All rights to Hannibal (TV) belong to NBC.
Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore, Maryland
He told her to see Abigail Hobbs.
"She is the subject of Jack's suspicions. I think it would benefit you both to be well acquainted."
He failed to mention the girl was unconscious.
"Indefinitely," one of the nurses said when she asked.
Still, she found herself sitting to the left of the Hobbs girl, staring.
When she asked Will to take her, he was skeptic at first. He looked at her with unfamiliar eyes, as if she'd asked a terribly rude question. She admitted it being Hannibal's suggestion. There was no spoken agreement, nor a written one. Surely, she wasn't required to keep him and what they discussed a secret. She wasn't bound by the Physician-patient confidentiality.
That was something she knew she'd agreed to.
That was the price of her rubber stamp: Therapy.
He gave her a number to call when she was ready for a second session.
That had been a week before.
She didn't know when he wanted her to make it. She wondered if he was waiting for her to, if he would be angered if she didn't make an appointment in the near future.
Unlike Will, she didn't trust the doctor.
When she looked at him, she found him silently sleeping on the couch, one foot propped on an ottoman, the other on the ground. Somewhere in the time he'd begun sleeping, it must have fallen.
Will Graham did not rest easy.
She knew this because he'd told her.
He'd eventually worked up the nerve to ask her if she was getting enough sleep, knowing that she wasn't. He told her that if the job was "too much" for her, then she should consider going back to the diner. And she did. She considered fleeing back to Benny's. That was yesterday, and here she was, staring at a young girl. A stranger in the truest sense of the word.
She looked back to the first night they met up until this day, and she knew he was no stranger to restless nights. She figured that was one of the circumstances that lead her to going to his house for the first time. He, too, didn't trust in the night.
She quietly rose from her seat, walking across the room and searched for any extra pillows and blankets. It took her longer than expected, but eventually she found it. She then carefully covered Will with a blanket, even going as far as to gingerly move his feet onto couch. When she was done, she moved to the lamp. Just as her fingertips grazed against the smooth switch, she stopped herself.
Will didn't deserve to wake in the dark.
And so, she simply returned to her seat, and resumed her staring.
For an hour, she studied the girl before her.
She was a pretty.
She had dark hair that contrasted nicely against youthful, pale and freckled skin. She had delicate features. Sad, down-turned eyes, rounded and rosy lips, and a straight nose.
Yes, Abigail Hobbs was a pretty girl.
She wasn't conventionally pretty.
No, she had a timeless kind of beauty.
Bella imagined that she had the kind of face that a painter would want to capture, spending hours trying to get every single detail right.
It was a delicate kind of beauty.
Bella imagined Abigail to be a good girl. She could picture the girl, walking through the halls of a high school, books in hand, a smile on her face as she listened to a best friend gossip. She couldn't picture Abigail being the one to gossip, but she imagined her to be the kind of girl to listen, to take joy in the simple high school experience. She can't imagine Abigail being one to be like the kids who destroy themselves, burying themselves in unhealthy habits. She can't imagine Abigail to chase after "the crowd." All she could imagine was a girl. A lonely girl, yes, but not an entirely miserable girl. Then again, she imagined Abigail to feel that way. To feel that sense of life closing in on her long before it almost did.
She imagined that Abigail had a journal stashed somewhere. She imagined Abigail pouring out her heart. A part of her almost wanted to ask Jimmy Price if he'd let her check the evidence storage and see if they'd found it. A part of her wanted to read it, to look into the life of Abigail Hobbs so closely that the rest of the world would be so far away because that is what the life of a teenager is.
That is what childhood is...
Even the sad ones.
Bella thought back on her own childhood, wondering if she would want to go back?
In truth, she doubted it. Her childhood ended earlier than most, but even before it ended, she would not dare to go back. To look back, yes. To long to go back, maybe. If only for a little bit.
Of course, she knew her thoughts on Abigail could be entirely wrong.
Still, she wanted to believe the girl before her, the one who would have a nasty scar on her neck, wasn't who Jack thought her to be. Bella wanted to believe that Abigail was good, or, at least, good enough to be spared of more suffering.
Bella's thoughts were cut off by the sound of heels clicking, each sounding louder and louder.
Instinctively, she sat up straighter, craning her neck to see the person who those fast approaching footsteps belonged to.
She was a beautiful woman.
That woman was a beauty. With rich brown hair, eyes that looked as beautiful as the sky on a clear day, and a smile resting on shapely lips. She respected his space, always avoiding being alone, which he didn't know whether to appreciate or take mild offense to. It was easier to forgive a woman with a smile like the one she wore.
In a matter of seconds, Bella was taken back in awe of the rich brown haired, blue eyed woman without as much as a hair out of place, and then captured by a dull ache of insecurity.
The woman hadn't noticed her at first. She noticed Will. There was a spark of familiarity in her eyes, just as there was a brief pang of jealousy in Bella's as the woman slipped off her shoes, smiling softly at Will who was sound asleep. Bella was too busy watching the woman, watching how she responded to Will, that when the woman turned, she was there, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Who are you?" the woman asked in a calm and collected tone. Bella looked to Will, as if he would be awake and do what he'd done since Jack first laid eyes on her: Stand in front of her, shielding her.
But Will was asleep.
Looking back to the woman, Bella gave an answer.
"Bella," she said quietly, taking a step behind the chair she once sat in, another barrier between them. "I'm Will's..."
She didn't know how to finish that sentence.
"Colleague," the woman finished for her, smiling as she stepped forward, offering a hand to shake. "Me too. I've heard about you from Jack," she added.
Bella felt some of her blood drain from her face, knowing full well that Jack wasn't the fondest of her.
"Alana Bloom," she introduced herself as.
A groan sounded from behind the woman. In the time that the woman turned around, Bella moved. The woman protectively moved towards Will, but Bella, ignoring the jolt of jealousy at the sight of the woman moving towards him, walked out of the room.
There was no excuse as to why she left. All there was in her was that same sense of insecurity. Why it was there, why she felt jealous, she wouldn't dare admit aloud.
Will, who was barely waking from a long nap, opened his eyes, expecting to see Bella sitting there, watching Abigail as she had been when he first slipped into sleep. Instead, he found himself seeing Alana Bloom, staring down at him. He habitually moved to rub his eyes of sleep, but felt warm wool rub against his skin. Looking down, he found himself covered with a blanket. He looked up to Alana, half surprised.
"It wasn't me. It was her," Alana said, turning and pointing to a person that was no longer there.
In under a second, that feeling of warmth in his chest, that sense of security was replaced with slight disappointment.
"She was right there, I swear," Alana said quickly, a hopelessly beautiful smile on her face.
His only thought was that it hadn't the same charm as it used to.
Three Days Later
Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore, Maryland
Will visited her later that day she'd left him alone with "Alana Bloom." He asked why she left, and was met with a sharp answer.
"I have another job."
Her words carried a hurt tone. They both noticed, and they both were taken by surprise.
She then followed up with admitting that she was intimidated by Alana Bloom.
Will asked her why, and her silence was enough of an answer.
She didn't compare.
Like Abigail, she wasn't a conventional beauty and she knew it.
A part of her wondered if this was Hannibal's intentions, but also realized there was no way he could have known that she would have met Alana Bloom, much less know that she would have been jealous, which was a foreign experience in that she wasn't so much as wanting to be Alana Bloom, but that she imagined that she couldn't compare.
Compare.
She had to think Will was fond of her.
He didn't need to invite her over anymore. If one wanted the other's company, they would ask if the other wanted drinks. Soon, asking for drinks turned into just having drinks. It was a ritual of theirs, one that she broke when she chose to don her waitress uniform and go back to work for a night. It was spiting the trust they had in one another. After all, one must trust someone before making rituals with them.
In the end, she did go to work.
But he showed up right as her shift was ending, a sad smile on his face. She'd been relieved at being forgiven for her jealousy and anger, but that relief was short lived in that she worried he knew why she was jealous.
Why was she jealous?
It was the question she had been tormenting herself with while she sat at Abigail's bedside.
She considered it was the warm smile on Alana's face. It was foolish to think that the right to smile that warmly at Will belonged to her. It was that the smile meant that Will had someone else. Bella was less concerned with the idea that this woman meant more than a friend would to Will - though, she did spend a considerable amount of time thinking on this, and that time spent caused her heart to whine with a dull ache - and more to do with the fact that he wasn't alone. Bella was under the impression that Will was just as alone as she was. That, to some degree, was one of the appeals of being with him. Near him, she corrected.
This was why she came to visit Abigail again.
Will had dropped her off. He unofficially became her driver since her car broke down for the sixth time, the sixth being on the interstate, which lead to her car being hit by a much more expensive car that didn't slow down enough.
He promised to be back after his last class ended. Until then, she was going to spend time with Abigail.
It was the closest feeling to that she had when she was with Will: The comfort of not being alone without the downside of having to worry about what one had to be when they weren't. It was with that comfort that she was able to admit to herself a single truth.
She was considerably attracted to Will Graham...
... and it terrified her.
Never in her life did she ever imagine herself being attracted with someone enough to look forward to actually being with them. She acknowledged from their first night drinking that she had "liked" him, that he was physically handsome. Yes, a bit messy and rough around the edges, but attractive none the less. She hadn't quite realized to the extent of that attraction until she saw him under the caring eyes of Alana Bloom.
Whatever "chance" she ever entertained the idea of having now seemed obsolete.
She couldn't imagine what it was like to be involved with someone. To be so intimate with another person, unafraid of what they might see in all the nakedness that came with a true relationship. She was unsure if she'd ever be able to have that. She needed someone just as socially maladjusted as she was, someone just as terrified as she was. To know Will wasn't as alone as she was, it shattered the dream.
She felt even more alone than she did before.
She would have felt more so if she hadn't Abigail. Even though she hadn't yet met the girl, she knew well enough that she, too, was all alone. Her whole life and everything in it had capsized, and if and when she woke, she would have to quickly learn how to swim.
Just like I did.
Bella looked down at her hands, not at all surprised to have found herself holding one of Abigail's.
"I won't let you be alone, Abigail. Not like I was," she whispered.
She knew the girl couldn't hear her, just as she didn't hear her grandmother telling her not to ever wake up when she was lying in a hospital bed unconscious. If she had, she probably would have listened.
A sigh left her lips.
"You shouldn't be here."
Her eyes widened as she turned her whole body, looking at the source of the voice.
Standing at the doorway was a man in his fifties, if she had to take a guess, in ill fitting green scrubs. Behind him was a gurney.
She knew he wasn't a doctor or nurse. He wouldn't have said what he had if he was either.
She didn't know who he was, but she would bet her life on him being dangerous.
It was the look in his eyes.
It was the frantic look of an animal caught in a trap, desperately trying to escape before some hungry predator came to collect.
She knew that look all too well.
Lecture Hall, F. B. I. Academy, Quantico, Virginia
He watched with great pleasure as the last of the trainees left the classroom. With a tired smile he removed his glasses for a moment, cleaning them before gathering the rest of his things, and heading towards the door. He kept his head up as he walked, though he still refused to make eye contact with anyone in the building. There was a cloud of ease over him, and for the first time in a while, he wasn't drained from the day.
Some of his students noticed this slight boost of energy.
He was both happy and guilty for having it.
When he went to Bella's apartment the night they'd visited Abigail, he was expecting her to explain why she left. He was under the impression that Alana may have noticed her, picked up on some of the things he had when they first met. He thought Alana, ever the compassionate and compulsive towards helping people might have pressed too much. Out of all the defensive people he'd met, Bella was one of the most sensitive to people's proximity, physically and mentally. He could recall how long it had taken him to go beyond just one conversation a night, and even then, it took her having to drink more than he should have been comfortable with. He went there to explain that Alana would never hold anything less than good intentions.
Yet, when she answered as to why she left, she spoke with a cold and biting tone. What concerned him the most was the forlorn look in her eyes. She'd pushed past him on her way out, both surprising him with her strength and that she would do something so... declarative. He'd come to know her as a woman of quiet waters, a stream that maneuvered around whatever would try to stop her. With a single act, he thought her more like the middle of the ocean, constantly changing, yet strong all the same.
He couldn't grasp what exactly it was until he spoke with Hannibal.
Will wasn't blind. He notice the doctor's eyes when he'd said her name, the way they flashed with interest. Will chose to ignore it, pursuing a greater mystery: why she was upset.
Hannibal was the one to direct him towards Alana Bloom and what his relationship to her might have implied. And with that little direction, Will could see it now.
She was jealous.
He doubted she was the kind to be jealous of Alana like most women would. He didn't think she would be envious of Alana. They were too different. To compare them felt wrong. It felt like something as inane as to compare two separate pieces of artwork from different eras. They were to be admired separately, not to be put aside one another in order to determine better quality.
Then he soon realized it wasn't Alana. Not truly.
She was jealous of Alana in the same way Will envied what Alana had with Hannibal. It wasn't the person. It was what the person was capable of. And Hannibal and Alana were all to easy to be envious of. The two were undeniably brilliant, carrying grace and beauty effortlessly. Alana's was softer, more like the first breath of spring whilst Hannibal was the brisk and clean cut of Winter's bite. Still, they were on a higher level, or so it felt at times.
He knew her well enough to know the shame she felt afterwards, the unspoken apologies on her lips when he sought her out again. He didn't give her the chance to apologize, making it clear she hadn't anything to be ashamed of by promising her dinner. He'd been fishing not too long ago, giving him the confidence to even attempt to prepare her a meal. He was not well versed with cooking most things, but fish? He knew fish.
He was too consumed with thoughts on her that he almost didn't hear the ring of his phone, the shrill tone that belonged to the one man that refused to be ignored: Jack.
With a tired sigh and furrowing brow, he answered.
"Yes, Jack?"
Not even a minute later, he jammed his phone into his pocket and was running.
Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore, Maryland
Jack Crawford stared at the woman.
There were dark circles under his eyes, puffiness to the bottom lid. He hadn't slept more than five hours a night since she'd been put in the hospital. He hadn't slept well in three weeks. Or was it four? He could no longer remember.
He scratched his face, feeling his nails scrape against stubble. He neglected to shave.
His suit was wrinkled beyond the usual ones that came with the usual wear of the day. There was a coffee stain on his tie. He had a spare in his car. His Bella insisted on it since they'd been married. He didn't change it. He told himself it wasn't noticeable. There were far too many thoughts weighing on him to be concerned with something as small and insignificant as a tie.
He was a mess.
He used the palms of his hands, rubbing his eyes as if it would rid of the exhaustion.
He told himself he shouldn't be exhausted.
All he had done was stay in this damn hospital room.
He wasn't the only one.
Will was worse.
The man hadn't left her side.
Since the first night, the last time Jack visited, when she was checked in, Will was there, too consumed with intense worry to lash out at Jack. Had she not woken up the week before, had she not currently been asleep, he might have dared to finally do it.
"Is she doing any better?" Jack heard himself ask.
There was a fragility to his voice.
Will noticed.
"She's alive."
Jack winced at the biting tone.
Will was more than aware of Jack's past. He knew the tragedy of Miriam Lass, and he knew, without even sparing Jack a single glance in four weeks, Jack was riddled with guilt.
For a second time in the man's life, an innocent woman was lost under his watch.
The only consolation was that they were able to bring this one back.
Yet, in the end, that only made him guiltier.
He didn't have to face Miriam Lass. He didn't even have to face her family. She hadn't anyone. She truly was a woman married to work.
With Bella, it was different.
She had Will.
Jack may not have been clear on where the two stood relationship-wise, but to see Will, so terribly undone, was enough for him to know that he almost lost more than one person to Eldon Stammets.
He didn't want to imagine what that would have looked like, but he did.
He imagined having to call her family. He imagined her funeral. He couldn't imagine how long the services would be. She never spoke much on her personal life. Jack imagined a funeral as quiet as she was. There would be minimal flowers, the majority coming from him, guilt ridden. It would be in poor taste, he imagined, something he would suffer for at the hands of Will. Will would be there, overseeing it all, spending an alarming amount of time with the casket, savoring his last few moments before she was put in the ground.
Again.
When they caught Stammets, he was in the middle of burying her. Shovel in hand, a mound of dirt beside the shallow grave. It wasn't one of the worst sights he'd seen, yet it was one that would never leave him.
Will shot only once.
It should have been a relief that he didn't unload a magazine on Stammets as he had on Hobbs, but he wasn't. Jack was more concerned because of how quick Will was to shoot. Stammets was only barely reaching for his gun when a bullet took out a piece of his shoulder, violently throwing him back onto the soil he was going to use to bury that woman. Jack wasn't even sure if Will even saw him reach for the gun. It happened fast. One moment, Stammets was burying a woman alive, and in the next, he was on the ground, Will frantically digging with his bare hands to uncover her.
"Help! Call for help!"
Jack can still hear the shouts rip through Will as he pulled her from her grave. Jack, for a moment, didn't see a brown haired "special" agent. For a second, just one single second, he saw blond. Miriam. Just as quickly, the sight faded and Katz was already calling on an ambulance, Price and Zeller rushing to Will's aid, checking her over to the best of their abilities. All the while, Jack was just staring. There was a clamor of approaching footsteps, a bustle of cops and paramedics overtaking the scene. Everyone had burst into action, but Jack just stood there. Unable to move, unable to speak.
That was the very moment he began regretting ever being suspicious of her.
That same moment, Will was filled with anger, blinding anger towards Jack Crawford.
There was no pride in him telling Jack how right he was that Bella should have never been allowed in the field. Neither of them imagined her talking her way into martyring herself for the life of Abigail Hobbs, but only one of them was cautious enough to not want her in that position to be so close to a killer to begin with. What was even more infuriating was Jack's refusal to let her go. Even after all that happened, even after being reminded of his loss, he still had the mind of a conqueror.
"There are casualties in every war."
His words left Will in a rage. If he could have, he would have moved her to a different hospital, staying with her until she was able to leave, and then he would take her away, tucking her somewhere where no one in the world could touch her, where no one could hurt her. It didn't seem at all possible to be any more protective of her, yet here he was, unwilling to even return to teaching so long as she was in the hospital. The only time he left was the past three days after Alana found out he'd been lying to the doctors, telling them she was his fiancée in order to have access to overnight visitation hours. The second it was nine, he was already in her room again.
The sight of her, so pale, so weak, so lifeless, it stuck him, a blade burying itself into his chest, twisting with every time he looked at her again.
He blamed himself for not being there.
He blamed himself for being so taken with the fact Abigail was still alive, untouched, that he hadn't noticed her absence faster.
But how could he have predicted Stammets would take to her?
"She wasn't supposed to even be there," Will said softly, his eyes meeting Jack's. He looked just as exhausted.
"But she was."
"I was exactly where I was supposed to be."
Their eyes fell on her.
She looked better than she had been since Jack last saw her. There was more color to her cheeks, a liveliness in her eyes that was different from the lost and unfocused stare that she had before they'd lost her the first time.
"Bella-"
"Will," she said, barely above a whisper, pleading for his silence, for him to listen. Slowly, waiting for Will's lips to close, she looked to Jack. His own lips parted. He wanted nothing more to apologize to her.
For everything.
But he saw it. It was in her eyes.
Forgiveness.
"All I wanted when I accepted the job was to save someone. I know I'm not the most qualified. Hell, I probably got in the way - Did you even get him?"
Stammets was still recovering himself. He'd lost a lot of blood from where Will had hit him.
"We got him," Jack heard himself say. He felt obligated to give her that. He didn't want this guilt in his chest.
She gave him what he took as a smile, a weak, ghost of a smile.
"Don't... Don't give me that look," she told him, giving a faint shake of the head.
He hadn't realized he'd moved closer until he began to notice the slightest of movements in her. The shallow rise and fall of her chest. He began to wonder how much damage Stammets had done to her when he filled her with enough drugs to where she should have been unconscious indefinitely.
"This is the price of it. With everything comes a price, and I simply paid the consequences of protecting Abigail."
Jack wished she wouldn't mention the Hobbs girl.
It was easier to let go of his suspicions of Ms. Bennet.
She proved she was well enough for the job as Will was, placing the wellbeing of innocents before herself. The only problem he had was with her view on innocence.
Abigail Hobbs's was still under. To the media, she was already guilty. To Jack, she most likely was. However, to Will, to Bella, she was innocent, and that was the foundation to the wall between him and them. His only hope was to sway them to at least consider she might not be innocent, just as he was trying to see her as not guilty.
Compromise.
Jack was willing to compromise now more than ever, even if it was under the duress of a memory of a woman that was long gone.
I owe it to her.
"You won't have to pay that price again."
Jack's eyes fell on Will. The rugged looking detective was holding one of her hands in the both of his. His grip on her slender fingers was tight. Jack could hardly tell if it was him whose was shaking or hers. All he knew was the fragility in his eyes. He looked like a man who almost lost everything, like Jack had when he still had hope that Miriam was still alive.
When Bella's eyes reached his, he saw it.
There was terror in her face. The rise and fall of her chest quickened. The color was draining from her face. And her eyes...
She looked horrified. They were too wide, too startled. He, in all the times he'd seen her, even when she was among the dead, she never looked like this.
This was when Jack broke, his face twisting into a cringe.
Guilt crashed over him, breaking like a house made of glass finally falling, and with each second, it cut him, deeper and deeper.
"If you want," he said, feeling as though he'd swallowed the shards of guilt.
He didn't want to say it.
When he looked at her, all he saw was that young, bright, and fearless woman who got too close. He saw her so clearly before him that his heart cried own, almost ruining him. He wanted to be a better man. He wanted to agree with Will, to do the good thing and tell her that she did enough, to send her on her way. He wanted to be able to give her a better chance at a long and happy life, two things he couldn't give Miriam Lass.
He wanted to be a good man.
But he couldn't.
Jack was a man of justice.
And he learned his lesson.
Justice and goodness are not one and the same.
Goodness was letting the woman go.
Justice was keeping her, using her as a weapon against the injustice in the world.
The look on Will's face was of pure betrayal, and for a second time, Jack saw horror. What he didn't recognize that the horror in both of their eyes was one for the other person. Both were terrified of the other not being safe. Bella's fear came from the possibility of Will being alone, and Will's came from the possibility of having her by his side, in the line of danger once again.
With a deep breath, Jack found the strength to nod.
He felt as though he were condemning her. He knew that she, like Will, was the kind to martyr herself. She'd already proven that by accepting the job for the pure sake of taking the weight off of Will, by allowing a psychotic man to bury her in an attempt to spare a girl she didn't even know. He knew that she would say yes if he offered her a position, and that was why Jack felt guiltiness within him. He wondered how much blood would stain his hands before he met death. How much of it would be from someone young and innocent? How many casualties would haunt him? Would he have anything left of himself by then? He doubted it. With every loss of someone under his responsibility, there was a loss of himself.
All of it in the name of justice.
"Don't," Will said, pulling her arm, demanding to be seen. This was one of the few times Jack had seen Will so eager to look someone in the eyes. He wanted to be seen. That's what killed Jack. It was knowing that Will didn't want others to see what was within him, but to do so because he felt so strongly that nothing would be seen because his worry eclipsed it all. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to say yes," he reminded her, as if she didn't know this.
Jack wondered if she was like him, if justice preceded goodness because she accepted, knowing that it would hurt Will.
There are casualties in every war.
There was silence in the room. All of them feeling the guilt of failure. Jack failing two people and a memory, while Bella and Will only felt failure for one another, for the future that would undoubtedly come back to this moment. This was the silence that only told of a divide, the end and beginning of a new chapter. Jack could only hope that it was not the beginning of the end for the woman before him.
"I won't let you back in the field, not yet," Jack said, breaking the silence. He took in a deep breath, straightening himself. His shoulders squared, his legs locking as he held himself tall. He even took it upon himself to straighten his tie with a few adjusting tugs. He wasn't the kind to linger in weakness. Guilt was a distraction, one that he couldn't allow to consume him until the later hours of the night. There was an abundant of time left to be filled by guilt with his wife's distance. He ignored the coldness that ate away in their marriage just as she ignored how his job did the same. Mutual ignorance. He'd never been more grateful for it.
Clearing his throat, he reached into his pocket, digging out tickets.
He didn't move at first, but eventually his legs began working, and the closer he drew to Bella, the less he saw of Miriam.
He began to wonder if he would need a psychiatrist as well.
"Two tickets to your hometown," he explained. "Price called your family, and by the sounds of it, they were really worried. I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to take a break before jumping back in the saddle," he added with a somewhat proud smile.
She didn't return it.
He saw with clear eyes as the woman's jaw clench. He saw her swallow what he imagined were less than kind emotions rising. It was by the reddening of her cheeks, clear anger rising in her eyes, despite her not daring to vocalize it.
She was the silent kind.
"Thank you, Mr. Crawford."
Not Jack.
Not even those who worked below him called him that. Not his superiors.
It felt cold.
It felt unwelcoming.
It felt like unforgiving.
The Office of Hannibal Lecter, Baltimore, Maryland
She refused to be close to him.
He noticed this from her first visit, and was disappointed to see her continuing her distant nature. It irritated him more to see her flee to the upper part of his office. However, what soothed him was the sight of her standing atop the catwalk, looking down at him. It was the kind of sight that had him wanting to sit down, slowly capturing the moment on paper, memorizing each form with the stroke of a pencil. She looked like the embodiment of romance and sensuality, feeling of loss resonating in her mere image.
She wore a pale blue blouse that fitted her loosely, but accented her figure. He wondered if she wore it for him. It was an elaborate design in contrast to the usual simple cotton shirts he'd knew her to wear. The shirt alone contrasted with the warm coloring of her skin, drawing his attention to the blush on her cheeks as she looked down upon him.
Her face, despite the scars looked nothing short of delicate. Her eyes, downcast with a look of loss and longing, a hand resting against the rich wooden railing while the other was supporting her head, having rested it atop the palm of her hand. From where he was standing, her face was slightly angled away from him, looking lost in her thoughts. Her form contrasted sharply to the strong and hardened shelves behind her, ones that only looked taller and more daunting from where he stood. She looked trapped under them. The mere picture of her held was without sexuality, yet held so much expression of femininity.
With her back to the bookshelves, she looked defiant, effortlessly defiant. A woman who finds pleasure not in power, not provoked by the gluttonous and greed of humanity, but rather in something higher, fascinated with something beyond what could be perceived by the naked eye.
She was beautiful.
He could not tell how he preferred her, when she was looking away from him, beyond him, or at him, seemingly staring into him. The sheer aesthetic of the sight was exceptional, a glimpse at her full potential, potential he wanted nothing more than to help her reach.
"Bella," he said, allowing the two syllables to fall off his lips with grace. Her name tasted like art, like religion. "Bella."
Her brown eyes found him. She blinked, slowly, calmly. Romantic eyes.
"You have not spoken since you arrived," he stated, looking to her expectantly. He knew she was well aware of her silence, yet he still chose to speak as if reminding her, as if she must have forgotten to speak, as if she trusted him to know her without words. There was flattery in that, a charm to her silence. It was the kind of endearment that he was certain wasn't intentional, yet there it was, all the same. "I was under the impression you wished to resume your therapy."
His words were a subtle nudge, a prompting to speak up.
She looked away, as if to contemplate the consequences of speaking, of not speaking.
She was wise enough to comply.
"I am visiting my mother and father soon."
He noticed how she didn't say parents.
"You do not sound pleased," he mentioned, watching her face carefully. "Are you not happy to return to your family?"
He saw her try to hide a pained wince at the word "family."
"I am not happy," she answered with an honest shake of the head. "The last place I ever wanted to go to was the place I grew up in."
She didn't call it "home."
"Most people long to return to their childhood home. They feel closer to their former selves, as if being closer, they might catch an echo of fading memories."
"It's not my home. It stopped being that before I left. The only echos I'll catch aren't memories... Just ghosts."
He would have dared to climb up the ladder, as if a closer proximity would permit him insight to her mind, as if it would allow him to see what was haunting her, what was behind those brown eyes. He would have dared, if only he wasn't wise enough to know that she would sooner fall from the railing than allow herself to be touched. She was too careless with herself, her body. He knew this by the proudly displayed scars on her arms revealed by the blouse. It was less of a show of trust and more of a warning. She wasn't afraid of spilling her own blood. She wasn't afraid of pain. Not even death.
Why that was, he did not know, but he was eager to find out. He loathed working at her pace, at her will. He selfishly wished to speed up the process of trust, if one could even call it such. Both had the other walking on ice, yet he was robbed by her carelessness. Where was his upperhand when she cared not if she drowned or stayed dry? No, he would simply have to bide his time, to watch her until she trusted him with just enough for him to tie strings around those delicate wrists, to pull on them, to teach her.
He was not a believer in god. However, he would reflect the ideals of one.
He wanted nothing more than to shape a man and woman in his image.
He was just waiting to be allowed a chance to shape them.
"Does this reluctance to return home come from a place of hatred? Of anger?" he asked, knowing well that it was not out of love. Whatever it was that chased her to where she was now, home was not a viable option. It was not somewhere safe, somewhere she could rely on. That only left him to question what it was that drove her from it? What was resting there, so deep, so foreboding, that she never looked back once. Not enough for even a single picture according to Will. He knew why he never returned to his past. He knew what it was like to be haunted by a ghost, by a memory. He only wished he knew what hers was.
"No. Maybe. I don't know," she admitted with a sigh. She stood straighter, and step by step she made her way towards the ladder on the far right. He was waiting for her, offering assistance.
She took took his hand.
It was a fleeting touch.
When one foot touched the ground, her hand slipped from his, and she found herself facing him, closer now. He could see anxiousness rise within her, yet she fought against it, defying her very nature by lingering before him.
"When I left, I wasn't planning on returning."
"Why?"
"Because I was scared. I'm still scared."
It wasn't hard to imagine her scared, or frightened. Will was right. She looked like a doe, a frightened and paranoid little creature that was so mindful where she stepped, careful not to make a sound, careful not to draw attention. She was a subliminal beauty, the kind that often went unnoticed, unappreciated. Hannibal held every intention to change that. He saw her. He wanted to understand her. He wanted to change her. And change alone was always frightening. Such big and wide eyes were a welcomed sight, especially now that he was close enough to see how true those eyes spoke on her behalf. There was truly nothing she could hide, he felt, when she was close enough to touch.
She was close enough for him to make out a scent.
She smelled like a walk through a garden, a blend of flowers and herbs, that same natural soft musk that followed Will for the past few weeks.
He never pictured her as the kind to walk among nature, yet now, all he could see was her lying there in a field of flowers under a summer sun, warm and golden rays kissing her skin as she bathed in the beauty of life, untouched by society, untainted by the dirtiness of humanity. This woman was all the benefits of being human without a majority of the drawbacks. Compassionate without hatred, driven, yet without rage. She rough, a diamond waiting to be cut into something more.
"What scares you?"
She stood there for a moment, staring at him. There was a redness to her eyes, that pink irritation of tears threatening to form, to fall, yet she didn't allow them to. Not a teardrop in sight, a testimony to how much she wanted to turn her back away, unable to even face her own emotions, much less allow him to bare witness to them. Yet, slowly, her lisp moved, parting at an agonizing pace, a shallow breath leaving her in a sad attempt to speak. By the time she found her words, he'd drawn closer, causing her to close her eyes. She would not be as rude as to take a step back, but she would just as easily be the one to spite him by closing her eyes, cutting him off, refusing to show him anymore.
He was forced to step back, knowing she would not answer until she was safe. Safer.
It was a thrilling experience, to have his hand forced.
She was a delicate woman, but not in the sense that she was easily broken. Simply, easily changed. Easily provoked. She was an adaptable creature, one that had the scars to prove it. A survivor. She was the kind of woman who would go far if she only allowed herself to. That is what drove him to wanting to save her from. She held so much potential, and it would be such a waste to allow the likes of Jack Crawford to use her. She'd just begun, and already, her light was almost put out in the name of justice.
That is what she was.
She felt like a discovery. A new journey, a new chance to explore a fascination of his: companionship. This was how Will felt as well. Will was a new possibility, a possible mirror to himself. However, Will was a dangerous catch. His attraction and affection for Will Graham could be a liability. She, on the other hand, wasn't as dangerous. She didn't come with programmed expectations on how she should act, on who she should be. She was like a child in that. She could be guided towards his mindset. Unlike Will, she didn't need a veil over her eyes at first. Only patience.
"I'm afraid of a great many things, Dr. Lecter."
Fear was a natural sensation. However, in the way she used it, he doubted her words. She knew he was not asking for a simple fear. He was asking her to reveal a weakness, a vulnerability. He was asking for her trust, to open herself up just enough for him to see her better. Yet, he didn't want to simply see her. He wanted to reach her, to feel that primitive purity within her, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into sophistication. He wanted her to find her place of belonging. The only thing stopping her was fear, and it was her silence, her reluctance, that told him this.
She was afraid to see what she was truly capable of.
And he wanted nothing more than to see just exactly what she could do.
"Do you find yourself fearing more or less things?"
"Why would my fear, or amount of fear, change?"
She seemed genuinely curious to know, going so far as to tilt her head to the right as she kept her eyes trained on him.
"Near death experiences alter one's life considerably. I should think it would change your fears."
"Near death experience?" she echoed, her eyes narrowing, a slight upturn of her lips. She didn't look amused. Her eyes did not show the brightness of it. No, her eyes read of tragedy. There was no warmth in it, just a sense of aching. A biting burst of loneliness. Hannibal was not fond of pain. He was not fond of cruelty. However, he was not above using it in pursuit of something better. He would excuse his pressing forward for that.
"Near death experiences are sometimes recognized as part of some transcendental and religious beliefs in an afterlife," he mentioned, watching her expression as he mentioned religion. Her eyes fell to the ground. He did not know if it was of guilt or shame, but there was emotion there. "They also tend to cause oneself to find a greater appreciation for the beauty and excellence in life. They cause a heightened sense of compassion, esteem, and purpose. There is an elevation to those who survive death. There are many who report the feeling of life itself changes, that the brain alters, it becomes more whole in its use."
"Do you believe in that last bit?"
"No."
She said nothing, her eyes moving to look at the clock on the wall, watching as time ticked by. Hannibal doubted she was the one to register with a heightened feeling of life itself. Most survivors often came to appreciate life itself, feeling compelled to seize the day, knowing how precious time was to the shortened lives everyone lived. Yet, she was content. She was at peace, unapologetic as she watched it pass her by. It was undeniably captivating.
Hannibal was not the kind to let something so fine slip from his fingers.
Despite his appetite, he held a kind outlook on life. He understood life's preciousness, appreciating every second. It was the cause of his sophistication. If life was to be so short, he would make the best of it. If he was to drink wine, he'd drink the finest of wines. If he was to don a suit, it would be of an exceptional cut, tailored to him and him alone. There was a profound elevation to his methods of life. Yet, in all that well-tailored perfection, he found himself all alone, with no one to share it with. He supposed that was why he was willing to risk his freedom in pursuit of Will Graham, why he was so willing to touch some profound place of pain in the woman before him in hopes of drawing her closer. There was a time before, before he saw the likes of Will Graham, before he saw that there was a possibility of sharing his mind with another, when he was faced with loneliness, a hopeless resignation to solitude.
But the tides turned, and he had a choice to make.
And he was choosing to take a risk. A decision to step into uncharted waters, a net cast out, hoping that the currents would bring the two of them to him. Then, with both of them secured, both of their lives tied to his, would he allow himself to be carried away.
Perhaps tied was the wrong word.
He didn't want them shackled to him. An unwilling participant wasn't what he wanted.
He wanted to be invited in.
He wanted them to want him to come into their lives.
"There are many cases where people report of having an awareness of death, often followed by peace."
"There wasn't peace, if that's what you're asking," she said quickly, shaking her head. He saw her swallow, as if she were struggling to stomach the memory of it. "I don't remember it. I just remember slipping into it. I remember the moments leading up to dy... to it. But that's it. I just remember waking up after that," she explained. "No tunnel, no light... No one waiting for me on the other side, as far as I'm aware of."
There was a haunted look in her eyes that followed her last words. She looked robbed, as if someone had taken her heart from her chest, and she wouldn't be able to rest without it. Before, she looked starved of sleep, but now, closer, he wondered if she lost more. When was the last time she rested easy?
"Some report having a decision, a choice to come back. Others say they had a reluctance to return. Either way, there sounds to be a choice, one that precedes some finding of themselves. Finding their way back to the living."
"If there was a choice, then I didn't have one."
She spoke in a whisper, and her eyes, though staring forward, were far from him, unfocused. She was staring into nothing, a memory, herself. What she was looking at, he did not know. All he knew was the look on her face, this seeping sense of dread crossing her features.
She didn't want to come back.
She must have known he'd realized the truth in her words, for she quickly came back to the present, looking at him sharply, forcing a smile that only spoke of sadness.
"Yet, here I am."
"Here you are."
Hannibal knew better than to report this to Jack.
From his understanding, Jack was worried for her. It was the reason behind his sending Will with her. Though Jack, like Hannibal, was not entirely clear on where the two stood in accordance with one another, Jack was the one to take advantage of it. The man was unceremoniously exploiting their relationship, using it to place Will in a position to watch over her, but not as a friend, as an agent. Jack was wanting Will to be there, not for support, but to be there to watch if she broke, if she faltered.
It was just as Jack was using him to watch over Will.
The only difference was that Hannibal was neither inclined to report Will to Jack as he was to reporting this.
Will had survived more than what he had been put through, what Hannibal planned on putting him through.
Bella had survived more than she let on. Hannibal was willing to swear on this assumption.
She survived before, and she would survive again, if only to force her to adapt, to change into something, someone, greater. It was the way of humanity, gaining power. The power he wanted for her was over herself, and the price of that power would likely be just that: herself.
The difference in the price Jack wished her to pay and the one Hannibal was guiding her towards came in the outcome, the receiving end of the payment.
Jack was willing to watch her cage herself, to set herself aflame in an attempt to make the world a little brighter. Jack, however respectable, did not know the dark. He did not appreciate it. Hannibal did. He wanted her to hone and honor herself, her true self. It was a timeless feat, to want to reveal oneself to the world, to uncover their true abilities, to be liberated.
Hannibal saw this. He could picture it as if it were right there before him. All he would need to do was to convince her that she was following the wrong person, the wrong expectations. He needed to show her that self destruction, martyrdom, was not glorious or righteous. He had to convince her there was beauty in loss, in the discarding of one's inhibitions and the embracing of a side of themself that would otherwise be feared.
"Why did you allow him to take you? Why did you convince Eldon Stammets to bury you instead of Abigail Hobbs?"
He did not ask "how" she had done it. He was more than aware of the charm she had, specifically on the likes of someone as desperate for a connection. Will was all but attached to her at the thought of losing that connection. Though Hannibal would not admit to being attached to her - If she were to have actually died, he would be disappointed at the loss of an opportunity, but life would go on - He was rather fond of her.
"Seemed like the right thing to do," she answered with a shrug.
It was simple to her.
Abigail Hobbs was younger. She, like Bella, was rough around the edges, skin marred not enough in comparison to what truly was digging into her flesh. She had importance. There were lives surrounding Abigail. Will's, Alana's, even Hannibal's were tied to her, despite not being awake to know this. Who did Bella have? Will?
In terms of family, Bella wasn't sure if Abigail had more. Perhaps the girl had an uncle or aunt, maybe even a grandparent to mourn her. Bella didn't have that. Despite having a living family, there would be no true mourning. They mourned the loss of a daughter long before she was dead. Even if they hadn't, could one even truly mourn the death of a stranger? For that, Bella was willing to trade places. She knew what it was like to lose someone she loved. Abigail might not have even had that, but Bella wasn't willing to risk it. Even if she hadn't anyone, Abigail was young enough to find someone. That, Bella was certain of.
"Death happens. Life can be taken so easily, so cruelly, without our consent. That girl has lost everything. Everything. Everything was taken from her."
"If she has nothing, why take her place?"
"Hope," Bella answered, warmth coming in the form of a smaller smile, yet all the more bright. "I imagine that's why parents go through so much pain. I think they hope for a better future for the sake of their child. They think if they sacrifice enough time, enough effort, enough of themselves, their child just might have a better future. I haven't a child of my own, but I imagine that's what it's like."
"Did you imagine yourself as her parent?" he asked. He knew Will, unwillingly, was finding himself protecting her, a surrogate daughter in his eyes, despite not wanting to admit it. "Is that what filled you with enough courage to face a stranger with a gun? Maternal compulsion?"
She let out a laugh in disbelief, turning away, craning her neck upwards as she did so. He thought he saw a tears forming in her eyes.
"No... No, no no," she said. Her voice was light, unnaturally light. She was trying to hard to seem at ease with that he'd suggested.
He wondered if she had been faced with the thought of having a child. Had someone taken that from her?
"There was no courage."
"None?"
"None," she confirmed as she reached into her bag.
Hannibal's eyes flickered to the clock.
Their session was coming to a close.
Time with her was always fleeting. He never was fully satisfied with their appointments. She always fled before he could get to close. Even though she allowed him a chance to do just that, she still managed to leave him with more questions than answers.
To think, he would be waiting longer to see her again with her return to her home - her former house, he corrected himself with.
As he walked her to the door, he saw her wipe away a tear from the other eye, under the guise of covering her mouth for a yawn, using her middle finger to dexterously hide the slipping of emotion.
However good she was at hiding, she was still a victim to human error.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, he stopped her. Boldly, he placed a hand over her's, causing her to turn sharply towards him, revealing those teary eyes. She realized her mistake, but she did not shy away. She was already too close to him to run.
He chose to invest in this moment.
"I will see to it that Jack will not worry for you upon your return."
He slowly lifted his hand from hers, a sign of faith and trust. One that would warrant her compliance.
Quid pro quo.
"Before you leave, do you have any allergies?"
"None," she answered carefully, looking at him with confusion. "Why?"
"I should like for our next session to be discussed over dinner."
I'm sorry guys. Honestly, I've written this chapter twice (my internet went out the first time I tried saving), and it just isn't... It isn't what I wanted it to be, so bare with me. I missed another updating deadline, and for that I'm sorry.
I'd like to give a special thanks to AralFox, xxyangxx2006, CaptainMc, AGCrays, Violette Penn, isisl, and twelia.
I know this chapter doesn't match up to the writing of the previous, so, once again, sorry. But I have high hopes for the next chapter, which will be exploring Bella's past through her visit home.
I think I might even reach her coming back, which will probably have her and a very much awake Abigail.
Anyways, thank you guys so much for reading, so so much for leaving a review because this is my first fanfiction, so your thoughts, opinions, etc give me life... Honestly, I'm still new at this, and I really hope I'm living up to expectations.
That being said, thanks again, and please bare with me.
... Again, sorry.