All rights to Hannibal (TV) belong to NBC.
Studio 6, Lubbock, Texas
She didn't sleep.
The whole flight, she stared out the window. With each passing cloud, she grew more antsy, constantly looking over at him. Every so often, her very breathing would falter. She reddened with each passing second, lips quivering, a panicked look in her eyes that were focused on something so far, he couldn't tell if she were staring into the past or future. The first time it happened, Will became so frightened with the thought that she was suffocating, he impulsively grabbed her wrist, asking if she was okay.
This only resulted in a jolt, followed by that panicked look being directed at him as she snatched her hand away, clutching it close to her chest as if his touch burned her.
Will had never seen her this way. He caught glimpses of her fear, but this? The look in her eyes at the thought of going home was pure terror. It wasn't until hours after initially asking what she was afraid of, hours of silence, that she answered with one word. "Home." It didn't take him long to figure out that it wasn't home she was terrified of. No one was ever afraid of a place, only what a place contained.
What did her hometown contain?
Usually, he wouldn't press her for an answer.
But she wasn't like this enough of the time to provoke pressure.
He asked if she was "hurt."
As soon as he asked, he felt like an idiot and he couldn't tell if he was thankful or hurt by her never answering. A person would have to be deaf, blind, and dead to not see the remnants of pain in her eyes at the mere mention of going back. Yet, he still had to ask. Despite how close he felt they were, she would never voice her pain, fear, not even her pleasure. She was something he had to pay close attention to, to watch for even the faintest flicker of liveliness. So rarely he heard her laugh, her cry, or so much as a puff of breath in disbelief that when it occurred, it felt biblical. It was profound, that the smallest of acts could hold such power over him. He never gave much thought as to what caused her to be like this.
He felt something deep within him rise, like some dark and bubbling feeling came rushing into his heart, flooding into his veins, with the mere thought of it.
Was there a time when she acted so freely that one wouldn't have to piece her together to even catch a glimpse into what she might be feeling or thinking? If so, what happened to make her so quiet?
Who silenced her?
Even as they waited for the key to their room, she was still frightened. She stood by the front doors, engrossed in something she was reading on her phone, an excuse to keep her head down. Despite the weather, which was about twenty degrees hotter, she still wore two layers of jackets, the innermost having a hood that was pulled over her head. Every so often, she would look up fro her phone, eyes sweeping across the lobby, to him. There was a coldness in her eyes. When she took a breath, her nostrils would flare, face twitching as if to fight off her frown. It was as if she were swinging back and forth from burning with rage or drowning in fear. Sometimes both.
When giving directions, her voice shook slightly, yet, when he tried to talk to her, to get her to confide in him, she would snap at him, only to apologize shortly afterwards.
He felt exhausted.
It seemed that every time he attempted to help her, he only made things worse.
"Your keys."
Will blinked, startled by the voice. When he looked, he instantly regretted being easily provoked, especially at the sights of a skeptical looking elderly woman.
"You okay?" She asked, still holding out the key card.
Will nodded quickly, taking it from her before giving a weak wave as he hurried off towards Bella.
He opened his mouth to call her name, but she was already at the door, waiting for him.
Their room was something akin to a small house. It was bigger than her apartment, nicer than her apartment. It was even cozier than her apartment where the only decoration she had was a broken room divider. Unlike that apartment, there was warmth in their room. White walls for the most part, a few of them were red, matching the furniture that either sported a red fabric or oak wood. At the entrance, there was a small living room area, a kitchen to the left of it. On the kitchen side, there was a door to a closet, to the right of that closet was stairs, and beside those stairs was a pair of double doors, opened, revealing a room with a single bed.
For a moment, he thought there was a mistake in their given room until Bella passed him by upstairs. He followed her, not completely sure why until he reached the top of the stairs. To his left was a bathroom, to his right, was an area with another bed. She didn't acknowledge him. He knew better than to think she hadn't heard him follow her. Either she didn't care that he did, or she wasn't up for asking why. Ever since Jack placed those tickets in her hands, she quieted down, even more than she already was. Even as she unpacked, she did so quietly, methodically, only stopping to look at him after she realized he wasn't leaving.
He could see it, the question resting on her parted lips.
She didn't ask.
She could see his own questions rising in his eyes. She could see he didn't understand. He didn't understand what she had seen, what she had done, how wrong she had been. He couldn't see into her past. An acute sense of empathy didn't imply that he would be able to do that, to peer into her eyes and into her mind. He could only see the present. No one could sift through her own memories, pulling them before her eyes, forcing her to relive it all. Not even she could control that. If she could manage her memories, she would have pulled them out of their files and burned them all. At least then she would be able to function better than she was now.
Now, she felt like she was faulty, like some broken system that was still desperately trying to run.
In the end, in a light and airy voice from having smothered all his concern, he told her he was going to call Jack. And in a tight voice, not even the slightest bit of contentment, she asked if he would give Jack a "thank you." When the call came to pass, he gave it to Jack. Neither of them were convinced of her sincerity, and they were right not to. The silence was killing him, slowly. By the time he told her good night - He was almost a sleep by the time she came out of an agonizingly long shower - he was exasperated, feeling despicable for even raising his voice to be heard from downstairs.
That night, Will stared at the ceiling, waiting for that drowsy feeling to return as he contemplated how they came to be here.
He hated being so far from home.
She did too.
Both fell asleep with a longing to return to that cozy white house in Wolf Trap.
The Diaz Residence, Lubbock, Texas
It's only five days.
Five more days.
She furiously tugged at her long sleeves as she walked down the red brick pathway to the front door of a well kept Spanish revival. She could hear the sound of music playing from the opposite side of a thick wooden door. She didn't recognize the words to whatever song was playing, but she didn't need to. She knew Tejano music like a child remembered the voice of its mother. Against all efforts, she could still hear her mother's voice. It almost warded her away from the very door she stood before.
She didn't ring the doorbell at first.
Instead she stared at it. The white plaster walls, the red clay tiles on the roof, even the smell of it hadn't changed. For a moment, she couldn't tell if she were in a memory or reality. She could taste that almost paralyzing paranoia of her adolescence fill her. It took all the strength she had in her to even attempt knocking on the heavy wooden door. The second her hand reached for the iron knocker, the door swung open, and she was faced with eyes as dark as the night sky, yet, still, after all these years, impossibly shallow.
The woman who those eyes belong to was older than she remembered. There were more wrinkles on her face, her cheeks sagged some, but framing her thin lips were those familiar scream lines. Still, they were more prominent, if only by a little. What hadn't changed was the color of her lips, still red, red like the wine she indulged herself with on a nightly basis. She still stood proudly, despite her shortness. Before she had left, Bella and her were at the same height. She had a good two to three inches now. Not much, but just enough to feel a little less intimidated. Before she had left, the woman wore a modest cross on her neck.
The cross she wore now was bigger, now covered in diamonds.
Not having to cover expenses for her children did her bank account wonders, Bella figured.
The woman's thin lips curled upwards, flashing a toothy grin, her brown eyes slowly lighting up with recognition.
The woman moved to hug her.
Will saw how her head turned frantically, searching for him as she was pulled against her will into the older woman. He saw her squirming, and how the woman only held onto her tighter until Bella choked out a "please". The woman wasn't hurting her. Will knew better than anyone that Bellamy was more than capable of enduring pain without breaking, but with each second, more cracks were forming.
And all he could do was watch.
"Well, come on in!" the woman said, finally letting her go. Bella didn't move an inch, eyes flickering from the woman to the door, silently telling her, "You first." Will gave her the luxury of following the woman first, giving her a physical barrier between someone she so clearly mistrusted. This was the unspoken trust between them, a willingness to protect one another without so much as a question.
As he walked in, he took note of the cold temperature of the house. Despite its appearance, there was hardly any warmth. What there was, however, was an excessive amount of crosses. On every wall of the house, there seemed to be one. Following down the hall, to his left, into a room filled with people, he even noticed what appeared to be a shrine. A picture of the pope was in the center, intended to be lit by candles with the Holy Mary on the fronts. None were actually lit. They didn't look as if they were ever lit, not that it concerned him. What concerned him was the pictures. There they were. Family pictures, old and new. The older ones caught his eyes, especially the ones with a young girl with sad brown eyes with an even sadder smile.
She couldn't have been more than three.
It was a cute picture. She was a small child, something emphasized by a pair of overly large glasses, and baggy overalls that were clean despite what was clearly scraped knees. She was smiling in the picture. A big, bright, unapologetic smile. She looked undeniably happy, her nose was even slightly crinkled, flashing pearly whites at the camera. He could almost hear the sound of a child's laugh. One of her hands was raised towards the camera, fingers spread as if she were waving or trying to reach for the person behind the camera. On two of her fingers, there were pink band-aids. The other hand was raised, almost straight out if it weren't for a slight bend. That hand formed a fist. She looked so excited.
She looked alive.
He hadn't realized he'd been staring at it until he felt warmth on his right arm.
When he turned his head, he saw her.
"Who was behind the camera?" He heard himself ask.
"My brother."
She sounded far away, as if she were lost in a dream. If he could, he would have preserved this memory of her. It was almost happy.
Unfortunately, the dream died at the sound of the woman speaking.
"We threw a welcome home party yesterday-" She spoke in a condescending tone. "-since that's when you were supposed to arrive." Her words were sharpening with less than subtle accusation in them.
Bella didn't seem to notice. In fact, she kept her eyes everywhere except the woman. Will had to keep glancing at her as they turned the corner, thinking she might be so preoccupied with keeping her focus elsewhere that she might not even mind wandering into the wrong room. He opened his mouth, and, as if she could sense him about to speak, she looked at him, a reassuring expression on her face, if only for a split second before the woman spoke again.
"I made a list of everyone to call so you can apologize to them."
This earned more of a reaction from Will than Bella.
He had barely even seen this woman, and despite the happy smile on her face, there was hostility in her voice, hidden under all her welcoming courtesies. When he looked at Bella, he wondered if she'd heard a single word the woman had said.
She was well adept at falling deaf to the woman's words. Will could only assume it came from years of practice.
The woman stopped as they entered what he could only assume was the dining room and kitchen, a counter separating the two.
The room was lit in warm lighting, causing the light brown walls to look caramel. There was a decently sized table for six people if it weren't pushed against the outer wall, just below a window. There were only five chairs, one which was clearly broken and another Will wouldn't recommend sitting on in risk of breaking. The table itself was a peculiar piece. It had a red gingham tablecloth, a plastic cover over it and green placemats. Under the plastic cover, he could make out dingy white placemats. On the walls, there were metal wall decorations that said things like "Give Thanks", "Love One Another", "Bless This Home And All Who Enter", and "With God All Things Are Possible". No pictures, just those metal decorations, two depictions of the last supper, and another cross, hung right above the window.
It was hard to imagine that this was the house Bella grew up in. There were so many decorations. Even the tiled floors were set in a pattern akin to the kind found in churches.
Will wondered if this was the reason why she lived so simply, with barely the necessities for living. He wondered if something happened to make her so repulsed from somewhere like this. He disregarded this notion. It wasn't the presence of the decorations. His own house was decently decorated. Yes, most of it was unmatched and not as thatrical as this place. The majority of it showed a cluttered nature, but he never had anyone to witness his living. His only company was the dogs.
Still, she loved it there.
Well, he liked to think she liked it there. She'd almost become a part of it with how often she came over - not that he minded how often that was.
It was her home if she wanted it.
He would not admit it, but he wanted her to want it.
Once Will was done with looking at the dining area, it was then he noticed an elderly woman sitting there.
This woman could be no younger than mid-seventies with grey hair that was pulled back so tight as to pull back some of her loose and wrinkled skin. She was hunched over, making a fine blouse wrinkle. Will took note of how nice she dressed. She looked as if she were on her way to church, as did the woman who answered the door. Will almost believe he lost time again until he checked his phone. Sure enough, it was Tuesday.
"Whose this?" The elderly woman croaked, staring at Will with merciless eyes.
"Grandmother."
Will's eyes snapped towards Bella, who, up until this moment, made certain to look otherwise busy admiring the floors. She was standing straighter, stronger than before. Her lips were pressed together, jaw clenched as soon as she closed her mouth. His eyes flickered to her feet. He recognized the positioning from his early days, when he was training to become a cop. It was one often seen in self defense.
The woman bristled at the word, her eyes switching over to Bella, her granddaughter, with a profound amount of anger.
"Grandmother?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Dolores," Bella grounded out. Will had never seen her like this. He'd seen this look on the likes of Alana Bloom, Jack Crawford, even himself. It was a bubbling kind of rage, the kind that was deeply rooted in one's heart.
"You've forgotten your manners, child," the woman, 'Dolores', huffed. Her eyes ran up and down Bella's form, silently criticizing her. Her nose wrinkled as if she were disgusted with the sight of her granddaughter. "You've also forgotten how to dress. Even someone like you ought find something better to wear."
Will's eyes narrowed at the words "like you", but Bella's didn't. She wasn't bothered by this. Not anymore than she was bothered by the mere presence of her grandmother.
"Enough, mama," the woman, who Will could only assume to be Bella's mother, hushed. She looked tired, irritated, but as soon as she saw Will's looking at her, she threw on a smile. "Not in front of guests," she added with a proud grin.
Will did not smile.
So she would have allowed 'Dolores' to continue, had he not been present? Yes, he could see why Bella would have preferred to stay away from her family. She wouldn't be alone in her distance. There was something so foreign about family. He was as ill-fitted for it as any of the suits he owned. Needless to say, he could relate to a lack of connection to the blood that bound most to some sort of familial obligation, the very kind he would suspect her family of attempting to keep her in line with.
"You going to introduce us to this man?" her mother asked, pointing to Will with a whisk in hand. She had moved to being behind the counter, resuming some sort of baking.
As irritated as he was growing, Will's face softened for a moment before matching to the same spark of curiosity that her mother showed.
He was curious himself as to how to define where exactly the two of them stood. He always changed the subject whenever asked, something Jack was polite enough not to push.
He knew himself.
He knew that when he looked at the woman before him, he found himself growing more and more attracted to her. There were times when he could have sworn that she reflected this. It was in the times when he would look up from making a lure, and he would catch her, smiling and whispering to the dogs. And he would see her. There were times when she truly came alive. Not like the young girl in the picture. He doubted that she could ever return to that state of happiness. But, his eyes weren't wrong. There was something undefinable behind her eyes. Something deeper than friendship. Something more.
Bella's eyes flickered between her mother, grandmother, and Will, as if they were asking too much of her, as if they were digging their claws into something intimate, something meant for only herself and him to know. A minute ticked by until she answered.
"This is Will."
She was doing the same thing that she'd done to him. Offering only a first name, a common name, something unidentifiable.
Her grandmother, however, was having none of it.
"Well, who is he to you?"
There was something in the way that her grandmother referred to her. She sounded as though she were referring to something offensive, something so wrong that it should be pitied. Something to be ashamed of. Will held no doubt that the foul woman before them despised the very blood shared between them. She shifted in her seat, away from them, towards the wall as if to avoid something of disgust.
"Who am I to you?" Bella asked in a pressed voice.
"A thorn in my side," Dolores answered, wrinkling her nose. She might have bared her teeth if Will weren't present. "You are incorrigible. A stain on this family," her grandmother spat. Will cautiously glanced at Bella, only to see her, eyes closed, drawing circles over her temples, trying to soothe a throbbing headache.
Her family wasn't the reason behind her leaving. She knew this. Yet, escaping them was something she couldn't find it in herself to regret. She couldn't recall doing anything to deserve this. Her running away wasn't behind this kind of hatred, this kind of vindictive behavior. The longer she tried remembering what it was that she had done, where exactly she went wrong, that warranted a change from love to hatred, the more she was sure that memories of kindness were false.
Will, watching, felt an impulse to step in, to point out that what Dolores saw as a "stain" was the woman behind saving an innocent life. Yet, after seeing Bella's eyes open, a tired, yet defiant burning in her eyes, he knew that it was not his place to speak. Besides, it was not as though anything he could say would make things better. He concluded that anything anyone had to say wasn't enough for this woman.
"Don't rub your head like that! You should be happy that we didn't turn our back on you," Dolores hissed, giving a shake of the head. "Many told us that after the stunt you pulled, dropping out of college, runnin' around like damn idiot, we should have turned our backs. Yes, they did!" Dolores said with a sure nod. "But no," she sneered, glaring at her daughter. "Your mother refused. She said you would come to see how wrong you are, that you would eventually come to your senses."
"Mama-"
"Don't interrupt me!" Dolores hissed.
Bella's mother quickly shut her mouth, returning to her mixing.
"'Can't turn your back on family,' she said," Dolores quoted in a mocking tone. "Well. Have you finally found your decency?"
Will could almost see the anger boiling within Bella as she stared at her grandmother, years of memories, memories that she tried to bury, come rising to the surface.
"I didn't ask you to... to..."
She was shaking. When he looked down at her hands, he found them curled into fists, knuckles white. It was becoming more and more apparent that this visit was a mistake. He opened his mouth to speak, to try to come up with an excuse to shuffle her away from this place, but her grandmother wasn't done with her. Not nearly done with her.
"Of course, you don't! You don't even have the intelligence to grasp how lucky you are to have such a forgiving family. You ought take this chance while you can and try to do better. He would have done better. Heaven knows that he would have done better! I-"
"Don't."
The way she said it silenced them. There was something hard in her voice, hardened like it took everything in her entire body to break down the word, to push it from her lungs with one dying breath. There was a graveness to it. One word. One warning. One threat.
It was enough to silence the old woman.
Will's eyes widened as he stared at Bellamy.
She was standing tall, an unyielding rage burning in her eyes. He could almost feel anger radiating from her as she glared, enraged, at her grandmother. Violent wrath pulsed through her as she abruptly turned on her feet. It wasn't until they passed the threshold into the dining room that he realized she was pulling him by the hand, her own wrapped tightly around his with an unprecedented strength.
"Wait!" he heard her mother call from behind, followed by the sound of footsteps.
He could hear her begin again, this time in Spanish. He couldn't understand her words, but he could so clearly hear the intent in her voice as if there were some sense of reason she could appeal to within her daughter.
Perhaps, once there was.
Not anymore.
"I said that's enough."
Will never heard Bellamy raise before, and he didn't now. Yet, by the loud silence of her mother stopping, he would have imagined she had. Bellamy hadn't though. She continued walking, with long and powerful strides. It was as though she were on a war path. Will never found himself fitting anywhere in the fabric of society or life in general. Now, he felt swept up in a tide that wasn't his.
He felt as though he were watching something he shouldn't.
He felt shamed.
Bella's mother called out to her again.
She didn't turn her head.
As fluid as she was, Bella had a way about carrying herself, even in her most quieted echo of self. She had principles. Not many, but those she did, she stuck to. Never did he see her engage. Never did he see her fight. And, on some level, he understood her mentality. When it came to anger, acting on it, placing yourself in the opposition could risk harming oneself much more quickly than one would harm their adversary. Yet, the look in her eyes, he wondered if there was more too it. Looking into her eyes was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. They were endless, but not like looking into the night sky. It was like staring into the dark of the ocean, unable to find one's way back to the surface. He wondered if acting on her anger would be akin to swimming in the depths of the ocean, risking getting lost. Acting on her anger would change her. Consume her. Transform her into something beyond human, something primal, raw, uncontrolled like a beast.
It was the first time he feared not her, but what she could do.
She stepped through the front door, ignoring her mother calling after her. Will was both fearing her leaving and fearing her turning around. This was not the same woman as before. This was not the soft and delicate woman that allowed herself to be buried. This was a woman with undefined limitations, unknowing of what she herself was capable of. In truth, she was just as afraid as he was.
Before they reached the car - before she reached the car, he stepped in front of her, looking down at her with worried, blue eyes. If he was not so close, so familiar with her height, he would have been surprised to find himself looking down at her, of having the reminder that he was bigger, stronger - at least, he was under the impression of being stronger - than the woman that was almost too enraged to even notice his stepping in front of her. She nearly ran into him, only half a foot away from touching him, closer than they'd ever been before, and when she looked up, almost offended at the sudden intrusion on her path, it took her a moment to recognize him.
Blue eyes.
There was something absolutely natural in the way his eyes affected her. There was something disarming about the way he looked at her. There was no words needed, no movements needed, all it took was one look, one understanding and understood look shared between them, and all of the anger flooded from her, a wave of tranquility washing over her like the almost blessed rains that washed over this god forsaken city.
She could recognize his touch despite rarely feeling it.
She could recognize the smell of him better than she could any "home".
She could pick out his voice in a room full of people.
But, most of all, she could find his eyes because of their color, clear as honest and genuine as he was.
She relaxed visibly the longer she was under his gaze, under some unseen cloak of protection he placed over her the second her heart began beating again. Seeing her visible relief, Will attempted to salvage this trip that was ruined in a matter of minutes. In a calm and quiet voice, he whispered, "Do you want to leave now?" Did she want to leave her family with an encounter like this?
"Yes," she answered surely.
She needn't say anymore.
This was an unspoken promise between them.
When she accepted the job with the FBI, he swore that if she wanted out of a situation, he'd do it with only one word of confirmation. Though this was not a case, not on the clock, he would do it all the same.
So, they left without so much as a look back.
Studio 6, Lubbock, Texas
By the time he gathered enough courage to walk upstairs to where she had been hiding for several hours, it was already late into the night. He could barely see the carpet covered steps. His feet sank with each step onto the woven fabric. It was soft, worn in. It almost felt like one of the blankets he had back at home. With each step, he felt more at ease, his eyes eventually beginning to wander over the upper room.
None of her things were out. All the clothes tucked away in drawers or in the closet. Even her suitcase was gone. There was no evidence of someone even being up there, not even the bedding was disrupted from even the slightest weight. He almost began to think she'd snuck out - did it count as sneaking out if both of them were free to leave? They held no true obligations to one another - without him noticing. It wasn't until he spotted just a sliver of hair from the opposite side of the bed that his growing anxiety dissipated.
He quietly made his way around the bed, trying his best to go unnoticed, not wanting to disturb what felt like the closest thing to a safe place to her. As much as he tried, when she slowly came into view, he found her staring at him, dark eyes staring straight into him.
The cold air from the air conditioner was ruffling up her brown hair, sending a few strands upwards. As she looked up at him with that same solemn expression, Will was almost certain that he could see the faintest bit of comfort in her eyes. His first impression of her was thinking her to be a solitary creature, yet in times like this, he was almost willing to bet that he was wrong. That she, like him, was solitary by choice, but not by desire.
He couldn't tell if it was how long he was staring or the cold air that made her adjust the blanket around her.
Where did she-
He squinted his eyes, and it became apparent that it wasn't a blanket, but a towel thrown over her shoulders.
He looked her over again.
Her hair was still damp, and her bottom lip gave the slightest quiver.
"Are you cold?" he asked as he pointed to the bed, as if she were unaware of its presence.
She nodded and Will instantly moved to pull off the thick comforter, but as soon as his fingers dug into the soft cotton, he felt cold fingers wrap around his wrist. His eyes moved back to her. She simply shook her head as if speaking to a child that didn't know any better. Her hand lingered there. He didn't mind. Her touch was one of the few comforting ones despite being the one he's felt the least.
As if she could sense him beginning to enjoy the feeling, she withdrew her hand, adjusting her towel before she settled down with her back against the side of the bed. Will didn't know if she wanted him to leave or go. All he knew was that he didn't. Sinking down beside her, he tried to get close, not enough to touch, but enough to feel her faint body heat.
He struggled to find the words. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
But she saw him.
A sigh left her lips and she reached over her head, grasping onto the bedding. With a quiet grunt, she pulled until the blanket fell over their shoulders. Then, she moved her arm over him. He went rigid, trying to stay as still as can be as she made sure her was covered. She was cloaking him in warmth. Not with the blanket. With her presence more. With her so close, it was almost as if the cool air was nonexistent. Had it not been so dark as to be unable to make out colors well, she would have seen his cheeks redden.
When she was satisfied, she looked him in the eyes, a gentle smile on her face.
"Better," she whispered.
Nodding, he echoed, "Better."
Despite her not having asked a question, she seemed pleased with his answer, this time leaning against him.
Will didn't know much. His whole job, his thought to be purpose was to know the evidence, to interpret it, and to know more. But now? Now, he knew nothing. Yet, he was content with that, pleased with this small and safe place, under a blanket, looking out a window into nothing with her leaning against him.
With her.
She turned her head towards him, scrutinizing his face, eyes flickering to different parts of it, looking for any indication of - well, what exactly she was looking for, he did not know. He remained still, and eventually, she settled on his eyes again. She nodded slowly. He heard her mutter something so quiet that he couldn't hear despite how close they were. He felt her tense. Then relax. He could feel the internal conflict rising within her, and he knew nothing about how to help her through it.
"What happened?" he heard himself ask. The question forced its way through his lips, something almost entirely against his better judgement, yet he couldn't deny that he, to some degree, wanted to know.
What was it that had divided her family? What was it that had her so eager to leave? The entire drive back to the hotel after they left, she looked... traumatized. Her eyes were far away. She was constantly switching between avoiding his eyes to looking to him with a terrified expression as if no one but him could help him. At the same time, he felt as though anyone except for him could do just that. And when he couldn't help her, when he had no words to speak, no comfort to give, when she turned her eyes away, he was flooded with guilt.
Why was she like this?
She was looking at him with wide eyes.
She knew he had a right to their rule, one couldn't get close to another without... talking. Her nose crinkled slightly at the thought of telling him. But, it wasn't just a thought now. She hadn't thought about it at all, what she was going to say, what she was going to do. What did she think was going to happen by staying? It all seemed foolish, the more she thought about it. What? Did she think that she'd be able to build a life with him, to build one together without so much as talking about what they were as individuals? She would have to tell him. She didn't want to tell him, and, at the same time, she did. Taking another breath, she tried to relax.
It should have been impossibly easy to tell him. With the way he was looking at her, expecting nothing in return, she should have been able to pour her heart out if she hadn't buried it so far to where she even questioned if she had one to empty.
This was what it felt like to be alone with Will. Heavy, yet weightless. Feeling both inadequate and content. The way he regarded her, seeing her scarred face and haphazard living, as though it were enough - Could she be enough? She wasn't ever the kind of person who was good enough for anyone. It's why she was alone. Her only experience with anything close to a relationship was more like mutual destruction than a functioning and healthy relationship. What made matters worse was that it was nobody's fault but her own. She didn't have the luxury of leaving the only romantic relationship she ever had with the dignity of having put everything in her heart into the relationship. She didn't have a full heart to give at the time. Now? Oh, she felt broken. Before she came back to the place of her past, she was just beginning to feel as though she were finally being put together again, as though she were finally ready to move on. And here she was, feeling just as broken as before.
She wasn't enough then. Could she be enough now?
Bella's heart began to ache as memories of her last love came to the surface, but she quickly put them away. It wasn't right to act as though her relationship to Will Graham was the same as her relationship to Alejandra Alvarez. The more she thought on them, the only two people she dared to fall in love with, the more it became apparent on why she was so unsuccessful in the past, yet it gave her hope, hope that this time things could be different. She could be different. She was different.
With Alejandra, Bella had been so gone. She was stuck, torn in between the person she was and the person she was trying to be. Bella was so focused on trying to be whole, trying to be just as happy, just as excited, just as alive as Alejandra, and Alejandra was as alive as the sun itself, never resting until it was for good. Even as she laid beside Bella at night, in her sleep she would be active, muttering incoherently, the occasional toss or turn. She was so bright, so rich in color, but Bella was nothing if not washed away, fading. She did all the right things. She remembered every birthday and holiday, always taking her sweet and loving girlfriend out to dance. She gave her flowers. She gave her gifts. She gave her time. Yet, it wasn't enough because she couldn't give her girlfriend herself. Bella couldn't tell her because she saw Alejandra, a pure embodiment of everything good in life, and she couldn't see herself beside her. She wasn't worthy. She wasn't enough.
But, with Will, she finally felt as though she were herself. She never lied to him. She never dolled herself up, trying to imitate women like Alana Bloom or Beverly Katz, strong women that had a good head on their shoulders. Women that were strong, respectable. They put all they had into helping others, helping make the world a better place. Bella, more often than not, had to put all she had into getting up in the mornings, continuing to trudge through life. This was easier when Will came, when she found out that she wasn't so alone. He wasn't a rock to keep her grounded during a storm, but a man pulling her into a lifeboat. Both of them lost, both of them floating along in uncharted waters, but they had each other.
That's why she couldn't leave, she realized. That was why she was considering doing what she had never before done with anyone.
He was her Scarecrow.
She couldn't leave because she would miss him most of all.
She had to do it.
She had to tell him.
"Okay," she said, gathering her courage.
All the while, Will was staring.
He had been watching the whole time, seeing her, slowly, but surely, relax. There was a tension in her shoulders that was lost, a guarding look slowly dissipate. It felt as though he were beginning to see the true Bellamy. She was going to allow him into her thoughts, her desires, all things invisible. Yet, he was going to see it. A warmth erupted on her face despite the sadness in it. She was radiating a stronger sense of peace, that same peace that he caught a glimpse of when they first met. Like a survivor finally putting an end to what they had to survive.
"It wasn't always like this," she began. "I mean, it was, but, at the same time, it wasn't."
She began shifting in her place.
Feeling that habitual sense of guarding walls rising, having to fight against them, to leave herself open. Will could see this. He could see that with even just the fewest words, she was beginning to feel discomfort. And so, he did what he had only ever seen other people do. He slowly, gently, cautiously, placed an arm over her shoulder. And, to his surprise, she melted into the slight embrace, her arms slipping around his waist. He moved his other hand, placing it onto her head, and began to run his fingers through her hair. It was a comforting movement, one that had her closing her eyes, subtly leaning into his touch. It felt entirely natural, as though they had ended their days like this all the time. Will almost forgot she was in the middle of explaining.
"I like your hair," he heard himself say. His cheeks were burning for a moment, only to feel his nervousness being quelled by her humming contently in response.
"So did he."
She lifted her head, looking at him for just a moment, as though wondering if Will were still himself. Will's face twitched, feeling just a pinch of jealousy at the thought of someone else, another man having done exactly as he had, been her resting place. He put his jealousy away as soon as he recognized the flash of pain in her eyes, the glimpse of hidden grief behind the browns he found himself constantly searching for. It didn't matter who came before him.
It's not as though she was his. He had to remind himself of that. As she rested her head against him once more, he felt that same warmth fluttering within his chest, one that made him lightheaded as if it were flooding his lungs, coming through his lips with every breath. It was hard to imagine a time when things were different. That was the strange thing about being near Bellamy Bennet. She managed to fall so easily into his life that it felt as though she were always there. Being with her felt like something akin to coming home.
Still, he was careful when he continued to run his hand through her hair, just as she was careful when she tightened her hold around him. The way they acted, so terrified of making a mistake, read of a familiarity with rejection, tasting of the same bitterness of being outcast, set aside from everyone else. Both of them just as scared, unsure, with just enough courage to continue.
Their maladjusted nature was what brought them together.
"What was your family like?" she asked quietly.
She could feel Will shift a didn't need to see his face to know there was a ghost of a grimace upon it.
"I never knew my mother," he admitted. His answer was met with silence. "I didn't have any siblings. It was just my father and I."
She waited some time in silence before she realized that was his answer. Frowning, she twisted her body, catching a glance of a blank expression. Quickly, she adjusted herself, moving to lie on her back, her head on his lap, now having a clear view of his face as if to see him, who he was, how he felt, better.
"You didn't answer my question," she pointed out in a soft voice. "Were you close? Did you get along?"
Will only shook his head, looking up rather than down with shame and regret, wanting to avoid looking at her. She would not have it though. Reaching her right hand upwards, she placed her hand on his cheek, demanding his attention.
"We weren't close," he answered stiffly, trying to swallow the memories rising in him like bile. "My father wasn't good with... expressing affection," he grounded out, trying to find the right words. "Guess I got this detached feeling from a nuclear and normal family from him."
It was supposed to be a joke, but neither of them were laughing.
"We moved around a lot."
Will refused to mention their money troubles.
"One would think that travelling would give me ample opportunities to make friends, to make a family of my own."
"It doesn't," she finished for him, an echo in the way she said it made him wonder if she did her fair share of travels.
"Did your family move around a lot?"
His question earned a scoff in disbelief.
"God, no!" she laughed bitterly with a faint shake of the head. "My family didn't... They didn't... I..." She shut her mouth after some attempts. She let out a frustrated sigh, taking some time to gather herself before beginning again. "My family was everything and nothing at the same time."
Will only raised a brow before she began explaining.
"It's like... Imagine the world to you right now," she began. "Imagine all the complexities of life, knowing them, knowing that there's a bigger picture. I was a... a difficult child," she settled on, cringing at the word. It wasn't right. It didn't fit, but she hadn't another way to describe herself. "I didn't know how to care about the things they did."
She could already feel a headache approaching with just the memories.
"It was... It was frustrating," she sighed, trying to fight off the rising anger.
This was why she hated coming home. She always managed to revert back into that same little girl she always hated being.
"Their lives were too mundane, too domestic. They just didn't - They just couldn't understand anything beyond their little bubble of living. They were either neglecting or overbearing." The words couldn't stop flowing out of her mouth. All that bottled up anger was bubbling to the surface. "They were so concerned with looking like the perfect family instead of becoming one."
She could feel herself growing angrier and angrier. She tried to contain it, just as she always had, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.
Will's eyes spotted her shaking fists. This was not what he wanted. Yes, he wanted her to open up, to trust him with what was eating her alive, but not at the cost of more pain.
"You said you had a brother," he pointed out, remembering the fondness in her eyes, the one smile she gave while inside her parents' house. Just as quickly as she had gotten angry, that anger vanished. It was like watching a spell break over her. She let her fists unravel. He caught sight of dark spots on the palms of her hands. She'd dug into them too deeply. He made a note to clean them before she went to bed.
Just like before a sad smile came over her.
"Tell me about him," he prompted.
Bella bit the inside of her lip as her eyes found his once more.
She already told him some. Not all of it, but some of it. It was more than she ever told anyone else, and it felt good. The rest wouldn't. She knew that well enough. But she came this far with telling him. So she could trust him with more. She told herself that she had nothing to fear, that she hadn't done anything wrong. She only wished that she actually believed in what she told herself.
"His name was Edward," she began with a smile on her face. Saying his name was like saying a blessing. "I never got to meet our actual father. We hardly know anything about him except that he worked a lot and that his father, or maybe his father's father, loved science fiction, specifically Edward Bellamy's Looking Backward. Apparently he loved the idea of a better future, one built on unity or something."
She shook her head. Her eyes were narrowed, as if trying to recall something from a distant memory. Will imagined that she must have worn it often. He remembers the times when he would try to think of his mother, trying to piece together the scraps she left behind as if he would someday have a clear view of her.
He wonders how long Bella tormented herself with hypotheticals, wondering who her father was, what he could have been, what he might actually be. An absent parent alone could leave a lasting impact. With the kind of parent she was left behind with, a mother like the kind he saw, he could imagine that Bella's upbringing alone was more than straining.
"He was four years older than me, but he was so small for the first few years of his life," she said with a hopeless laugh. "He was the first person to ever love me."
Will didn't point out the presence of her mother. He knew that a mother's love wasn't a luxury all children had.
"Our mother married another man after our father left - he left before I was even born - and despite moving up in the social-economic class system, our mother still insisted on working. Our step father worked out of town for five days out of the week. Mom worked late shifts. Despite being miles away, our step father was strict. We weren't allowed outside without mom there, but mom had to be outside with us, and considering that she worked late, we never had the chance to."
Will quickly understood the closeness that she had with her brother. In the neighborhood that she grew up in, he would have assumed that she wouldn't have a shortage of children to play with, friends to make. However, being trapped inside her house, with no company but her brother, he could see how she would latch onto her only company.
"Technically, there was nothing particularly wrong with our childhood. Not at first."
Her smile faded into that same tragic smile, the weary upturn of lips that read more of pain than of happiness. He could see her visibly swallow, taking in a shuddering breath as her hands began to curl into fists once more. He didn't stop her. He didn't want to interrupt whatever she was feeling. He had a strong feeling that if he did, she wouldn't finish, and he needed her to finish telling him. She needed to finish telling him.
"I don't remember it, but I remember my god mother telling me that when I was starting school, Eddie would get in trouble for asking to go to the bathroom and then walk to my classroom just to see if I was okay... He was... He... He..."
There was tears streaming down her face.
"Anyways, he was there. Every time I was happy or upset or angry, he was there. And it couldn't have been easy since I was so sensitive," she said with a bitter laugh, wiping the tears from her eyes. "But that's just who he was to me. He was so good sports, making friends, even academics once he realized how good at math he was," she added with a quiet and nostalgic laugh. "He was this perfect son, perfect brother."
Will could see the pain in her eyes, and he could do nothing about it. Nothing that could truly heal her from whatever scars she had over her heart. What he could do, he did. And so, he lifted his hand again, and placed it over her two. He hadn't expected her to move her own, to unlace her fingers and latch onto his, but she had. He was offering what little strength he could, and she accepted it.
"He should have resented me. He should have hated me." She tried to swallow the guilt she carried. "But he didn't. He had too good of a heart. Everyone with eyes could see it. There was no room in his heart for anything bad, I think. Even those who were cruel to him, he met them with kindness. He met me with kindness, with love. Back then, everything was perfect.
"I can remember the briefest moments of relief when he would hold me tight, when he would sing to me 'Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World', and in those moments, nothing and no one could touch me."
She could almost hear his voice, even after all this time.
"What I would give to hear his voice again."
Will wanted to ask if she sung, if she would sing for him, but he knew it wasn't the time. How could she return to that ritual when the mere memory of it brought her to such a state of fragility?
"Our closeness... Some people misunderstood it. They took platonic hand holding, playing with each other's hair..." She almost got lost in the loss of it all, the reminder that it was likely that she'd never get to enjoy any of those things again. Not with her brother. Not in the purest form of friendship. "I was about to start high school when the rumors began to start up. I had gone to a few parties because I felt guilty that Eddie was missing out because his sister didn't want to be alone on the weekends, and some kids started a rumor and they told their parents and-"
"And your parents caught wind of it?"
"My mother. Our step father wasn't around enough to know anything," she corrected, a tightness in her voice. She told herself that it wasn't time to bring up the absence of a father. This was about her and her brother. "I overheard my mother one day. She was talking to Eddie, telling him that he couldn't go to college here. He said that he wanted to, that he had his full tuition paid at Texas Tech. That's when we both realized that she wasn't insisting because of financial problems."
"She wanted to separate you two... because of rumors?"
Will couldn't tell what kind of people he despised more. The ones who thrived on spreading lies and slandering the names of others like Freddie Lounds or the ones that believed those lies.
"She'll never admit to it. She'll insist it was something else, just like how she insists that she's a good mother," Bella muttered bitterly. She was a mess of emotions, being hit with waves of fondness, sadness, nostalgia, and then anger. Then again, she was never well adept at balancing emotions. "She gave him a choice: Go somewhere else and come back to visit on holidays and during the summer - during which she almost always made sure I was away at some camp or on some vacation - or just be kicked out and send me away. She said she 'just can't have something so wrong surrounding the family.'
"So he left. He went to a different university, and I only saw him two times for the rest of my high school experience: Once at the first Christmas after he left - Mother was so furious that he came back, but more so that I was the thing preventing her favorite child from coming back - and then another time at our grandfather's funeral." The memory should have been filled with grief, yet she had a smile on her face. "It was just for a little bit, about fifteen minutes that we were alone, and in that time, he told me that as soon as I graduated, something he knew Mother would allow him to come back for, to have my bags packed because when it was over, he'd take me out of that god forsaken house. He said that we'd just leave. That he met someone who paid enough money for him to buy a house, enough money to where we wouldn't have to worry about anything."
"So you left? With him?"
Tears began running down her cheeks again, her hands tightening around his until he felt his bones aching. She stared up at him with wide and powerless eyes as she answered, "No." She raised her hand and wiped them furiously away. There was no reason to cry here. She told herself that crying was useless, that crying wouldn't bring him back, but they wouldn't stop.
Her teary eyed gaze wandered back at Will. He was still staring back at her. She loosened her grip on his hand. She'd clung so tightly to him in her feelings of abandonment in fear that if she didn't hold onto him, he, too, would leave her.
"Then where is he?" Will asked carefully.
If her brother loved her half as much as she seemed to love him, surely he would have came back, even just to visit. There would have been more pictures. There should have been more if he came back, but thinking back to her parents' house, there was nothing beyond his high school graduation. Even if he had kept away long enough, wouldn't he have came back just to see her after hearing what happened?
"I don't know!" Bella cried, angrily wiping away the tears that continued falling. "He just... H-He never came ba-ack. I was waiting and-and waiting! I waited for weeks! I thought, 'maybe he couldn't take off b-because of work' or 'm-maybe something happened to hold him up'. But he never... He... I don't know," she sobbed as she covered her eyes, trying to stifle years of wanting to cry flooding to the surface.
"Bell-"
"I looked for him," she blurted out, bringing her hands away from her eyes, now red and puffy. "I tried moving on... I tried... I went to college - the one he went to. I thought if I went there, maybe h-he would just be there, but he wasn't... He wasn't-"
"Bella," Will tried again, watching helplessly as she fell into hysterics.
She pulled herself up, her hands wrapping around herself as if to try to stop herself from falling apart.
"I couldn't take it anymore, so I left looking for him. I dropped ev-everything and left! I spent ye-years trying to find him! I traced every goddamn lead and nothing! I found nothing! I did... I did everything I could. I looked for him everywhere... The things I saw... The things I had to do... The things that were done to me... Nothing."
She was staring straight, but her eyes were far away, nothing but horror on her face.
"Bellamy!"
Her eyes snapped back to the present, back to him.
He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but she was slipping away and he knew it.
"Will."
Her voice was quiet, choking out the syllable almost in a whimper.
He stared at her as she caught her breath, the rise and fall of her chest slowing. His outburst at her almost delirious fit was instantly forgotten. The roughness of her, the jagged edges of a survivor that he once saw were now under a new light. And all her sharpened edges held new meaning. She had been shattered. He wanted to know the things she "saw", the things she "had to do", and what were "done" to her. Yet, he didn't need to.
As her the sobs wrecking through her body subsided, she watched him. Her brown eyes were shining with something, something he'd caught a glimpse of, but it felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. Strongly. Clearly.
Will was captivated by the woman before him. She was strong. He knew by looking at her, before and even more so now, that she'd seen and done, even endured things that couldn't be spoken. She didn't survive unscathed. She was still vulnerable, still fragile. She was capable of great strength, unprecedented intelligence. She could have so easily been a storm, tearing apart everything just as she was, yet she responses to pain: to mirror it or to go against it. She chose kindness.
He saw that kindness in the moments she'd whisper to his dogs when the weather was bad and when they were frightened. He saw it when she would hum softly as she watered the plants at his house, singing quietly for them to grow. He saw it in the brief moments she'd look across the room and smile so warmly at him, eyes shining just for him.
Even broken down, breathing raggedly, being hit with waves of ruthless memories, currents of devastation pulling her under. Even as tears burned her eyes red, even though he'd already seen so much of her - Will remembers how he frantically pulled her from the earth, uncaring of her naked body, just worried about one thing: keeping her alive - she still tried to contain her tears. Even in her hysterics, she stubbornly clenched her jaw through her weeping, trying to swallow her sobs with deep, yet frantic breaths.
Even after all of that, he still looked at her just as he had before.
The only difference was the feeling that filled his chest. It was burning in his lungs, coming out with each breath. It was filling, energizing. It brought him enough strength to do what he hadn't done before.
He reached a hand towards her, moving a strand of still damp hair out of her face. His other moved on its own, wiping a tear off her cheek.
She was staring back, her wide eyes looking unto him with anticipation. She saw what he was doing before he himself knew.
He savored the look in those eyes before he leaned forwards, placing his lips over hers.
His kiss was tender, his hands holding her just as gently. The storm of emotions she'd been feeling vanished, and she was lost. Closing her eyes, she gave into the feeling of his calloused hands, his warm lips on hers. Her hands gently pulled him closer, fingers curling into his in his hair. She was aware of nothing except for him. His lips, his hands that moved to the back of her neck and the small of her back holding her close.
Too soon did she pull away, looking to him with tired, half-open eyes, resisting the urge to just fall back into another kiss. Had the lights been on, he would have seen her cheeks as red as wine.
Her lips lifted into a crooked smile, watching as Will slowly returned to his senses.
"Was this your attempt to 'help clear my mind'?" she asked.
Will gave a breathy chuckle at the notion of having done something so... so... predictable?
No.
No, he couldn't have predicted it himself.
When he left Virginia with her, he held no intentions to end up with his lips on hers. Yet, he couldn't entirely say that he would not have done exactly as he had if he knew he'd end up exactly like this.
"No," he answered with a hopeless smile of his own. His eyes traveled down to her lips, unknowing hers did the same.
"What was behind that?" she asked in a whisper.
"Impulse."
And just like him, she moved without thought, with pure impulse, leaning into him, her lips brushing against his own.
This time, when she pulled away, catching her breath, she found his arms still around her, one of her hands on his chest, the other on his shoulder, both unwilling to fully let the other go.
"So where does this leave us?" she asked, looking him in the eyes.
"Together," he answered after some time.
She nodded, and moved to rest her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, retreating into the promise that he gave in their embrace.
It didn't matter where exactly they were, what they were.
All that mattered was that they were together.
So I'm late again. I apologize.
I lost my first draft again, which had her actually going to places that she used to, and in the second draft, it wasn't going well, so I scrapped it. As an apology (and bribery) I decided to do something a little sweet at the end, so hopefully you won't crucify me.
I'd like to give a special thanks to Guest, xxyangxx2006, CaptainMc, LisaxDeanshipper97, twelia, Violette Penn, Mara-Lethe, MariDark, and tiburce57. You guys taking the time to review really holds a place in my heart and keeps me motivated (I read them far too many times...).
Knowing that people actually enjoy this and are reading something I wrote is... There are no words!
To those who don't review, thank you for reading!
Please, anyone feel free to leave your thoughts, opinions, etc give me life...
I feel like I'm kinda getting the hang of writing, but I still have a long way to go, especially with telling this story...
So, once again, thank you so, so, so much! Honestly, I cannot express how happy I am.
Ps: The next chapter will definitely have her meeting Abigail! I might introduce Freddie...