The day seems to drag on for Abigail, her unlocked door leaving her feeling watched no matter what she's doing. As it starts to get dark, she finds herself running through the same conversation that's plagued her all day.
He must be starting to trust me, she thinks, otherwise he could have found some reason to come back to lock me up.
She wonders what this new trust means for her.
Does he believe I'm under his control?
Abigail momentarily rebels against the thought, reminding herself that only she is in control of herself, but concedes she does want him to feel in control. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing if Hannibal thought she was now fully under his spell.
She can't quite shake her reaction this morning, knowing it's probably unhealthy she was so comforted by returning to her room… her prison.
He doesn't really control me, she swears to herself.
Gritting her teeth, Abigail marches out of her room, determined not to be cowed. She makes it about halfway down the stairs before she pauses, second-guessing herself.
By staying in the house, and not running, he knows he can trust me. If I hide in my room he will think he's broken me completely. Hanging out downstairs and waiting for his return shows that I am loyal, but not intimidated.
You are intimidated, and annoying voice reminds her.
Shut up. He doesn't need to know that.
Abigail seats herself in the study and pretends to read a book, only her eyes glancing up at the clock every few minutes gives her away.
Court couldn't possibly have taken this long. It should have ended hours ago! What could be keeping him? Or who?
Her thoughts drift to Alana, and Abigail grits her teeth and snaps her book closed. She tries to think of anything aside from the reasons why anger flares within her at the thought of Dr. Bloom.
Stomach grumbling, Abigail decides to prepare herself dinner.
It's been a while since she's cooked, not that she was ever spectacular in the first place, but she took home economics and still remembers dishes they made.
Hannibal's pantry is always well stocked, and Abigail has no problem finding the things she needs to make spaghetti.
She boils her water and adds in the noodles, cursing under her breath when she realizes just how much pasta she put in.
While her noodles are cooking Abigail prepares her sauce, tasting it as she goes and finds herself surprised at how good it is.
Probably because all of Hannibal's ingredients are top of the line, and organic, rather than the extra crap left over from the school kitchens we used in class.
Feeling pleased with herself, she puts her homemade garlic bread in the oven, and begins whipping up a salad.
Abigail hums as she works, feeling lighter than she has in days. Cooking is oddly soothing.
"Something smells delicious."
She freezes.
"Thanks," she says, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder.
Hannibal is in the kitchen doorway, his coat hung over his arm.
"It won't be much longer."
"Let me hang my coat and then I'll set the table," he tells her.
Abigail turns her attention back to her salad and tries to remain calm. Something about Hannibal trying her cooking is utterly nerve-wracking.
What if it's so bad, he decides I'm a lost cause?
After a moment he's back in the kitchen, gathering plates and silverware.
"How was court today?" Abigail asks. "How was Will?"
"Will seems to be doing much better now that his condition has been treated. Though today was probably a bit more exciting than he was expecting."
"How do you mean?"
"There was a severed ear delivered to him today. It led the FBI to a crime scene someone spent an awful lot of time on, making it resemble the crimes that Will is being charged with."
Abigail drains the pasta in the sink and turns to face Hannibal.
"Do they know who did it?" she asks.
"No, not yet. The general consensus though is it was someone trying to introduce reasonable doubt to exonerate Will."
"Who would go through all that trouble?"
"I wish I knew," he says, tone clipped.
It's then that she knows for sure it wasn't Hannibal, though that had been her first suspicion.
"Did it work?" she questions. "Did it help Will?"
"No. The judge was not swayed."
Taking the plates, Hannibal leaves to set the table. Abigail is left on her own to finish up, thoughts lingering on poor Will.
A little while later when they sit down to eat, Will couldn't be further from her mind. The only thing she can think of is what Hannibal will think of her cooking, as shallow as that may be.
Will's facing a death sentence, and I'm anxious over how much garlic I used.
Abigail keeps her head downturned, as though she is focused on her plate, but she's watching Hannibal closely as he takes his first bite.
He chews slowly, deliberately, and she can hardly breathe. He sets his fork down and picks up a slice of the garlic bread, tearing a small bite off and once again concentrating as he chews.
"This is quite good, Abigail," he tells her finally, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "You constantly surprise me with your hidden talents."
"Thank you," she says, unable to hide her ear-to-ear grin.
"It makes me wonder what else you might be hiding we've yet to unearth."
The tone of his voice brings a flush to her cheeks and Abigail turns her attention to her food.
Dinner passes once again in relative silence, and Abigail wonders if maybe that just means he enjoyed the food so much he didn't feel up to making small talk.
It's not until they clear the table, and Abigail is running dishwater that Hannibal speaks again.
"I would take care of those," he tells her, nodding at the dirty dishes, "since you were the one to cook, after all, but I'm afraid I need to go out."
"Where are you going?"
"I have an important house call to make."
"Oh," she says sadly, "I didn't think you made appointments at such late hours."
"This is a special case. Someone important. He's a court official, and he could really use my attention."
Abigail studies Hannibal's face, clear and emotionless, except for a quick flash in his eyes. It's very brief, but it sends shivers down her spine, and makes her pity whoever tonight's patient may be.
"I'll be late, you don't have to wait up," he insists, crossing the kitchen to be by her side. "We can finish our conversation tomorrow."
"What conversation?"
"The one Alana interrupted this morning."
She blanks for a moment, but when she remembers she immediately looks away.
"Sorry for kissing me or sorry for stopping?" Hannibal's questions rings in her head.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he assures her, and then bends down to place a kiss on her forehead.
"Bye," she replies weakly.
Author's Note: Hi, guys. Sorry about the long wait! I've been kind of all over the place recently and not very reliable! I have this and another multi-chaptered fic that I am working on, but I'm also in the process of writing the second novel of my original series (which is supposed to be ready to publish in the spring... yikes). I just want to thank all of you who are hanging in there with me for this fic. I'm going to aim for once a week updates from this point on. Also, this may have seemed like a slow chapter, but we're about to rocket off and things are going to get intense!
As always reviews are greatly appreciated :)