells her, and puts the iPad down to put the other arm around her. "But I've been wrong before."
She pinches the inside of his arm and he flinches, but doesn't let her go. They're smiling at each other, and Hannibal watches, his shoulders tense. He finishes their breakfast, putting it before them, and starts on his own.
"So... What do you think?" she's opening the floor.
"You seem nervous. Is that because of us, or because of him?" Will, of course, is tapping into her emotions, and she shifts out of his hold on the premise of eating her breakfast. "Or because of the whole situation?"
"The last father I had didn't handle boys so well." she says with a touch of darkness. Will reaches out and touches her shoulder for a minute, but realizes she's no longer in a cuddly mood and retreats to his cutlery. "I'm not nervous. I'm..."
"A little bit lost." Will tells her, and she nods, because he knows. He fills Hannibal in. "Excited because this boy is giving her attention, nervous because of said tension, curious as to how we're going to handle it. I would say a little confusion in the mix because she doesn't actually know if she likes this boy, and she's on the tentative side of ready."
Hannibal stirs his porridge and thinks about that for a minute.
"How would you get there and home?"
"Does he drive?" is Will's more helpful translation.
"He doesn't have his own car... He uses his dad's." she looks between them both. "You can drop me off and pick me up, if you like."
"So you want to go?" Hanibal nods like it's a revelation.
"I-... think so."
"It's implied. You're using present tense like it has been decided." he's continues to stir his breakfast absently, watching her face.
"I'd maybe like to get out of the house." she admits, a little sheepishly. "Not for long."
"Spread your wings." Will comments, before shoveling some bacon into his mouth.
Hannibal studies her, the same way he studies his patients, sometimes. She recognises that there's a layer of calculating, seriousness, on his face, but there's also something softening the edges of it, protective but not unwilling to let her go. Then he goes and says:
"Do you think he'll try something sexual with you?"
"Smooth, Hannibal." Will just hides in his coffee mug, but his sharp eyes are trained on her over the rim. They both, evidently, want to know the answer to this particular question.
"I..." she frowns at them. "I don't even know if we're a thing yet."
"He's a teenage boy, yes?"
"Please tell me he's not some random you met on the internet."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"Dads." she says patiently, before they can stir up any other crazy over protective father boundaries. She has prepared for this. "I have met him in person. We used to go to school together. He's six months older than me."
"Do you think he will try something sexual with you?"
She thinks about that for a moment, toying with her food.
"Is the answer to that question the pivotal moment when you decide weather I can go or not?" she raises her eyebrows at both of them in turn. Will's mouth curls into a cheeky looking smile, and his eyes glitter as they turn towards his plate. Hannibal is less amused, but still entertained, by the answer.
"I make informed decisions." Hannibal tells her. "As does your Will."
"My Will," she repeats, and he flushes a warm colour, pleased with the confirmation. "He's smart like that."
"Quick question," he says lightly. "What happens if we disagree?"
"Compromise." Hannibal tells him, ladling his porridge into a bowl.
"Is this a legal compromise?"
"Are we yet disagreeing?" he turns off the stove and adds flourishes to his breakfast with effortless artistry.
Abigail would like to say that she wasn't thinking about the potential sexual goings on that the date could behold if she goes, let alone thinking about all the sexy things at the dinner table with her dads, but she is, and she's scowling at her bacon like it's at fault.
"Abigail?"
She lifts that scowl up to both of them, Will first, then Hannibal.
"I'm not ready for sex." she says tightly, and lowers her eyes back on the plate.
"Good to know." Will makes himself busy eating his breakfast.
"So you think he will try something." is Hannibal's deduction.
"He's too gentle to force anything on me." she says, completely assured. "If he tries I'll tell him no."
"And if he persists?"
"Hannibal." Will warns him, lifting his eyes to the collar of the older man's shirt.
"I'm not a victim." she says abruptly.
That strikes a chord in Will, evidently, because he drops his fork with a resounding clatter. It bounces off the plate, jumps over his desperately catching fingers, and hits the floor. One hand braces his head and his shut his eyes, squeezes them tight, his jaw twitching with the grind of his teeth. They watch him swear and get to his feet, dropping into an unsteady crouch to pick up the fallen cutlery. When he re emerges from behind the counter, he is swallowing a hard mouthful and shyly rubbing the fork on the hem of his shirt.
Hannibal hands him a new one. He is thanked in a grumpy mumble.
"Dads." she tries, but they're having a quiet dad moment, when they not -talk about her with micro expressions. She's learning the silent language but not quick enough. From what she can see, Hannibal is on the side of her going out. Will is not. The details are a little lost on her, though.
"If it makes you upset..." she starts, but Will shakes his head, starts eating again. "Dad, I'm not going to go if..." the expression on her father's face is calm. He manages to cock a half smile for her and nods, his consent given.
She barely picks at her food while Will demolishes his. Hannibal is telling him something about the killer he's after - it's not him, of this Will is sure, so he openly offers the insight.
He says thanks and washes his dishes, giving Hannibal's shoulder a quick squeeze before dropping a kiss onto Abigail's temple.
"Will-"
"I gotta feed my dogs."
"I don't want to go."
"Yes you do." he swoops in and gives her a quick hug. "We're picking you up and dropping you off."
"Okay." she says, and then he's gone without another word. She continues to pick at her food while Hannibal brings his bowl over and sits beside her. She put her head to his shoulder and exhales.
"I wouldn't worry about him." is the doctor's gentle advice.
"I do." she confesses, and looks up at him. "He's thinking about me being a victim, isn't he?"
"I believe so, yes." he nods to her breakfast. "It'll be cold by now."
"I want him to come back to us tonight." is her only reply. She leans forward to force some food into her stomach, and knows that her father will undoubtedly make it happen.
That night, Will comes back broody and tired and apparently, against his will.
Abigail takes his hand, links their fingers, and leads him to the bedroom. Hannibal follows with an old comfy shirt in hand, clinically undresses the agent, then redresses him. Abigail gives him two pills for his headache and he rolls into bed, accepting affection from both sides.
"You're not a victim." he tells her quietly. "You're my daughter, and I love you."
"I love you too." she tucks herself under his chin - he shifts so he's on his side, so Hannibal curls into the line of his body, feet twined between Will's calves. His arm winds over Will's waist and settles on Abigail's side, thumb lightly stroking.
"If this Max kid hurts you, Abigail..."
"How did you know his name was Max?"
There's a silence. Hannibal can't help but chuckle.
"One of your fathers works for the FBI, dear. The other is a psychopathic psychiatrist. I figured out your password and gave his email address to Will."
"Huh." she didn't think he would guess it, it was the name of the rifle she had used to shoot her first deer. Something obscure, with no hint in sight. But of course, he probably had a brilliant deductive way of figuring it out. And it probably helped that he knew her so well.
"If he hurts you." Will says again, and she can feel the tension in him. "Even just a little bit..."
"Pickled loin for dinner?" she mused absently, and Hannibal's hand pets her side.
"In such a young cut of meat? I'd advise against it. Though it would be poetic." Will can feel him laughing, but he isn't even slightly amused.
"I wouldn't let you eat him." he says flatly. "If his goal is to get into you-"
"You're being crude, William."
"I don't care. Don't eat him. Just kill him." it's the first time he's condoned anything of the sort, and while Abigail is kind of shocked, Hannibal curls his arm over Will's heart.
"Of course." he says gently. His eyes flash in the dark and Abigail buries closer to Will's body. She knows that Max isn't the type to hurt her in any way, shape or form - and she knows the type.
It's them she shies from, their protection, their nervousness and anxieties. It makes her a little nostalgic for just one overbearing father with a pathological killing problem, now she has to deal with two.
She laughs about that and although they ask her what she's giggling at, she keeps it to herself, and falls asleep thinking that Will really needs to shave his face.
He's a nuzzler.
When she strides out to the car with a hot face and set jaw, Hannibal starts plotting where he's going to get rid of the corpse. Will outrightly climbs into the back with her, because they're in his much more discreet vehicle.
"What did he do?"
"Don't make me say it." she says between barely parted lips.
"Abigail-" Hannibal flicks his eyes to her in the rear view mirror. His hands are tight on the wheel. "-what did he do?"
"He -" she blushes and smashes her forehead into Will's collar bone. "Christ, dads, I thought you didn't see."
"We didn't." Hannibal says, and puts his hand on the back of the passenger seat to turn and look at them. Will is bewildered, eyes puppy like on him as he winds absent arms around her shoulders.
"What? What did he do?" Will bats his lashes, looks down at her, neatly pressed jeans and high collared shirt curled up into his side. If they were in Hannibal's car her converse would not be tucked under his leg the way they were.
"He just kissed me." she repeats. "I let him. I didn't mind. I thought you saw. So I panicked and left and now I'm here."
"No." Hannibal says, and turns to glare at the boy waltzing dreamily to where his own father is parked and waiting for him. He glances their way but sees him and jerks his face in the opposite direction, picking up the pace until he's "safely" in his car.
"Oh." she lifts her eyes to them. "I... Well... We kissed."
"I can see that." Will is very aware she's embarrassed but lifts his sleeve to wipe at the clumsy re application of lip gloss half on her chin. "So, good date, then?"
She scowls at him, puts her head back down at his collar bone.
"Yes." she retorts grumpily. "It was a good date."