Holy crap we're in the double digits! In other news I will give the promised special chapter whenever I hit 100 reviews, because I've got a ton of ideas and we're gonna hit that soon. NOW: witness the continuing saga of Hannibal the Not-so-Secretly-a-Cannibal continue in the continuation of the story in continued chapter 10. Enjoy :P

Jack Crawford sat in his office with Alana Bloom who was wearing a gold bling necklace for some odd reason and Hannibal who was inconspicuously chewing on a cooked human heart.

"We have to find out what Abigail Hobbes knows," he said told the two psychiatrists.

"We can't just ask her, Jack. We have to create a safe place for her to open up," Alana protested.

"Or we could torture it out of her," suggest Hannibal. "I find the human mind opens up best when the human body is under strain. Like when a chest cavity opens up when you plunge a pipe into it."

Alana glanced at him sidelong. "That's what the Chesapeake Ripper does sometimes, you know."

Hannibal nodded. "I'm not the ripper."

Alana nodded. "That's good enough for me."

"Me, too," said Jack. "I'm sure that definitely won't come back to bite me in the ass later."

Hannibal repressed a sigh.

"Do you really think Abigail Hobbes helped her father kill those girls, Jack?" asked Alana angrily.

"I dunno. I'm just guessing," Jack said with a shrug. "I'm also interrogating a man who went to high school with Hobbes forty years ago and a Labrador retriever named Terrence Lacob Cobbes."

"Terrence Lacob Cobbes?" asked Hannibal, confused.

"I named him myself," Jack said proudly.

"Then why are you- Never mind..." muttered Hannibal. "How's she doing?" he asked, turning to Alana. "Abigail, I mean."

"Surprisingly practical," Alana said thoughtfully. "I think she responded very well to me rap therapy."

"Surprisingly practical or SUSPCIOUSLY PRACTICAL?" asked Jack loudly, standing up suddenly and slamming his fist into the desk. "I say we arrest her immediately and torture her using my car battery and some suspicious looking mold that formed on my bread earlier!"

"I'll get my scalpels," volunteered Hannibal, leaping up as well.

"But you can't do that!" protested Alana.

"And why not?!" asked Jack, now standing on his desk and striking dramatic poses he imagined people used when forcing information out of maybe criminals.

"Because it's illegal!" Alana yelled.

"I am the law!" proclaimed Jack, punching the air victoriously and pumping his fist like he'd won the lottery.

"No you're not!" yelled Alana angrily.

Jack stopped punching the air.

"I-I'm not?"

"NO!"

"Oh. I thought I was," Jack said, sitting back down, crestfallen. Hannibal followed his lead, looking equally disappointed.

Jack sighed. "Alright. Let's have Will Graham talk to her."

"It's too soon!" protested Alana.

"Alana..." Jack said very seriously. "Fuck you."

Will paced through his full classroom, presenting his presentation in a present and presentful manner.

"Garret Jacob Hobbes," he told the eager FBI students. "Was a piece of crap. Not literal of course. Figurative. Figuratively Garret Jacob Hobbes was fecal excrement secreted from the anus of a homo sapien."

Several students took that as a sign to leave and go become florists.

"He killed numerous Minnesotan girls. They were all the same age, same height, same weight, same eye color, same hair color, same favorite TV show, same car, same jewelry, same favorite food, same catchphrase, same shoes, same superwholock sweatshirt, same fuck tha police CDs, same Star Trek calendar, same dog breed, same gradient, same toaster, same floral arrangement, same salted nut roll, same underwear, same orientation, same-"

"Professor?" a student said, raising his hand politely.

"Yo," said Will.

"How did you get this job, sir?" asked the student.

"How did you get that ugly face?" countered Will defensively.

"Um, sir, that wasn't an insult. I'm genuinely curious. How exactly do you work for the FBI. I really don't get it, Professor Graham."

Will frowned. "I'm not sure. I think I slept with the director?"

"Of behavioral science?"

"No! Jeez. He's way dedicated to his cancer-ridden wife."

In the background Jack Crawford and Hannibal Swag-Lector entered the classroom just as Will switched slides, deciding the bit had gone on long enough and he should try to think of something else to make the viewers laugh.

"Right, so there was a ninth victim. But Hobbes didn't kill her. Some other dude did. A... copycat," whispered Will, taking the opportunity to hit the speakers on his ipod for a dramatic sound effect. Unfortunately it came in three seconds too late so Will stood awkwardly and waited until it happened.

"Lecturing on the copycat killer?" Hannibal whispered to Jack.

Jack nodded. "We need all the minds we can get. It's sure not like I'm gonna solve it. And Will seems a bit distracted lately. Keeps screaming 'ravenstag' and attacking pedestrians. He's up to 24 dogs now and I think he might be feeding them all valentines candy he bought himself last year. It might be safer to let some untrained FBI candidates in on this one."

"Because Miriam Lass worked out so well," muttered Hannibal.

"How do you know about her?" Jack asked, curiously.

Hannibal coughed awkwardly. "Oh I, erm, saw her once. At a party. It was at Laurence Fishburn's house."

Jack Crawford frowned. "Huh. You think I would've been there for that."

Hannibal sighed.

Will clicked to the next slide and turned bright red.

"I, ah, don't know how that got on there," said Will, face the color of a tomato as a picture of himself dressed up as a dog surrounded by all of his dogs appeared on the projector. The caption said 'Love is Forever' showed above and an image of Jodie Foster was superimposed.

He clicked forward. "Hm. I forgot I took that one..." he said.

All of the FBI students, suitably sickened by Will's dick pic all stood up and made hasty excuses and left, leaving Will to do the rest of the slideshow for Garret Jacob Hobbes, who was sitting in the front row and kept flashing him thumbs-up signs and asking about his daughter.

Will wondered if taking more aspirin would solve all of his problems.

He did so.

It did not.

Abigail Hobbes stared at the woman before her in confusion.

"So you're not a doctor, a nurse, or a psychiatrist/rapper?"

"I'm a BAMF," explained Freddie Lounds. "I write on and I write fanfiction. Lately I've been writing Jack Crawford slash fiction about him and Will. I've named it 'the Hardest Crack to Case.' Here," she said, handing Abigail a leather-bound copy. "It was featured on Competitive Erotic Fan Fiction."

"You do know that's a comedy show, right?" asked Abigail bewildered, paging through it with a combination of shock and confusion akin to that of Bryan Fuller when viewing extremely kinky Hannigram fanart.

"Is it?" asked Freddie, looking like she'd been punched in the face.

Abigail swallowed and faked a smile. "It looks good, Freddie. I'll read it later," she promised.

"Will you?" asked Freddie eagerly. "And will you review it?"

"Sure," lied Abigail.

"Awesome. In that case can I write your story?"

"Um... how about no?" Abigail said, looking at a very descriptive chapter in 'the Hardest Cast to Crack' in which Jack's wife gets in on a three-way.

"But I'll never lie to you, Abbigail!" promised Freddie.

"Sounds like something a liar would say," Abigail observed.

"Oh snap," muttered Freddie in respect for Abigail's mad skillz.

"How about you tell me what happened and I'll think about letting you write about me."

"You're father killed people," said Freddie.

"Yeah. I saw him kill me mom, Lounds."

"Oh, yeah. That must've sucked. I should write a fanfic about that... I'll call it... Throat Slit, World of Shit."

"I am in a world of shit," said Abigail, a reference that was lost on 76% of the people who read this.

"Anyways they called him the Minnesota Shrike and he killed chicks that looked-"

"Just like me," interrupted Abigail.

"That's suspicious," observed Freddie.

"Why'd they call him the shrike?"

"After a bird or something. I don't know, I just made stuff up on my site. I've been kind of busy lately with 'the Hardest Case to Crack.'"

"I can tell," Abigail muttered, setting the story down as though poisonous. "How did they catch my dad?"

"Will Graham. He's-"

"In your fanfiction, I know. But what's he do?"

"He's a special agent for the FBI. And he's totally hot," Freddie said. "Also unstable. Kinda crazy. Good for a fanfic though. He's the sad, sweet sort of crazy, not the stabby sort of crazy. Real nice."

The door to the room opened.

"He's also a total meanie pants," said Freddie as Hannibal and Will walked into the room. "I wouldn't trust him if I had no one else in the whole galaxy to trust. He's ugly and mean and-"

"Hi, I'm Will Graham," said Will. "And this is Canni- Hanni- Whatever. This is the guy who the TV is named after. I think you were just leaving, Freddie," said Will, turning an unfriendly eye towards the red-head.

"No I was- Oh! You want me to leave. Here," said Freddie, starting to hand Abbigail her card but Will snatched it up before she got a chance.

Will read it.

FReddIe LOOunds

aNd smutfairyprincesssexytimeXOXO

alSo paints GARAGEs

nO REfunds

"Could you paint my garage?" asked Will.

Freddie nodded and left quietly, eager to avoid Will making fun of how she'd put her profile picture (an abstract painting of a cat cooking waffles) on her business card.

"So, you wanna talk?" Will asked, turning to Will.

"You killed my dad," Abigail said, turning to Will.

"You're dad invades me dreams. I think we're about even."

"That's bull crap."

"You're bull crap."

"You're a jerk."

"Wanna be friends?" asked Will.

Abigail shrugged. "Just as long as I never have to see Alana Bloom again."

"I can't promise that. Can we still be friends, though?"

Abigail Hobbes sighed. "Sure. I've got nothing better to do. Am I friends with him, too?" she asked, turning to Hannibal. "Because I'm not sure I want to be his friend. He keeps staring at you and drooling. He poked you with a fork earlier and licked it. How did you not notice?"

"You don't have to be his friend, no," said Will, is selective hearing acting up again as he stuffed some aspirin down his throat.

"Everyone is an idiot," Hannibal told her, looking at her with a long, tired face.

Abigail smiled. "Actually, yeah, I want to be friends with him, too."

"Cool!" exclaimed Will. "Now we're like a family."

Listening through the doorway Freddie Lounds had a fantastic new fanfic idea...

I apologize if there's a real smutfairyprincesssexytimeXOXO out there. Okay, you know what to do! :)