A/N: Even though Abigail isn't tangibly in Will's life, I wanted to write a story where she's able to help him prove his innocence (via dreams/hallucinations). This first chapter focuses primarily on Will's dissent with Hannibal, as well as his tenuous (yet strengthening) friendship with Beverly Katz. Characters like Alana Bloom will also make an appearance, but not until chapter two.

In the future, the focus of this story will (primarily) shift to Will/Abigail, because just like Hannibal suggested on the show, she will be "the one good thing in his life," giving him a bright spot (and an escape) in an otherwise bleak existence. And also just like on the show, Abigail's fate won't be established until later on in the story. So she may be alive...she may be dead...you'll just have to wait and see. ;)

CH 1: Baiting the Hook

The broken clock on the wall continued its steady, hollow rhythm as Beverly Katz sat facing Will Graham, one hand on the metal interrogation table and the other clasping a pen. Will wasn't looking at her. Though this wasn't unusual, she was growing frustrated by his lack of cooperation.

Finally, she decided on a more benign route. Leaning forward, she folded her hands and said, "I don't think you killed those people, Graham, but you know I'm required to ask. I can't bullshit you on this – you already know the procedure, so you also know you're not doing yourself any favors by staying silent. Trust me. It'll be less painful this way."

Will rolled his shoulders forward, his body shifting a bit before he finally raised his eyes to hers. They were dark and sad…haunted. "There's no such thing as 'less painful,'" he softly said. "I've already told the FBI everything I know, so I'm not sure what you're hoping to accomplish."

Beverly pressed her lips together. She had never pretended to know Will well. Even when the vultures from the press had swooped in, desperate for scraps of information for their columns, she'd been truthful when she'd said they were only work acquaintances. And though she liked Graham, he'd always declined her polite offers to socialize.

Antisocial behavior was common in murderers – it often gave way to instability.

Beverly moistened her lips, rolling them inward as she recalled their first meeting. She'd half-jokingly asked if he was unstable – had she actually been right in her light-hearted jeering?

Rubbing at her forehead, she also couldn't help but recall Zeller's smug "I told you so" speech after Will's arrest. After much humming and hawing, he said he found it telling how Graham had chosen to surround himself with dogs. He believed Will had been feeding the bodies to his own pets.

Beverly's stomach turned, her legs crossing at the ankles. As she re-situated herself, she happened to glance down at Will's shackled hands. Those were creative and inventive hands – hands that had fixed boat motors and designed fishing lures. Were they also hands that had committed multiple counts of murder?

Will's voice cut through the air then, sharp like a whip and startling her back to reality. "I didn't do it, Beverly…you know I didn't."

She frowned, her pen tapping aimlessly against the table top. "Unfortunately, I don't know anything right now. This is some serious shit, Graham, and I had to do a bit of arm-twisting to keep Jack at Quantico." She paused. "I figured you'd want someone less . . . judgmental on board."

"Judgmental" was putting it lightly. Jack Crawford had been furious about Will's arrest, for it was decidedly bad for his public image. While people praised him at various events – most notably being at Hannibal Lecter's lavish soirees – they would whisper behind their cocktail napkins when his back was turned. Will Graham's spiral was a marked failure on the Bureau's part, and Jack was desperately trying to sweep the specifics under the rug.

Now studying Will's worn, tired face, Beverly chewed her lip and felt a twinge of discouragement. He'd never been incredibly open with her to begin with, but she liked to think he'd started trusting her during the Madchen case. Leaning forward, she took a quick breath and cleared her throat. "I'm going to tell you something, ok? Now whether or not you want to take this to heart is up to you, but I'm telling you up front that I've done this long enough to know a murderer when I see one. My baby sister was my first testament to my little 'bullshit detector.'"

Beverly glanced overhead at a nameless point of interest, trying to gather her thoughts. "I mentioned her once before, if I recall correctly… Long story short, when she got away with murder, I knew she was lying. I knew she was guilty. But you?" She gave a weak little smile. "I just don't see it…I don't see it at all, and I don't get where all this evidence is coming from. Normally I would trust logic over some hocus pocus intuition, but I just…I can't. Not this time."

Will watched her closely, but chose not to say anything.

Tapping her pen more furiously against the tabletop, Beverly jiggled her foot as she tried to think. Again the Madchen case came to mind, so that was why she turned her sharp, determined eyes to him and urged, "Let's prove it. Let's prove without a shadow of a doubt that you're not the Ripper – that you can't be him and that you were framed."

Will huffed, finally choosing to emote. "How?" he demanded. "The evidence has already been inconclusive toward my innocence… Whoever planted those human remains isn't new to the art of deception. He knows that I'm here, and he knows I'm going to try and prove I'm not guilty."

Will was right. Deep-down, Beverly wanted to laugh at the lunacy of her own suggestion. Was she so blinded that she'd willingly open herself up to a potential maniac? Would she really risk her own job – and possibly her own life – just to help a friend who was mentally ill? Not to mention, it didn't help matters that she'd just given Will a possible segue. What if he jumped onboard the "framed train" just because she'd suggested it?

Shit, she was bad at this. She should've just taken her own advice when she had the chance.

Chewing on her pen cap, Beverly glanced toward the glass mirror to their left, wondering if the weasely Dr. Chilton was on the other side listening in. No matter…it's not like he could do anything.

"You need help, Will," she finally started up again. "But as you know, I can't do anything unless you give me something to run on. Do you have any idea – and I mean any at all – of who could want you behind bars? Do you have any enemies? Someone who'd know about your close relationship with Abigail Hobbs?"

Beverly mentally scratched out that last point, considering how Freddie Lounds' trashy columns had opened that information to the public. If the crimes were based on that fact alone, it could literally be anyone.

Sparing the two-way mirror a furtive glance, she lowered her voice and whispered, "If you're uncomfortable disclosing that information aloud, I could always give you my notepad." Here she slid the pen and paper toward him, hoping that it would somehow open up a fountain of information from within.

Will paused, his hands trembling as he moved as though he were going to accept her proposition. But each time his fingers grazed the pen, he'd promptly shrink back, shaken.

"Will… If you're uncomfortable with the idea, we could always just-"

But he cut her off, suddenly determined. His shackled hands took hold of the pen and paper, his strokes firm and deliberate as he scribbled out a large, weighty sketch of letters. Beverly bit her lip. Watching as he slid the paper back into her open hands, she flipped the note around and brought it up for her perusal.

The name LECTER glared back at her in loud, unyielding letters.

Beverly stared at the notepad for a long time – seeing, but not comprehending. It was as if she were underwater, the subtle noises around them warbling like liquid dissonance. But then those waves crashed away, and she was only left with the cold reality of it all.

Jesus fucking Christ.

This was a joke. It had to be. Though the agent wasn't all that familiar with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, he'd struck her as a very polite and well-grounded man – a complete pillar of society. And what's more, he'd always spoken of Will with a professional fondness, so the idea of him not only murdering all those people, but framing his own patient seemed beyond the realm of possibility.

But then again, Hannibal was also privy to Will's medical records. Whatever he said would never be disputed. If she were a serial killer, that would be the perfect, most infallible of all alibis. And now that Graham was under lock and key, Lecter was able to keep him right in his line of sight. He was watching him…baiting him…seeing what he would do next. In a way, it reminded her of a lab rat being fed poison.

Jerking the notepad back under her grasp, Beverly unsteadily placed it onto her lap. She didn't know why the hell she was shaking – it was either nerves or anger, but she couldn't tell which. Words weren't coming to her, so all she managed to say was a soft, "Shit."

'Eloquent. Real classy, Katz. He's worried enough as it is.'

Brushing the hair back from her eyes, Beverly cleared her throat and amended, "What I mean to say is, this isn't going to be easy… This is a serious allegation, so I can't just go out with arms swinging. As much as I'd like to march up to the guy and demand some answers, I'm not willing to jeopardize a potentially innocent man's reputation. You should know more than anyone how this shit sticks to people."

Will nodded, his eyes downcast.

With a deep breath, Beverly shook her head and frowned. "I obviously can't take this information to Jack, because he'll be pissed that I didn't get a confession… Perhaps Alana?" She looked to Will, trying to gauge his reaction to the suggestion. "Should I include Dr. Bloom in this investigation, or would you rather I do this by myself? It could be dangerous, so I'm just throwing that out there."

"No."

The word was so sharp and final that Beverly looked up at Will, studying his down-turned face as he shifted in his seat. The cuffs around his ankles jangled and created a jarring dissonance. "No problem," she assured him. "Bloom will never know about this… She's been around to help, but Jack's kept her at arm's length because of…well…you know." Not feeling the need to bring up the romantic aspect of it – Graham's relationships were none of her business – Beverly cleared her throat and pretended to wipe something off her paper.

"Has…Jack spoken to Dr. Lecter recently?" Will's voice was fragile and small, his hands twitching until they curled into two tight fists. "Have you?"

Beverly stared back at him, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "No," she promised. "Not even a word. Well, not outside of case consultations." Sitting back a bit, she twisted her lips and confessed, "But Jack? That's a whole different story. Since Dr. Lecter acted as your psychiatrist, he's naturally going to be a big part in your trial. He's willing to testify against you."

Beverly studied Will for a reaction, her brow puckering as she floundered for how much she should say. "Were you aware of that? I mean, you're a smart guy…you had to know that Lecter would be involved in the trial. He's the one who can make or break your case."

Of course he was. If Will was correct in his hunch, Lecter would take no greater pleasure than being the one to deliver the tipping point of the trial. Serial killers lived for that sort of thrill – the irony was too good to pass up.

Beverly looked askance at her colleague, wondering what was racing through his mind in that moment.

Will had a lot to absorb – a lot to think about – but he finally settled on a low, "Don't get too close to him." He glanced at her then, a small and tight smirk crossing his lips. The expression almost looked incompatible with his sad face. "Lecter has no traceable motive, so you need to find some evidence before you act. I don't know how much help I can be while I'm in here, but thank you…really. I know I may not seem grateful, but I am."

Beverly nodded. "No problem, Graham. Our main issue is Lecter's kept such a low profile that I doubt I'll find something from the get-go." She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Just this once, couldn't a perp leave clues out in the open? I'd kill for one of those idiots from Cops!"

Growing serious again, Beverly promised him, "I'll find a way to keep you in the loop. If I can work my 'Katz magic' on Chilton, it'll be a lot easier than going behind his back."

A metallic buzz sounded then, and the door swung open to their right.

"Speak of the devil," she said lowly.

Chilton was crisp when he announced that her time was up.

Getting up from her chair, Beverly nodded and said, "Yeah, sure…but can I have a quick word? It's Bureau business, so I wouldn't recommend getting in the way of my progress."

Chilton spared Will a superior little glare, then returned his attention to the agent. "But of course, Miss Katz. Won't you come this way?"

Beverly set her teeth on edge. He was obviously refusing to say "Special Agent Katz" for a reason. Normally she didn't give a damn about proper name usage, but in this case it rubbed her the wrong way. Priggish jerk.

Sending Will an apologetic little smile, she clapped a hand on his shoulder and urged, "Hang in there, champ. Before long we'll have you far, far away from assholes with clipboards."

Chilton huffed. Discreetly tucking his clipboard beneath his arm, he motioned for Beverly to follow him out into the hallway. As they passed through the long, winding corridor, a familiar man suddenly came into view. When Dr. Hannibal Lecter's eyes locked with Beverly's – cold and chilling and oddly shark-like – the agent felt as if she'd swallowed a bucket of ice water. Her lips screwed into a sour smile, her teeth gritting as she spared him a nod.

"Good evening, Agent," Lecter greeted. Despite the courteous remark, it was evident by his eyes that he couldn't recall her actual name. He seemed to be searching the annals of his brain, searching and searching for where he could've possibly misplaced the needed information.

Good. Let him sweat it out. Killers tended to keep their victims close, but the victims' friends even closer. Beverly was suddenly grateful to Will's distance. If he'd made their subtle friendship common knowledge, she might be in a completely different situation right now.

When Hannibal passed them so he could sign in, Beverly repressed a shiver. Holy shit. She'd never realized how cold and empty his eyes were until now. It was almost as if he were a walking void.

Trying not to think about Will and what he'd shortly have to suffer, she followed Chilton into his office and promptly shut the door. "Alright," she coolly began, "I don't like you, and you don't like me – now that that little pleasantry's out of the way, I'd like to make a proposition with you."

A dark brow rose high on Chilton's head. "Indeed? And why would you wish to do such a thing, Agent?"

"That man out there is in trouble, Doctor, and Jack wants to know just how much."

Lies. Every last bit of it. But by this point in the game, she was willing to pull out every card in her deck.

Folding her arms, Beverly sidled in front of Chilton and said, "We're requesting that we give Will a wire for communication. Now don't worry, we're not investigating the hospital – if we were, I wouldn't be letting you in on this. What we're investigating is between me, Will, and the Bureau, so if you could please just-"

"That's a severe invasion of privacy, Agent Katz."

"I'm aware of that," she crisply said. "But if you really want to be responsible for thwarting an investigation, be my guest."

Chilton chuckled. "Thwarting an investigation? Well, then! You're certainly laying it on thick." Sitting down behind his desk, he shrugged and fired back, "Be that as it may, you know as well as I that legally I don't have to do anything. I could always claim this as an abuse of power."

Beverly stiffened. "Ok, so then what if I paid you?"

"How much are we talking here?"

"Fifteen-hundred."

"Double it."

The agent dug her nails into her palms, her teeth clenching as she fought against an onslaught of curses. It wasn't the money that mattered – it was the goddamn principle of it all. Were there any pure-hearted people out there anymore?

Finally, she raised her hands and nodded. "Alright, fine…you got it. I'll have the money sometime tomorrow afternoon, but if you tip anyone off – and I mean anyone – I'll bring your ass in for obstructing justice."

"Fair enough." With a wolfish grin, Chilton rose and held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you, my dear."

Sparing his hand a snide look, Beverly promptly turned and headed for the door. She'd be certain to take him down too, but only after Dr. Lecter.

"Do you mind telling me why you checked out a wire?"

Beverly froze, slowly slipping into her coat as she sensed Jack in the doorway. She turned and said, "It must've been a mistake… I never checked anything out today."

"Then why is your name in the sign-out book?"

Beverly made a show of snapping her fingers, a smile crossing her lips as she shut her locker and leaned back against it. "I almost forgot… Brigham wanted to teach one of the trainees about undercover fieldwork, so he asked me to check one out for him. Don't worry though, ok? It'll be back soon."

Jack appeared unconvinced. "Why didn't Brigham just do it himself?"

"How the hell should I know? Maybe he's just a lazy son of a bitch." Frowning, she pulled her coat in tighter and said, "I'm going back to the hospital… My talk with Graham was actually canceled 'cause he had an appointment with Dr. Lecter."

"What? How is that possible? You were scheduled there for 2:00, so why would Chilton double book?"

"I don't know…human error happens a lot, you know." Pushing past Jack before another word could be said, she whispered several oaths and wondered how she could've been so careless. So far it seemed that she wouldn't make a very good undercover cop.

When Lecter was finally granted access to the interrogation room, he flashed Will a serpentine smile and stood in front of the table. "Good afternoon, Will. I do hope you are far more receptive today than during our last visit – I was under the impression that you hadn't been eating." As he moved toward the available chair, he noted the odd positioning and moved it back to its proper place. "Have you been having any more visions?"

Of course he was still having hallucinations. Will saw one every time Lecter walked into the room, the damning, hellish creature taking shape amidst a crown of antlers. It would waver in and out of his subconscious, much like the changing of a television channel until he blinked and, in a moment of rare clarity, the face of Dr. Lecter would crackle back into view.

"What do you think?" Will viciously bit out.

Lecter remained placid. "Tell me about them, then."

Will's throat constricted. He wasn't prepared – or rather, he wasn't willing to tell him about his nightmares, for most of them centered around the late Abigail Hobbs. Every time, it was always the same thing… Her eyes would grow wide and fearful as he murdered her, her warm blood pooling around her head in a macabre halo of gore.

"Will?"

He took a deep breath and hesitated, shaking his head. "What have you told Jack Crawford about me?"

Lecter's expression remained still as a calm lake. "Only what is important to him. As you are my patient, some things must remain classified as-"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, I know."

Lecter folded his hands over the table and leaned into it, watching Will closely. "I am under the impression that you think I have told him something more."

Will's cheek twitched. "Haven't you?"

Lecter cleared his throat and said, "Dr. Chilton has mentioned your paranoia to me. While I do not necessarily agree with his diagnoses, I do think you are coming to the wrong conclusions. Of course you have the right to be suspicious, but you are repressing the idea of your mental illness so far back into your mind that you're beginning to believe it does not exist."

Will sat motionless, his shackled hands imperceptibly tensing.

Lecter continued. "So you are wondering what I have told Jack Crawford… We have spoken on several occasions since your admittance, though only your treatments have been under scrutiny."

"And my trial?" Will added.

"We had a brief conversation, yes."

His brow only creased briefly, suggesting for him to go on.

Lecter finally eased back into his chair, crossing his legs. His eyes wandered to the two-sided mirror and Will took notice. He thought it maybe implied Jack, watching tirelessly from behind the glass like a sentinel.

"Will?" he heard Lecter call, and his head snapped upward again, his eyes low.

"Abigail's dead," he whispered. Though it was his own way of reaffirming the situation, he could tell his doctor had not been expecting the abrupt veer toward their ward.

Finally Lecter nodded, his expression unchanging. "I cared for Abigail too, Will."

He gave a tearful smile, his Adam's apple bobbing low in his throat. "Did you?"

"But of course I did… It aggrieves me to know what became of such a charming girl."

"And did you view her that way before or after she figured out your secret?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Abigail was a smart girl," Will continued. "Is that why you killed her? 'Cause she didn't need to die for your scheme to work…those other deaths would've been plenty to convince a jury of my guilt." He began to visibly tremble, the epiphany within suddenly bursting forth like a dam. "You once told me I'd eventually find you interesting…" He breathed a shaking laugh, his nails biting painfully into his palms. "It's all between the lines, isn't it? You were trying to drop subtle clues even then."

Will could feel the heat in his face rising, his cheeks flushed as his breathing began to grow labored. He heard Dr. Lecter call out to him before he quickly stood and checked his temperature. Will flinched back from the other man's touch, his eyes growing stormy and feverish like his flesh. He felt like he could kill him – like he could free himself from his cuffs and slay Dr. Lecter the way Gideon had killed those guards. It would be for Abigail. It would be for Georgia Madchen, Dr. Sutcliffe, Marissa Schurr, and Cassie Boyle. It would be for every goddamn person Lecter had ever killed and eaten, and even those he'd served to him under the guise of friendship.

"Will?" Lecter said, trying to get his attention.

"Dr. Lecter," he growled back.

There was a mechanical buzzing then and two orderlies stepped in, escorting the psychiatrist out. The main orderly slipped his hands beneath Will's arms and hefted him upward, allowing him to stand. Will swayed for a moment, dizzy and unstable, but knowing that he was finally prepared to play Dr. Lecter's game. The pawn would be determined to fight the king, no matter what the cost. And now with Beverly's help enlisted, he knew that together they could overthrow Lecter's entire scheme. She was the knight.

Beverly had managed to return to the hospital near the end of Will and Hannibal's conversation, but she unfortunately hadn't caught on to most of their back-and-forth. Will was now being corralled out of the room like chattel, thus ending the session.

"Enjoying the view?"

Turning to Chilton with folded arms, Beverly's gaze grew cold as she snapped, "Can you honestly sit back and let Will get treated this way? He's sweating!" Eyes narrowing in suspicion, she stepped forward and asked, "How long as this been going on?"

Chilton shrugged. "The patient is responding to treatment, and that's all that matters."

"Yeah? Well that 'patient' is my friend, not to mention a human being. And if by 'responding' you mean drawing into himself, then yeah, I'd say Graham's responding with flying colors!" She applauded him sarcastically, stalking toward him with her heavy boots. "Y'know, I work around smelly corpses for a living, but only you can make my stomach turn."

Chilton smiled. "My dear agent, I can assure you that I'm doing this in the name of science. Surely you can understand that."

Beverly bristled. "Most scientists don't put studies ahead of human beings. What kind of operation are you running here?"

"I thought you weren't investigating my hospital."

"We're not," she coolly agreed, "but maybe we should be." With her eyes cutting back toward the glass divider, she asked, "Where are they taking him now? I thought we had a deal."

"Don't worry, Agent," Chilton assured her. "The patient will be brought to a back room where tests are usually delivered. You may speak with him then. However, I would ask that you only spend fifteen minutes, tops. Will is due for another treatment soon."

The corner of Beverly's mouth twitched, yet she managed to give him a strained smile. "Fine," she agreed, "good. Glad we could reach an agreement."

"Well-"

"I beg your pardon," a smooth, gentlemanly voice inquired from behind. "Might I have a word?"

Beverly lurched, stunned by the sudden question. Trying not to appear disquieted when she realized it was Dr. Lecter, she straightened her stance and allowed a fake, crooked smile to splash across her lips. Fortunately for her, Chilton was more than willing to make up for her unresponsiveness.

"Ah, good evening, Dr. Lecter! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I merely wanted to extend an invitation – this Saturday is my annual gala, and I would be most honored if you were to attend." Here his dark eyes slid toward Beverly, a cold smile on his lips as he said, "And you as well, Agent."

Beverly paled a bit, but she managed to smile. This was her chance… While everyone was milling around and being a distraction, she could take a private tour of his house. Clearing her throat, she tried not to sound too eager as she accepted, "Sure, that'd be great – thank you, Dr. Lecter. Is it a black tie affair?"

"Indeed, it is – is there any other kind?" he joked.

Chilton gave an overly exaggerated laugh, but Beverly found she could only smile weakly.

Lecter and Chilton said their goodbyes, and then he was on his way.

Releasing a breath, Beverly spared the so-called doctor a look, then went out into the hallway. Hopefully Graham would be more receptive now that she had an idea.

"You ok?" Shutting the door behind her, Beverly studied Will's face as she found him seated by a small, wobbly wooden table. "You looked kind of sickly in the interrogation room… You're not going to vomit all over my new shoes, are you?"

Will smiled weakly. "No, whatever was left in my stomach already came out... You just missed me vomit all over the nurse." He squinted at her and asked, "What's that?"

With a feeble smile, Beverly held out her hand so he could look at a small device. "You can start saying 'thank you' any time now, because I managed to get us a bit of communication. Jack's going to notice before long, but I figured I could stall him in the meantime." Coming toward him, she motioned with her hands and urged, "Stand up."

As she waited for Will to do as she asked, Beverly slyly added, "Oh, and guess who got herself invited to Lecter's house this weekend? Yep! That's right. This girl." Clearly pleased with herself, she pointed to Will's jumpsuit and indicated that he unzip the top. "Who designed these ugly things anyway, a garbage company? God, I don't envy you..."

Will's head sharply turned toward hers. "What? No...I-I mean, I'm glad that you feel confident in your investigatory abilities, but this could be dangerous."

Beverly rolled her eyes. "Lecter will be too distracted with his guests to pay me any attention. Trust me, Will, this is the perfect set-up."

Now seeing Will's white undershirt, Beverly searched for an appropriate place to clip the device. His shirt collar was visible, so that was obviously out of the question. After thinking a moment, she snapped her fingers and jerked up his sleeve, pleased to find that it was short. Clipping the device to the edge, she asked, "You're familiar with this sort of thing, right? All you have to do is talk when you have something to say, and I'll hear it. I'll make sure that my device is always on. You may look crazy talking to yourself, but I'm pretty sure you're in the right place to get away with that sort of thing." She laughed.

After she was certain the device was secured, Beverly retrieved her own and placed it into her ear. It was very discreet. "I'll be wearing this to the party, but I'll also be wearing a blue tooth device on my other ear," she explained. "That way everyone will think I'm one of those rude, obnoxious people who look like they're too important to talk to anyone else."

Will appeared anxious again. "Just don't talk out of turn at dinner... Otherwise, you might find that you're dinner."

Beverly couldn't help but laugh. "What kind of dipshit do you take me for? I'm not going to sit at his table and go, 'WOW, LOOK AT ALL THIS PEOPLE MEAT! HEY WILL, YOU SHOULD REALLY SEE THIS PEOPLE MEAT!' Give me some credit, ok? I may have only been doing this for five years, but I'm pretty sure I can get away with being discreet; I'm a woman. We were made for being discreet."

Even amidst her jest, Beverly felt a seed of fear germinate within her core. She wasn't one for feeling apprehension too often, but Will was right. Lecter probably would be able to see through any veiled innuendos. He was a master of them, himself.

Will stepped forward then, but Beverly maintained her relaxed posture. Despite the fact that she knew she could be in the presence of a killer, she wasn't afraid of him. In a way, it was reminiscent of their talk in Greenwood; he'd inched closer to her then too, almost as if he'd been desperate to bask in the sanity of an alleged "normal" person.

As Will began speaking, Beverly observed him with critical eyes.

"Assuming you were there during my talk with Lecter – I don't know how much you heard, considering how you've managed to get a wire – but there's something I need you to find while you're at his dinner... While I'm certain you're already aware of-"

Two guards entered the room then, thus severing their tenuous connection. Stepping back with her arms folded, Beverly eyed them with distrust, wondering how much of their conversation had been overheard. Fortunately for her, neither man seemed interested in being there.

As they escorted Will toward the door, he called to her over his shoulder, "Just forget it...stick to what we discussed."

Beverly nodded, hoping to appear convincing. The cogs in her mind were spinning, wondering what on earth he could have been hoping to ask.

The upper vents kicked in around 2 a.m., filling the cell block with a dry rush of air. Will shifted on his cot, restless, his eyelids fluttering as he tried to get comfortable. Muted footsteps could be heard from down the block, but it wasn't enough to rouse him from his attempts at sleep. Footsteps were normal.

Assuming it was the night watchman fulfilling his duties, Will rolled over and faced the wall opposite his cot.

"Will?"

He jerked upright, stunned, the hair prickling on the back of his neck as he tried to discern where the hushed, plaintive whisper had come from. The air around him suddenly felt thick – suffocating – and his heart jack-hammered anxiously in his chest.

"Will?"

He turned toward the noise, a bead of perspiration trickling down his neck. At first he didn't see anything, but after a moment a tall, feminine shape blitzed out across his vision like a beacon. He staggered back, alarmed. Though it had literally happened in the blink of an eye, Will was certain that he'd seen something – or rather, someone.

"...Abigail?" He instantly felt stupid for calling her name. He knew it wasn't her; it couldn't be.

Again, the same figure trekked out across the hall, but much more slowly this time. When it came to the middle of the corridor it suddenly stopped, turning its head and locking its wide, deep blue eyes with his.

A sound akin to a sob caught in Will's throat. He sank down to his knees, hands clasping in front of him as if in prayer. "Abigail," he breathed, his fingers now wrapping around the bars. "Abby...? Is that...? Are you really...?"

Unable to finish, Will trembled and supported himself with the metal rods. He felt weightless, like a seedling caught in an air current. Abigail Hobbs was there – she was staring right through him and into his raw, bleeding soul. He hoped she knew that he bled for her and her alone.

Feeling as if several mechanical clicks were whirring through his skull, Will bowed his head and pressed his feverish brow against the bars. The noise was growing louder – stronger – and when he opened his eyes to reaffirm that he wasn't seeing a ghost, he sucked in a panicked breath. Abigail was gone.

A/N: This is probably the most complicated story I've ever tried writing, but so far I'm really enjoying myself. This chapter mostly focused on Will and Beverly (and Hannibal), but I promise you that the next chapter WILL feature Abigail more prominently. And I honestly haven't written too many Lecter/Graham scenes in the past, so I hope I'm portraying them in a convincing fashion. Anyway, things can only get more complicated from here, so I hope you enjoy. :)