Abigail tapped her foot against the floor, indicating that she wanted his attention.
Hannibal glanced up from the eggs he had removed from the fridge to look in her direction.
The whiteboard she had hanging from her neck by a shoelace was now held in her hands, and turned so that he could see he words she had written across its surface.
You're making breakfast for dinner?
Abigail's expression was as skeptical as her words, with one eyebrow raised in question.
It was the first sentence she had spoken to him since she had set foot in his home, and he noted with satisfaction the paleness in her cheeks, and the way her eyes never rested for too long on the food he was preparing.
Deliberately taking the time to crack the eggs he had selected into a metal mixing bowl before answering, he explained smoothly, "The last meal you had with your father, and the first you shall have with me."
He glanced up for a moment to take note of her expression, and smiled internally to see that she looked unsure.
Good. If she was off-balance, it meant that he could be there to offer his support.
It had taken a bit of effort to convince her to come to his home, and he was eager to see his efforts come to fruitation.
Once he had secured Abigail's trust, he would be able to study her more closely.
So far as he could tell, she was not affected by Stergata, or, at least, not to the same degree that Beverly Katz had been.
But, then again, that was to be expected.
Whisking the eggs together with a few quick motions, he poured them into the pan he had prepared, and was rewarded with a sizzle as they touched the hot metal and began to cook.
Breathing in deeply through his nose, he pushed his focus past the sizzle of eggs and sausage until the only scent filling his senses was the sensation that he could only describe as the purest silver.
It hung over Abigail like a second skin, just as it had her father.
His smile of satisfaction quickly drained, and was replaced with a frown, before he hid it again.
He had thought that Mirriam Lass was an isolated incident. And then, to entertain he home of Garret Jacob Hobbs-too late to preserve the man's life, and such a waste-to find not only one, but two who carried the scent that set them apart from the rest of humanity.
If only he could have known before sending Will in on his own...
Hannibal shook his head, and stirred sausage cooking in a second skillet next to the eggs.
There was no use regretting the past. He had managed to keep Abigail alive, and that was all that mattered from the incident.
And speaking of...
The tea kettle informed him that the tea he had put on was ready with a loud, shrill whistle that Abigail didn't even seem to notice out of the corner of his eye.
"Abigail," he called, when it became obvious that she had become lost in thought, "I have prepared some tea for you."
Leaving the eggs and sausage for a moment as he went to the cupboard, he removed a teacup, then set it on the counter so that he could pour the steaming liquid into it.
Taking the cup in his hands, and stepped past the island to present it to the young woman who stood with her daemon clutching her shoulders.
She was watching Stergata where she sat on her perch by the entrance to the kitchen, her head tucked under one wing, and still but for the movement of her sides as she breathed.
Hannibal pretended to frown in regret when Abigail failed to notice his proximity. "If you would prefer something else, there is orange juice in the fridge." He said, still holding the cup out in offering.
Abigail jolted as though she had forgotten he was there, and her daemon abruptly released her shoulders to drop to the floor by her feet, where he crouched, half hiding behind her legs.
Abigail blinked at the teacup he held out to her, and reached out to take it before she frowned, and pulled her hands back.
She uncapped the marker tied to her wrist, wiped one hand across the white board, erasing the words she had written before with the side of her palm, and wrote, Can I let it cool down? Before turning the board to properly face him.
He let his eyes move across the words so that she wouldn't know he had read them upside down, and smiled graciously. "Of course." He said, setting the cup down on the counter, "Just don't forget to drink it before it gets cold."
Abigailw as writing again before he had even finished speaking, with the board facing her this time, so that he couldn't read what it said, and had to wait for her to spin it towards him.
She can't really be asleep, can she? You don't look tired at all. Her gaze darted to Stergata once to indicate the target of her question.
He smiled again. "No," he assured, "Merely resting. She often does while I cook. She doesn't find the art as...entertaining, as I do."
Abigail didn't seem inclined to comment further, letting the whiteboard drop back to her chest as she replaced the cap on the marker.
Hannibal returned to the stove to make sure that the food wasn't going to burn, internally relieved. If there was one thing he couldn't tolerate for long, it was the reek of whiteboard markers.
He would have to see about getting some scent less ones for her if she wished to continue this form of communication with him.
Minutes passed in silence, and Hannibal expertly divided the finished food onto three plates.
The sound of a teacup shattering against the floor drew his attention back to Abigail to see her frowning at the floor with a puzzled expression on her face, and her hands still held out infront of her as though the cup had simply slipped from her fingers.
She tilted her head to the side, a crease appearing in her brow as she opened her mouth to speak. A dry rasp escaped her lips, and she jerked back, as though surprised that the sound had come from her, and he watched in amusement as her daemon wobbled unsteadily on his feet, and clutched at her leg for support.
"The dizziness will pass." He informed her, moving around the counter to steady her by placing his hands on her shoulders when it seemed like she was going to fall.
Her gaze turned toward him, afraid, her breathing hitching. Her fingers fumbled for the marker hanging from her wrist, and he stopped her with one gentle hand.
"Keep your questions inside your mind." He said firmly, "I have given you something that will help you replace your negative associations with positive ones. The thought of breakfast alarms you because it was the last thing you ate before your trauma occurred. Your mind has confused coincidence with cause, and the tea will help you look past that."
He steered her toward the chair he kept next to Stergata's perch, then knelt down to pick up the broken pieces of porcelain once she was seated.
"The food is ready," he announced once he had gathered up all the broken pieces and stood, "Why dont you head into the dining room? I will be out in just a minute."
Abigail remained sitting, her daemon by her feet, and her eyes slowly drifting towards the door he had indicated.
Sighing softly, he placed a hand on Stergata's back to wake her. "Stergata, if you would kindly show young Abigail the way?"
His daemon lifted her head, blinked once and slowly lifted her wings above her head.
As though on marionette strings, Abigail got to her feet, and, when Stergata lifted herself into the air, followed her silently as she flew into the dining room, her daemon clutching to one leg as she walked like a child.
Satisfied, Hannibal smiled to himself, and returned his attention to the food he had made.
He had just finished adding two slices of that each to the plates when the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the final guest he had invited.
Leaving the kitchen, he entered the parlour room and answered the door with a welcoming smile.
Surprise filled him at the sight of the person standing on his doorstep, but he recovered quickly. "Alana, how nice of you to-" he started to say but was cut off by surprise when her daemon furiously launched himself off of her shoulder, past his face, and into the house.
"Where is she?" Alana demanded sharply before he could even get another word out and ignoring his niceties entirely, her voice steely and enraged.
"Abigail is in the dining room." He answered when she spun toward him, angry at his silence. "We were just about to eat."
"How dare you!" She hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously, "How dare you sign my patient out of the hospital without my permission! You know, for someone who gets so hung up on common courtesy, I expected better of you, Hannibal!" Her voice never rose to above its normal volume, but the sharpness hidden in its depths could cut bone.
Mentally backpedaling, Hannibal bowed his head in submission. "You have every right to be angry with me," he surrendered, "I should have asked you first. I am sorry, Alana." His voice was held low, humble and ashamed.
But Alana didn't back down. If anything, she seemed even angrier than before. She even took a step closer to him, glaring like a mother wolf whose cubs had been threatened. "Apology not accepted, Hannibal!" She snapped, balling her hands into fists, "We discussed this earlier, and I made it clear that she needed to remain at the hospital for the time being! And you completely disregard that!"
He opened his mouth to respond shocked at the ferocity of her outburst, but she cut him off with a sharp movement of her hand, silencing him.
"Rude, Hannibal." She said coldly, "Shockingly rude."
He resisted the urge to react to her choice of words, and called out hastily when she turned toward the kitchen, "Wait!" He was forced to stop her fully with a hand on her arm when she refused to listen, and quickly turned his expression regretful to fend of the glare she scalded him with.
"You were right." He said softly, "I should have listened to you. She wasn't ready to leave the hospital, and experienced some anxiety."
"Anxiety?" Fort he first time, Alana's voice rose, the anger on her face turning almost instantly into alarm.
"Yes," he said ruefully, averting his gaze as though ashamed, "I gave her a sedative to calm her-just half a Valium." He hurried to reassure when Alana's anger threatened to resurface, "She is a bit foggy, but otherwise unharmed."
"Take me to her, now." Alana demanded, her glare got enough to cut metal.
He led her into the dining room without any further words spoken between them, and observed the interaction between Abigail and Alana's daemon when he stepped through the doorway.
Alana's daemon had perched on the table infront of the young woman, his antennae twitching rapidly, his wings held tightly shut.
Abigail's daemon was balanced on the back of her chair, and holding onto her hair for support, his gaze darting unsteadily between Abigail and Stergata, who perched on the chair at Hannibal's spot.
The room was silent until Alana spoke.
"Hello, Abigail." She said softly, all of the anger gone from her voice and stance as though it had never existed.
Abigail looked up at her, and smiled widely, her mouth opening and closing as though she had forgotten once more that she could no logger speak.
She frowned deeply, and traced a trembling hand across her throat.
Alana immediately moved forward, taking the seat next to Abigail without hesitation.
"How are you feeling?" She asked gently, reaching out to brush a lock of hair out of the young woman's face.
Hannibal turned his back on their interaction, and headed I to the kitchen to retrieve the food, his lips thinly pursed at the unexpected turn of events.
Abigail was leaning over a small notebook when he returned to the dining room, a pencil gripped tightly in her hand, and her brows knit in concentration.
Alana had apparently produced the items from her purse, as it was sitting up on the table.
Alana herself was studying Stergata closely, and being cooly regarded in return.
Her daemon sat on Abigail's daemon's shoulder, antennae twitching and wings fluttering.
"Bon appetite." He said, drawing all eyes room as he placed the dishes on the table.
Alana stared at the food he placed infront of her, her expression unreadable. "You were expecting company?" Her tone was flat, Andy carefully controlled, but nonetheless, he glimpsed Abigail looking at the other woman from the corner of his eye, catching onto Alana's animosity.
He frowned.
"Truthfully, Will was supposed to be joining us, but my calls went unanswered." He said, "But, as you are here, and he is not, I thought-"
The doorbell rang suddenly, cutting him off.
"One moment." He said, inclining his head, "That might be him now."
It was, and Hannibal happily led him to the dining room, brushing off his apologies for not answering his calls without really listening.
He had to stabilize the situation soon, before his plans for Abigail completely backfired.
Will was surprised to see Alana and Abigail, and his daemon's gaze quickly locked onto the interactions between the other three daemons in the room.
"You seem to be one plate short." Will observed wryly, as Hannibal gestured for him to be seated.
Hannibal simply smiled.
"I'm an unexpected guest." Alana out in before Hannibal could speak, "Don't worry, I won't be eating."
She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing Abigail's attention once again.
Stergata twitched one wing infestimally, and Hannibal accepted the rebuke as Will frowned, studying Abigail in concern as his daemon tilted her head to one side, and asking worriedly, "Abigail, are you feeling alright?"
Abigail blinked at him slowly, and lifted one hand to her head to brush away the hair that had fallen infront of her face.
Will's frown deepened.
Abigail's daemon suddenly spoke, voice a whisper from her shoulders. "We want to go back to the hospital."
Alana nodded at once, and Hannibal decided to quit while he was ahead. "I can, of course, send you back with your food. I have plenty of Tupperware containers."
But Abigail shook her head, looking pale, and Hannibal was forced to admit defeat.
Alana left, taking Abigail with her, and, as a result, Will.
The food remained untouched on the dining room table, and Hannibal sighed, and scraped the contents of the plates into a large plastic bowl, pulled his coat on, locked the front door behind him, and ventured out I to the darkness, heading for the woods.
After all, there was no point in letting a good meal go to waste.