All rights to Hannibal (TV) belong to NBC.
Studio 6, Lubbock, Texas
For the first time in years, she didn't wake up feeling alone.
When she raised her head, she found his eyes staring back at her, comfortable, yet still somewhat afraid. She understood the feeling all too well.
"I.." His voice was low, yet unsure. He didn't know what to do or say. Neither did she. Yet, she simply decided to rest her head against him once more, sighing as she relaxed some, silently urging him to do the same.
"What do we do now?" she asked in a whisper.
She felt his lips on the top of her head. It wasn't a response. It was a mirror, a promise, an acceptance to whatever it was they were.
"Let's go home," she heard him say in a calm, yet more sure, voice.
She didn't think much on how he didn't call it his "house", or "back". She knew as well as he did that "home" was exactly the same place in both of their minds. That same house in Wolf Trap, filled with dogs and empty of all the worries of the lives they both weren't fit for. Home was where her pain was forgotten, and all that remained was a stronger sense of the same warmth she had lying in bed with him.
And so, she gave a faint nod of agreement. As much as she hated the idea of Jack's money going to waste, she couldn't stay. This place was as familiar to her as foreign ruins. She could look at it all she wanted. She could try to imagine what life was like here, but she would never be able to fully connect to it. She wouldn't be able to see it. Not fully. All she would ever be able to see was the broken and crumbling echo of what could have been, a place that once had potential to hold life, only to have failed. It was a living ghost town. Something that she could linger in, but never fully live.
On the way to the airport, she looked out the window, watching everything pass her by. She saw her old high school, the gas station she'd stop by on her way home to buy sour candies, the library where she hid inside when life at home was too much. Everything looked exactly the same since the first time she left, even that feeling of relief washing over her as it all got smaller with distance.
Will Graham's House, Wolf Trap, Virginia
Warmth.
Unprecedented warmth.
His hand was running comfortingly over her back as they lied quietly on the couch. He couldn't tell how long he'd been watching her, if it had been years or hours, breathing. There was a gentleness to the rise and fall, one that he hadn't appreciated before. It was so small, but seeing it, feeling it, brought a warmth in his chest, one that grew. It felt somewhat intoxicating, holding her.
It was almost startling how easy things had fallen into place.
On the plane ride back, they'd been just as separated. Their hands had touched once, and both, out of reflex, drew away. The drive home was made in silence.
But then they got home.
The second that the smell of clean linens, the dogs, and something he could never quite place, but always felt comforted by, entered his nostrils, he felt at peace. Bella was no different. In the corner of his eyes, he could see her, taking cautious steps inside, careful eyes sweeping over everything in sight as she made her way through the house, a tension still in her shoulders lessened once she was satisfied. What she was looking for, watching out for, he did not know.
He watched as she immediately walked into the living room, his dogs circling her, jumping in excitement at their return. She lowered herself to the floor, greeting them all with the same warmth he saw all those nights ago when he'd first brought her over for drinks. He heard a soft sigh leave her as she hugged Buster, who was whining when he couldn't get close enough because of the other seven. The smile on her face as she looked up at him was enough for him to forget how strange it was, the domesticity of it all.
It felt as though he had seen this before, as if he'd done this before. It was so easy to see it happen again, too. He would come home, after a long day being pried open for information by Jack or teaching lectures to all too eager students, and he would see this. Her and the dogs, and everything else, all the stress and worry, would fade into the background.
That is what the past few days were.
It was a blur of peace, enjoying the smallest of things. There was pleasure in it, the breakfasts they both made together, the walks outside with the dogs, the satisfaction of winning a game of poker, or the simple joy of quietly reading on the same couch they were currently lying on.
And here he was, staring at the back of her head, running his fingers into her hair, wondering how they'd gotten to this point. As he lifted a lock, twirling it around like a screw tightening, he wondered who exactly this woman was. For all that he knew, and the more he thought, the more certain he was that he didn't know much, he still felt as though he had. She was a stranger. A familiar stranger. She felt less like someone he'd met not too long ago and more like someone he'd once known. He felt like he knew her nature, the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she was. The only things he didn't know was what happened. What happened? The question had been driving him mad. At first, it was just an irritating question that came every so often, but then it began to nag at him. Now, even in the quietest of moments, the question dug into his skin, wanting to break and bleed out what he wouldn't let leave his lips.
He wouldn't do that to her.
Before he could force his thoughts out, Bella lifted her head, eyes wide with a look of alarm. She didn't look like she'd just woken. She was wide awake, her body tense, lips pressed together, brows furrowed. He didn't say a word, only a look of confusion gave way to what he was thinking. She said nothing, only untangling herself from him, sliding off the couch, slender fingers snatching the blanket that was on the ground before walking towards the stairs. He almost didn't hear her speak.
"Someone's here."
The day they got home, Will texted Jack. Not a call. If he called, that would put him in a place to answer Jack's questions. Instead, he just left a simple message, telling him that he would see him when their promised time off was done. He put thoughts of work away. At first, it made him guilty, but that feeling faded over time. He hadn't thought about it in two days. Two whole, stress-free days. His nights had a kind of quiet stillness that he couldn't imagine possible until they were over. It was like being in their own world within the walls of their home. All the bad things in life were beyond the gravel, the blackened asphalt of the roads that lead nowhere kind. But inside their house, with land he owned under their feet, they were safe and sound.
It was as though they were living on holy grounds.
Pulling himself off the couch, he felt dread begin to weigh on his shoulder. As he shuffled towards the door, he cast a look over his shoulders, looking for her, Bella, but she was nowhere in sight. She was a ghost of a woman sometimes.
Stepping out onto his porch, not even thinking of putting on clothes, still dressed in only boxers and a wrinkled shirt, he winced at the brightness of the morning. His hand lifted, rubbing at his eyes out of habit. He heard the sound of his own little pack of dogs before he felt them bounding past him down the stairs. When he opened his eyes, he saw them, all rushing towards the driveway. A car door opening and closing sounded. It was then that he realized Bella had been right. They weren't alone anymore. Someone had breached the walls of their home.
The second he saw Alana Bloom, smiling at him, he felt that familiar fist of embarrassment clasp around his neck. One of his hands instinctively reached towards his hair, tussled from having only just gotten out of bed. The second his calloused fingers grazed against strands of his hair, his hand dropped. There was nothing he could do to better his appearance.
"Morning," Alana greeted, blue eyes bright and kind, just like her smile, one Will did not return.
"I didn't hear you drive up," he said, a frown resting on his tired face.
"Hybrid," Alana answered with a sharp and charming glint in her eyes. "Good car for stalking."
He briefly wondered how Bella had heard it.
Thinking of Bella, he felt a sickening sense of guilt pulling at his heart. He knew how she felt towards Alana. Well, he knew enough to know that she might not be as happy with a visit. Where the two lied in their opinion of one another was... unknown.
Looking down, he felt that compulsion to cover himself. Under her eyes, he felt unclean. That was a distinct difference in what it felt like to be under the eyes of the two. With Alana, he wanted to shroud himself, hiding from her all too sharpened gaze. With Bella, he all too easily bared himself, his scars, for her to see in hopes of her doing the same.
"Why are you here, Alana?" He asked, looking, not at her, but out towards the road.
Alana's smile faltered, noticing the change of welcoming he gave her. Something had changed in the time that he and Ms. Bennet were gone, she concluded at the least.
When she decided to see Will, to deliver the news, she imagined to be filled with relief. She imagined that he would be glad to see her, to see a familiar face. But that wasn't the case. In the short time off, something changed. He was no longer gazing at his shoes like some kind of broken puppy, the kind he would rescue. No. When he looked at her, though there was an instinctive difference between the two and how they carried themselves, there wasn't that same look in his eyes. There was fondness in them. That hadn't changed. What had changed was that he no longer looked at her as though she were something immaculate, something good, kind, and caring without a single fault. What changed was how he carried himself. He was standing taller. His shoulders weren't hunched. And, when she drew closer, looking at his eyes, searching for that look of sheepish affection, there was none. In that, she felt slighted. A dull and distant ache rested in her heart, but, like the professional she was, she did what she came to do.
"Abigail Hobbs woke up."
Will's eyes snapped back to her.
There was shock in his eyes. It hadn't occurred to him, not recently, that the world would continue to turn, change, while they laid still in their smaller world. They had left their expected location, not a single person beside him and her to know what they were doing, where they were at, respectively. Yet, here was proof that the world had gone on. Looking out at Alana, Will recalled the image of another dark haired, blue eyed girl. One he killed for, one Bella died for. It almost seemed unbelievable.
"I have to-" His voice cut off as he turned towards the door. His first action was to go to her, Bella. He wanted to tell her that this girl, this child, they both saved was now awake. It was that natural paternal rush, and like when they came home a few days earlier, he was caught in how easily they came into this place of togetherness. It was alarming, how quickly she came into his life, into his heart, replacing things he couldn't think replaceable. Things like Alana. He'd once bared a crush on the woman. One that started from every so often encounters, falling for that charming smile, the every so often smile that lifted his chest, if only for a moment. Where had that heaviness that accompanied the knowledge that he would never be good enough for her gone?
Turning his head back to her, he wondered if it was her that changed, if she was responsible for that lack of feeling he had for her. He was wrong. Nothing had changed about Alana. Her dark hair was still curled softly. Her clothes still styled to be both professional, yet welcoming. In looks, she was more conventional. She didn't have the tangled knots he'd been brushing out earlier, or the dark circles under her eyes that Bella, though faded, still had. Alana was more of a well watched and watered garden rose, while Bella was like wild daisies, growing in the most surprising of places. And although he would still harbor that tense and protectiveness towards Alana, under her calm and collectively watchful eyes, he didn't feel that ache he once had.
"Want me to get you a cup of coffee?" Alana asked, worry beginning to show on her face as his silence carried on. Will quickly shook his head, remembering his place, remembering the time. Despite his declining, Alana continued to move forward, climbing up the steps, offering another one of her smiles. "Let's have a cup of coffee," she insisted. "Or tea. I think a nice soothing cup of tea would do us well," she added, passing him by, opening the door, trying to usher him in. This was Alana. She was nice, friendly, kind. She was the one willing to break that rule of hers, the never being alone with him, not knowing that she still wouldn't.
Why did he let her?
He let Alana walk into his house, into his kitchen. She hung her coat on the back of a chair, moving towards the coffee maker. All he did was watch her, as she made them tea, ignoring the ringing of her phone. It felt wrong, especially when she gave him his cup of tea. Will thought back to all the times he would have enjoyed this, a nice warm cup of tea with her, but now it just felt like betrayal, even more so knowing that Bella was upstairs. Will thought to mention her presence, but unlike Alana, he wasn't well adept at conversation. He didn't know how to say it without sounding, well, of what he did not know. Instead, he focused on the ringing, recognizing the name of the caller.
"Is he going to keep calling?" Will asked, tasting something sour in his mouth. He briefly wondered if Jack had sent her.
"Jack wants you to see her," Alana explained, lips pursed for a moment before she took a sip of her tea. Will noticed the way she said, "you". It wasn't that Jack was asking something of her that bothered him. It was Jack asking for Will's involvement that bothered her. That stung some. He couldn't blame her though. "I don't think you should see her, Will. At least, if you did, I wouldn't want it to be by Jack's will," she continued, a tired expression crossing her features. "Abigail is my patient. You are-" He noticed her hesitation, the brief contemplation of what they were, where they stood in proximity to one another. "-my friend, and-" She didn't sound convincing in the slightest. "-I would like to have what is best for the both of you. I want to go by what you two need more than Jack." Even in their disagreement in if he should or shouldn't visit, he appreciated her defensiveness.
"Abigail Hobbs doesn't have anyone," he reminded her, a brief flicker of guilt knotted in his stomach. He'd killed her father. Even in saving her, he did her wrong, in some way or another.
"You can't be her everyone," Alana quickly reminded him. "You..." Her lips snapped shut. Will frowned at her studden quietness until he saw that her eyes weren't on him, but looking behind him. He didn't have to look to see Bella, but he did, if only to see her face, to see if she would allow him to see even the slightest bit as to what she was thinking or feeling. Once he turned, seeing the woman, dressed in those same inconspicuous clothes that she'd worn at her hometown, he felt that guilt from earlier. He felt as though he'd been caught doing something wrong.
Yet, she smiled.
Or, he thought she did. It was so quick and so small, that it might have been his imagination.
"I... I didn't know you had company," Alana managed to get out, eyes flashing to him.
"Don't mind me," Bella said quickly. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. "I heard the news," she explained, tucking it back in, taking a seat beside Will. He noticed how she pulled out the chair, subtly dragging it to the side, away from him, so that when she'd scoot back in, she wouldn't be as close. He briefly wonders if she was lying. Not so much as lying as to say she hadn't heard the news, only misleading on who she heard it from.
Alana just nodded, taking her words in, and adjusting herself accordingly, losing some of that familiarity she gave him, if only just by a little.
"As I was saying," Alana began again."The first person Abigail talks to about what happened can't be anyone who was there when it happened. That means no Dr. Lecter, either."
There was silence, a bittersweet truth to her words.
"Will, as much as I know you want to speak to her, to tell her-"
"No," Will said quickly, cutting her off with an understanding shake of the head. "I get it. I can't talk to her yet."
"I can visit her."
Their eyes fell on Bella, who sat staring so surely at Alana. It wasn't that sureness that accompanied determined people. No. It was the kind of sureness that didn't need determination. It was the certainty of fact. It didn't feel like a suggestion.
"I," Alana's voice died in her throat when Bella's eyes met hers. She couldn't tell quite what the feeling that filled her when those brown eyes took hers, but it was unsettling. "I suppose after my initial visit, you may." She was speaking slower, more carefully choosing her words. "Though, I'm not sure what you have to gain."
"Jack wanted Will to see her." There was not a second of hesitation when Bella said it. "Besides," she continued, pulling out her phone again, her fingers quickly typing something neither he or Alana could see. "She might not trust you."
Alana shifted in her seat, sitting straighter. She now wore a frown on her face, confused less by the suggestion that a girl going through trauma might not trust her and more with how sure Bella seemed that she would be able to be more trusted. "Why do you say that?"
Looking up from her phone, straight at Alana, Bella opened her mouth. For a moment, nothing came out. Will wondered if she considered telling Alana some truth, something even he didn't know, by the look that she quickly gave him.
Swallowing whatever she was going to say, taking a moment to recollect, she found her answer.
"Because I wouldn't."
Jack Crawford's Office, B.A.U., Washington, D.C.
The office was too small for the five of them. Alana, Hannibal, Will, and her. Jack was seated behind his desk, sitting proud, strong, looking more like a man commanding a fortress than the Head of Behavioral Sciences. Will was situated in the middle of Alana and Hannibal, looking rougher, less put together, emphasized by two better dressed professionals. Dr. Lecter, in his well-tailored suit, seemed relaxed in his chair. Still proud, but less smug and more knowing. His eyes were on Jack, but they would stray towards Will, who, much more distressed, was leaning forward, elbows on the ends of the armrests, just shying away from setting them on his knees.
Then there was Alana.
She was a sight. Slender, mature, looking every bit as respectable as she was. Seated on the right of Will, she looked every bit the guardian angel that she acted as. Especially that lovely and healing blue dress.
Bella wondered if she consciously chose that.
She'd seen Alana more than Alana had seen her, and any time Alana intentionally directed herself on a professional level, she was in blue. When she came to Jack to talk about Will, she wore blue. When she went to go and see Abigail Hobbs, she wore blue. And, here she was, both standing against Will and for the "betterment" of Abigail, she was in blue. It seemed foolish at first, but Bella was just as guilty of intentionally wearing colors as she was beginning to think Alana was. It was why she was there, not in black, but in a smokey grey sweater, dark jeans, and worn in brown boots. She knew Jack's office was grey. Standing in the back, refusing the offer of trying to squeeze in another chair, she felt safer being closer to the door and out of the sights of an FBI agent with acute empathy and two distinguished psychiatrists.
Jack was her only worry, but he was too busy. He had "seven families" in need of finding whatever was left of their daughters.
She had to respect Jack.
As pushing as he was, he was also the champion of justice. He was so strong and sure of his purpose. He saw and heard what was needed of him, what was asked of him, and he gave his best trying to do just that. In her eyes, he was an old fashioned soul. How easy she could see him in another time, some other officer of the law, just trying to do his best for others. The world needed more men like Jack Crawford, even if he was going after someone Bella was certain didn't deserve it.
Deserve was the wrong word, but she didn't dwell on it. Not when Alana began recounting her visit.
"She was surprisingly practical."
"Suspiciously practical?" Jack prompted, a frown setting on his aging features.
Bella wanted to scoff, but it was in poor taste to even her. Practicality, resourcefulness, it was self preservation, one of the most human traits there was. She could hardly fault the girl for feeling it. She could hardly fault the girl.
"I think she's hiding something."
Bella's eyes flashed to Alana, thinking back to what she had already assumed would happen. She couldn't blame Alana for disregarding what she suggested. After all, what was she but a former waitress with only a few years of college experience?
Still. She understood the Hobbs girl better. At least, more than one would assume.
"She has a penchant for manipulation," Alana went on, the worry beginning to show. "She withheld information to gain information. She demonstrated only enough emotions to prove she had them."
"Appreciating my lack of sympathy?" Jack asked, so quick to assume those "findings" were signs of guilt. Bella was guilty of those exact traits, and he was trusting of her more than Abigail, and she worked for him. "If you're questioning her sincerity-"
"What I'm questioning is her state of mind," Alana said quickly. "She repeated something I said when she was... unconscious."
"Leading to believe she wasn't?" Jack guessed.
"It was... odd."
"The body may be resting, but the mind can still be awake."
It was the first time that she spoke up in this meeting.
When eyes fell on her, she averted her eyes, looking to the floor, regretting a moment of impulse. It felt hypocritical, to judge Alana so quickly on her protectiveness towards Will when, here she was, trying to defend Abigail. And so, when she looked back, finding them still looking at her, waiting for her to explain, she bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn't like Alana or Hannibal. She didn't go through medical school. She didn't have that same education that would give her the luxury of her word being enough. Will had more credibility than her. It was times like this when she regretted leaving Benny's. She wouldn't have to share like she did with them.
"I was once injured," she began, looking for the right words. "Badly. I, uh, I was in the hospital. I was in a coma, and I remember some prayers being read."
"Could it be something you just remember from church?" Jack asked, losing belief in her.
"I've never been given my last rites before then, Agent Craford." There was silence after the sharpened tone she used. Perhaps she had gone too far. Perhaps she shared too much.
"As Ms. Bennet has proven," Hannibal began, clearing his throat, calling away the attention resting on her. "It is not unheard of for the comatose or anesthetized to recall word for word conversations that took place in their presence.
As much as she wanted to be thankful for his backing her up, there was something in his eyes when he spared her a look that promised that, even if he hid her from others people's eyes, this wasn't free. He was a devil in a tailored suit.
"I want Will to talk to her," Jack continued, looking back to Alana. There was no protests from Hannibal. In fact, the idea almost looked pleasing to him. Alana, however, wasn't pleased.
Her nostrils flared, but she hid her temper. It wasn't out of respect for Jack that she reeled herself in. Bella knew that by the flickering gaze Alana had, switching from Jack to Will. It was because of him. Will. For as kindly as she treated Will, for as many times as she suggested Will was guilty of taking in strays, broken dogs, she was doing the same. Will was her stray, and she regarded him as something broken, something in need of a protected home, and that protected home was far from Jack's vigilant clutches. On some level, Bella could see herself almost wanting to agree with the woman.
"No. Not yet," Alana insisted.
"Doctor Bloom, you're not Will's psychiatrist." Oh, how she'd like to be. "Dr. Lecter is."
Said doctor sat up in his seat, eyes looking straight into Alana's. Bella could see it in his posture. He was embodying the professor, and Alana Bloom so easily fell back into being his trusting student.
"For intents and purposes, yes, but I'm not entirely objective on this." Of course, he wouldn't be. "Will and I share a compassion for Abigail Hobbs, we saved her life."
Bella noticed his eyes briefly slide to her, as if to say, 'See. I am protecting you. I am hiding you.' It felt sickening, dirty, knowing that, on some level, to some degree, she was in debt to him. She already silently sold her soul away, but he was a hungry man with hungry eyes, looking to elevate a debt to trust.
"Perhaps a compromise?" Hannibal asked, looking from Alana to Jack.
Bella hadn't even told him. Yet, he knew what she wanted.
"Alana clearly has reservations towards Will and I speaking to Abigail anytime soon. You-" His eyes turned to Jack, who was all too eager to listen. "-want Will to go for his ability to see her, understand her."
"Hannibal-"
Alana was desperate, resorting to a call on familiarity, maybe even friendship.
"Ms. Bennet is neither her psychiatrist, nor was present during her attack."
Will rose from his hunched state, looking to Hannibal with a knowing gaze. There was a twitch to the right side of his lips, a hint of a smile. It wasn't that growing fondness that worried Bella. It was the look in Hannibal's eyes. That bright, shining, thrill that came into that almost omniscient gaze as his own lips curled. The smile was a ghost of that one that he'd given her. It was that same handsome, yet disturbing smile. It filled her body, every fiber of her being, with the urge to defend herself. That knowing smile. It was powerful, compulsive in that he could ask something of her, Will, anybody, and so long as those smiling lips spoke, she would do as he asked. No questions.
It was instinctive, the obedience one could feel under those eyes and that smile.
But Will fell for it all the same.
Turning to Alana, he spoke.
"She did say that 'the first person Abigail talks to about what happened can't be anyone who was there when it happened.'"
Alana stared at the two at a loss of words, a look of betrayal in her eyes. Jack's eyes, however, were staring at her, Bella. This time, she did not look away. She was taking a page out of his book, standing tall for what she wanted, even if it so happened to coincide with the likes of someone she didn't trust - or, rather, wasn't comfortable with how much she trusted.
"Would you be willing to speak to Abigail Hobbs?"
"I'll tell you what I find."
Abigail Hobb's Room, Port Haven Psychiatric Facility, Baltimore, Maryland
"So you're not a doctor or a nurse or a psychiatrist?"
"Correct."
"What are you?"
"I don't know if I actually have a specific job title, but I used to be a waitress."
She knew Abigail was a pretty girl even when she was unconscious, but now awake, she was beautiful. Sitting upright in bed, light blue eyes staring inquisitively at her, Bella was impressed. She looked like how Alana described. Practical, stable, capable of making sound decisions. If it wasn't for the bandage on her neck, Bella would have assumed the girl to be just that: A girl with a pretty doll-like face. They both knew better, though. And so, instead of music and clothes, she brought food. Two cupcakes and lemonade, more expensive than she'd usually spend on sweets, but she figured it was better than what was served at the hospital on most days.
The important thing was that it didn't have meat in it, something she was sure that put Abigail at ease, judging by how the girl continued to nibble at it.
"So, Jack Crawford sent you to..." The girl didn't finish, both of them knowing well what the FBI would assume, what the rest of the public had already assumed.
"That's what he wants me to do," Bella answered from her place on Abigail's bed. There was a seat to the right of the bed, one by the window as well, but she chose the bed. It was a demonstration of a lack of professionalism, a lack of specific intention.
"And are you?" Abigail asked quietly after some time. When Bella looked at her, she saw a flash of paranoia, worry, that deep and crippling sense of fear, if only for a second.
Bella didn't touch her. She didn't reach forward and put a comforting hand over Abigail's icing-stained fingers. She just looked at her, clearly and honestly.
"I'm here because I wanted to see for myself, who you are."
Abigail's brow furrowed in confusion. Looking down at her cupcake, as if to pick apart the message that came with having been given it, having accepted it, would give her an answer as to who this woman was. For as long as she stared, all she heard was silence. The only answer she'd found was more questions.
"They said you saved me."
"Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter saved you."
"No. Not from my dad. From that... that other man," she said, having not gotten the full story. That man wasn't the important part though. All she cared about was this woman, this stranger who put her life on the line for someone she didn't know. "If Jack Crawford sent you, and he believes I... Why would you save someone who everyone else thinks to be guilty?" It made no sense to her.
"I don't follow Jack's belief."
"You don't think I helped my father?"
"I don't know."
That made even less sense. If she didn't know whether or not she was guilty, why would she still risk it? Why almost die for her?
A sigh left Bella's lips. She was looking at the door. For a moment, she seemed to be lost in thought, lost in the words of her own answer, but then she moved. Sliding off the bed, walking towards the small music player that Alana had brought her, she turned it on. She placed it by the door, turning up the volume loud, but not loud enough to be alarming to other patients or staff.
Satisfied, she looked back to Abigail, a solemn expression on her face. Slowly, she made her way over, sitting closer than before, close enough to be heard in a quiet voice, one that wouldn't be heard outside because of the music.
"Abigail," Bella began, her eyes flickering down to Abigail's hand, now resting on her lap. It was the same hand that she held before. And, for a moment, she almost rested her hand over it once more. She didn't. It was Abigail, who moved, sitting up straighter. The younger girl couldn't tell what was coming over her, only that she wanted answers. "I don't know what you're capable of."
The words hit her like the cold silver knife her father laid on her throat, cutting her deeply. She felt bare, naked under this woman's eyes. This woman who laid her life down for her, looking at her as though she knew exactly who she died for, and it terrified her.
"But, I do know one thing, and I want you to hear this," she whispered, taking Abigail's hand. The touch didn't feel manipulative. It didn't feel like the ones her father gave, the lingering touch with a warning, a promise that his touch would remain gentle if she pleased him. With her, with this woman, the touch of the hand almost felt comforting. Understanding in a way Abigail had long since forgotten.
Her blue eyes met brown, and she felt her questions fall silent.
"You don't owe anyone anything."
The words felt cold, but not like metal. It felt like rain, cold autumnal rain, washing away the sweat of the summer, cleansing her, preparing her for a world of white, something clean, renewing.
Her words felt like rebirth.
But, Abigail couldn't trust her. Not yet.
For all she knew, this was just a tactic. Alana Bloom brought her gifts, and began digging into her. This woman brought her food, and Abigail was just waiting for her to begin digging. When it never came, she felt her guard waver. She told herself that Bella might be trying to get her to talk, to confess, but every time she thought of that, Bella's words would echo in her ears.
Days passed. Weeks too.
Every so often, Bella would come by, asking how she was, talking to her about insignificant things.
She became almost obsessed with her, watching every tiny movement, trying to uncover her motives, but it quickly became apparent that in spite of being with the FBI and having to consult with psychiatrists and agents and god knows who else, she was human. Profoundly human. When they were together in the same room, Abigail tried talking to her, trying to do digging of her own with that same method of providing information in order to receive, but the more it happened, the less it felt justified. Especially after hearing about her brother, something that left her feeling as though she had wronged Bella by having prompted the story by angrily saying, "You don't know what its like to lose everything you knew about the people you loved."
After then, Abigail spoke in monosyllables, expecting some retaliation, some outburst of anger or even an admittance to being some mole for Jack. But it never came. And after realizing that she had been wrong, Abigail almost felt unable to make eye contact with the woman who hid behind her hair.
Abigail began to wonder who or what could have possibly have happened to her, what "more" or "other things" she had to endure because the more Abigail looked, the more she felt as though she were staring into a mirror. She wanted to keep a level head, to stay wary of Bella Bennet, but instead, she felt almost related in a sense. The only time she saw Bella look genuinely happy was when Abigail and her were interacting. It was while they played chess or did crosswords, or even when Abigail shared about insignificant things in her life, the little things she missed like her curtains or having lunch with her friend Marissa.
The visits became more regular. The music they played to hide their voices became more detailed. Hell, the music itself even had a place in Abigails heart. Alana had once noticed a new CD, a custom burnt one that had their favorite songs on it. She asked to see "it", but Abigail defensively corrected her, saying "its mine and Bella's." Even though Abigail never told Bella what happened, even though she made sure to prove that she was sound of mind - was it even proving? She never felt like a pretender in Bella's presence - Bella still came by. The nurses recognized her, letting her through security easier, no longer looking warily at the food she brought Abigail - something Abigail also favored. "Grandma Betty's Cupcakes" was her favorite.
Bella sitting hunched over the table, lying beside her on the bed as they read horribly superficial magazines, her pacing in circles, or sitting cross-legged on the floor, it was easy. Easy to trust in her. Abigail found her heart warming at the sight of a friendly face, even when that face was proudly smiling after winning a round of chess. That was something else she found. Bella felt like a mentor. She'd teach Abigail things, be it chess, accents, or even how to do her hair.
While Alana was gently guiding her, doing her job as a psychiatrist, readying her for what the world was like, Bella was already plunging in, telling her tricks she picked up when it came to "the art of disappearing." Something Abigail was curious to know how she knew as it became apparent that Bella was well adept at blending in. But that was exactly why she felt so familiar. Bella was adaptable. She was a survivor - of what, Abigail didn't know. But she made it through, and that was enough to give Abigail hope.
Especially when a red haired woman walked through the door.
Bella and her had been trying to draw each other, an art neither was really good at. They looked like children's drawings, but they both had fun criticizing it, acting as though it were pieces in some art museum - neither had actually been to an art museum, so it was all truly guess work on how people acted. Bella had been in the middle of talking about how Abigail's choice of giving her different shaped eyes held a lot of meaning, which Abigail defended herself as being unable to draw two similar circles, when the woman walked in, wearing surprise on her face at the sight of Bella.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware you had a visitor," the woman apologized with a smile.
The woman had long and curly red hair. Like Alana, she was dressed sharply, but not in the sense that she was a psychiatrist. She looked stylish. Wealthy even. The only thing not proud was her smile, thin pink lips curled upwards. She was beautiful. High cheekbones, sky-blue eyes, even a smooth voice. But she was a stranger to them both.
"I can come back at a different time," the woman offered.
Abigail gave a look to Bella, silently asking for her opinion.
When they had gotten to this point was unclear. It was like all people one cared for. They never really could detect when they began to care, only when they were already in the middle of caring.
Bella only raised a single brow, an earnest look in her eyes. This was something that she did when a nurse or doctor came, asking if everything was okay. Bella gave her the choice to answer. She gave Abigail control, something she always wanted, but rarely got. In her new life, dictated by doctors and psychiatrists, deciding when it was time to sleep or talk to other patients in a circle, Abigail was always thankful when she was given a choice.
"You can stay," Abigail said. "We were just..."
She didn't finish. These little delights felt like something precious, something that was between them and only them. And, whenever she asked about Jack Crawford, what Bella assured, these delights were just between them. It was like having a secret friend.
"Who are you?" she asked, looking to Bella once more. The girl only gave her an encouraging nod.
The woman had been watching, taking note of how the two acted around each other. Yet, when the time came, she stood up straighter, standing across from the two, determined to prove just how worth Abigail's time she was.
"My name is Freddie Lounds," she introduced herself as. When there was no recognition in Bella's eyes, she relaxed some. "I'm a journalist."
That was when something rose in Bella. Though she didn't say a word, she adjusted herself, climbing off the bed, which earned an alarmed look from Abigail.
"You're not allowed to visit," Bella stated, calmly. She could have called for escorts. All of them knew that. Freddie knew the chance she was being given.
"What do you want?" Abigail asked cautiously, crossing her arms.
"I want to tell the truth. Your truth. Sometimes that involves some deception. But know this, I will never lie to you," Freddie stressed, looking more to Abigail than to Bella, as she should have. Abigail, just as she was to all strangers, was distrustful.
"That sounds like what a liar would say."
Freddie didn't waver. Not in the slightest.
"You have every right not to trust me, but in time, Abigail, I hope you let me prove that you can," she said with a look of hope. "If you tell me what you know, I can help you fill in the blanks."
"Why not tell me what you know."
Abigail knew, whether she knew before she woke up or because Bella answered her questions, she knew what her father had done. Freddie Lounds didn't know that, though. Abigail was playing the part of a victim. Bella and her both knew that, and both of them wouldn't tell. It was another secret between them. Even if just for a little bit.
"Your dad was the Minnesota Shrike," Freddie began, already having done intimate research. And so she went on, recounting what she knew. Abigail feigned a look of shock at Freddie telling her about the victims. Though guilt stung in her heart, Bella's words still echoed as if she'd just said them. It became like a prayer to her. 'I don't owe anyone anything.'
Bella wasn't bothered by Abigail's manipulations. She'd done her own fair of guilty things, all in the name of self-preservation. She couldn't blame Abigail for what she was doing. Not when a journalist, of all people, was standing before her. Journalists were always watching, always analyzing. And, if Abigail could convince at least one of the many journalists hungry for a story to be on her side, she deserved it. She didn't deserve any of this mess her father made.
"You'll be fighting that perception. Perception is the most important thing in your life right now," Freddie said, both stating the truth and building her argument.
"I don't care what anyone thinks."
"You should," Bella said quickly, stepping in, not wanting Abigail to make a mistake.
Abigail's eyes snapped to her, blue eyes looking at her with a childlike confusion. Her eyes looked the woman up and down, taking in her casual and comfortable clothes, no where near as stylish as Freddie.
"You don't care what anyone thinks."
Wrong.
Impossibly wrong.
"I care a lot," Bella said carefully, giving the girl a knowing look, reminding her of what she'd taught her. Survival was not being noticed. It was being careful. It was being cautious. It was caring a lot about what others think. Dressing down meant caring about what others found attractive, and then doing the opposite to avoid being noticed. She said none of this, only looking back to Freddie. "What can you offer her?"
Freddie, surprised by Bella's support, straightened her jacket before looking to Abigail, who, now, was looking considerately at her.
"What you remember, what you tell everyone, is going to define the rest of your life. I can help you."
Abigail's chest began to rise and fall at a quicker rate, remembering that there was a whole world outside with eyes on her.
"I can help you carve a path in this world so you can survive what your father did. And not be held accountable."
Abigail swallowed, trying to take in the truth of what Freddie said. When her eyes returned to Bella, the woman gave her a shrug, unable to help her. It was one of the most painful things Bella had done, but she needed Abigail to know that she wasn't going to be someone who decided things for her.
But she could help.
With a sigh, running her hands through her hair, she looked to her shoes. She wanted to wish herself back to the diner, but she couldn't even muster enough energy to even want it. Not when Abigail was looking at her as hopelessly as she was.
Damn it.
She did feel obligation towards Abigail. She felt responsible.
Damn it all.
"You want to write something on her? An article?"
"I'd start with an initial article, but I'd like to write a book. The story. Her story," Freddie said quickly, all her attention on Bella. Whoever would give her what she wanted, whoever she needed to convince. She was something hungry.
"When would you start?"
This was when Freddie looked to Abigail, wariness in her eyes. She was caught in between what she wanted to appear as and what exactly she wanted.
"That's up to Abigail, but, even though I wouldn't want to rush you-" There was that same look in her eyes that Alana had when looking at Abigail. Sympathy. Even a bit of pity. "-We'd have to start soon."
"Abs?" Bella said, worriedly looking at her. She had fought so hard to give Abigail a sense of stability, security, and now it was time to test it.
The girl said nothing.
"Sometimes storytelling is cleansing. You would be able to control the narrative. You would be profiting from it, emotionally and economically," Freddie promised. Abigail still didn't look to her, only to Bella, remembering how Alana told her that the house wasn't hers. That the families of the victims would be taking the bulk of what she had.
"The money could help," she said to Bella, as if trying to reason more with her than herself. Bella nodded. Money was one of the few things that she couldn't offer Abigail. When they'd talked about what her previous plans were, how colleges probably wouldn't want her, not now, all Bella could offer was her old place at Benny's. But a book? That could help her. It could help exorcise what her father had cursed her with. That, Bella couldn't give her.
But Freddie? An actual writer? She could do that.
"You don't have to decide now," Freddie assured, moving towards Abigail. She dug into her pocket, procuring a card. "If you want to, just call me on that at any time," she promised.
Accepting the card, Abigail, tiredly, tucked it into the book she'd been reading.
As Freddie neared the door, Abigail looked up.
"Why do you believe me when other people don't?"
Freddie with an all too sweet smile tilted her head down as so Abigail could see into her eyes, to see what she believed to be true as she spoke.
"Because I believe that you've been through enough. Everyone's just looking for a scapegoat, and it shouldn't be you. They already caught your father. That should be the end of it," she answered with. Even Bella had to admit to thinking that a good answer. Genuine or not.
"How did they catch him?"
Bella frowned, looking at Abigail again. The girl never asked how her father was caught because she remembered. And if it were just a ploy to gain answers, what exactly was she looking for?
"A man named Will Graham. Works for the FBI but isn't FBI. He catches insane men because he can think like them-"
That's when the door opened, two orderlies moving inside. Behind them was none other than Will and Hannibal. Standing in the doorway as if speaking a name was enough to summon them.
"-Because he is insane," Freddie finished, her eyes only on Will.
Will didn't say a thing, only looking to the orderlies. Freddie began shaking her head, glaring at him as if he were the devil himself, pulling away from the orderlies in vain.
"I'm not leaving you alone with her."
It would have been a moving scene, a proud and beautiful woman glaring down a roughened man, defending a seemingly defenseless child, but that's all it was. A scene.
"I must insist you leave the room."
There it was.
That accented voice that sounded of elegance and tasted like temptation. It was almost unnatural, watching how Freddie, who was glaring down Will only seconds ago, look to Hannibal, and suddenly be washed clean of her resistance against the orderlies, trying to escort her out. The sight sent shivers down Bella's spine. And so, she turned away from it, looking instead at Abigail, whose face read of a painful mixture of confusion, distrust, and anticipation, who, in turn, was looking at Will. Bella sank down onto the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl's ear, drawing her attention.
"Don't listen to her," she said quietly. "Will has only protected you."
The younger girl, cheeks reddened in her frustration, gave a faint nod.
The sound of a door closing caught their attention, both of them looking at the two men in the room. Both of them unnerved, but looking in different directions.
There was silence.
Will, so lost and weighed down by a heavy and cold memory, was at a loss of words. Here was the girl who had lied bleeding, gasping, terrified by what her father had done and what might become of her. That terror was gone, only a taste of it remained, but it was enough for him to want to turn his eyes away. As his eyes moved away from her, they caught sight of the bandage on her neck, and he was taken back to that moment when he frantically tried to stifle the bleeding. He only broke from the memory when he noticed her lips moving.
"I remember you."
He knew that. Bella had told him as much. Still, he nodded, accepting her words as if it were something new, and, in a way, it had been.
"You killed my dad."
Will swallowed, not sure how to respond to the brutal truth.
He orphaned her.
"I think its time I left," Bella said after some time. It felt wrong for her to be present. Her and Abigail's relationship was built on anonymity. Her lack of personal knowledge of what happened to Abigail is what made her a safe confidant. And this? Will, Hannibal, and Abigail? It was all too personal.
It was guilty.
It was the one feeling that Bella couldn't relate to. Her only obligatory protectiveness didn't come from guilt. It was just there, hanging right in front of her eyes, staring at her, straight as her own reflection. It made her legs feel weak. This whole time, her strength had stemmed from knowing that she hadn't a single thing in the world to lose, that she hadn't anyone else to worry about mourning her, should something happened. And then Abigail Hobbs came into her life, and now? Now, she was feeling almost paralyzed in fear at the way Abigail was looking at her.
'Don't go,' Abigail's eyes said.
As strong as Abigail was, she was not beyond fragility.
She's still a child.
Bella was as helpless as Abigail in this moment.
She was never good at caring for something. In her younger years, it was her that was looked after. And, when those maternal feeling should have developed, in her teenage years where all those other girls were dreaming of future families, entertaining the idea of being responsible for a child, she had been too lost in her grief. Now, she was here, responsible, unofficially, for a child she didn't ask for.
Will looked down at his glass. This was why he asked her. It wasn't just because he needed a drink and missed her company. He wanted more. He didn't want someone who could report back to Jack. He didn't want someone who would come to their own conclusions before hearing him. He wanted someone who would know him first, who would trust him first. He wanted to be looked at like an actual person and not a mental case waiting to happen.
"You've been in a bed for 3 weeks," Hannibal said, shattering the tension that was growing between them three, three broken things strung together like a necklace of glass. For once, Bella was grateful. "Abigail. Why don't we have a walk?"
The Gardens, Port Haven Psychiatric Facility, Baltimore, Maryland
Bella watched as Abigail walked, weak legged, with the help of Will. She couldn't see the girl's face, only her back as she and Will went on, leaving her and him behind.
He was immaculate. Not a hair out of place or a speck of lint on his sleeve.
He slowed down to her pace.
Even among the passing patients, nurses, and doctors, she felt undeniably alone. She could close her eyes, and all she would see was that red office, a pantheon of his own worship. And just as it would be then, she almost felt the need to sink to her knees, bowing to something superior to her.
Why did he take an interest in her? In Will?
The question had been resting in her mind since that first visit.
They were nothing like him.
He could discuss 18th century symphonies or variations between Impressionist painters of the 19th century. Will and her weren't as cultured. They were the kind that spoke over a glass - glasses - of alcohol because they had been so maladjusted at socializing to the point where they needed it in order to even share personal information.
"You have yet to make another appointment, Ms. Bennet."
What interest did he have in either of them?
"My apologies." It was said out of courtesy. They both knew the truth. She was scared of him. "I have never been great with talking to-" Anyone. "-doctors."
She didn't look at him. She only stared ahead at Will and Abigail, now seated on a bench, talking quietly among the flowers.
Hannibal wasn't looking at them. He was watching her, that hesitant look in her eyes. He knew it by her brow.
It was a beautiful detail of her face, the brow just below a thin scar. It was a telltale sign of a very significant feeling for her. It was when she was watching someone she cared for, be lost or in pain, but being able to do nothing to help sooth that pain. In those very moments, the fine muscles of her brow would pull into a small arch. It was asymetric of her face, but it held a profound elegance.
This was how closely he watched her.
When she avoided him - and he knew she was avoiding him - he was left to only short moments like this to memorize the details of her existence.
"It doesn't have to be strictly professional."
"I don't understand."
She didn't want to understand.
"You seem troubled. Will has noticed."
She tried not to notice how he let it slip, Will's talking about her in his sessions.
She tried not to be frustrated, but what was the point? Will already noticed.
Even she noticed.
Ever since the visit, she has been more... defensive.
"Old scars opening," she stated, trying to breeze past the subject. Will would have let her go. He wouldn't.
"We could talk about it."
"We could."
She didn't want to talk about it. She spent years burying it, and lately, she'd been having to unearth some of it for Will, for Abigail. That didn't mean she wanted to excavate all her skeletons.
"Ms. Bennet," he began. "Bella."
There was something about the way he said her name...
"When we last spoke before you left, we agreed to having our next session over dinner. That would require having at least holding a session."
It was as if he were scolding her.
As if he were trying to lead her, guide her, shape her.
Was that what he wanted?
Glancing at Will, she began to understand.
Hannibal was the god of his own existence, but gods were lonely.
That is why he sought them out.
Will could feel him, understand him on a level that anyone would dream of being understood. And her? She supposed she'd proven her own worth, being able to admire, to appreciate the art that he lived in. They were all but gifted to him by Jack.
But it wasn't enough, she realized.
Hannibal didn't want to own them as if they were fine art.
He wanted to elevate them to his level.
He wanted friendship.
Even she couldn't fault him for that.
"Of course. I suppose we could have dinner this weekend. There's this place off of-"
"Oh, no. Ms. Bennet, you misunderstand," he said quickly, wearing a well-crafted smile. There was something pleasant about it. For a moment, for the briefest of moments, she felt proud. "I will be providing dinner."
"Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother."
"Not a bother. Having you for dinner would be a delight."
Okay, so its been over a month since I last updated. I kinda felt like you guys didn't enjoy the last chapter as much as you have been, so I got nervous about this chapter (I've re-written it a lot... Like seriously, A LOT). Ultimately, this one has less "action", but I really wanted to focus on building Bella's relationship with Abigail.
I think, with Bella, she really struggles between wanting to be like an older sister to Abigail, to be there like her brother was for her, and wanting to teach Abigail to stand alone, so she won't have the trouble she went through when she lost her brother.
I also wanted to introduce Freddie...
Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks to all who reviewed for the last chapter, and all who favorited this story. I'm blown away that there's actual people reading this, so my heart goes out to all of you guys.
Before I go...
The next chapter will be very Hannibal and Bella-centric in the sense that it will have more of them interacting than it would her and Will. It'll also have more Abigail in it, so if you liked this chapter, maybe you'll like that one too.
Who knows?