All rights to Hannibal (TV) belong to NBC.
The Hobbs Residence, Bloomington, Minnesota
Abigail's house was nothing like how she imagined it, yet, at the same time, exactly how she pictured it.
At first glance, it looked to be a one story beige and brown house, but she knew better. Abigail told her about her former home, how, looking from the back, one could see the lower level of the house that followed the hill it rested on.
It was nicer looking than a majority of places she'd lived in, yet, at the same time, there was something lonely about the place, something empty. The grass hadn't been cut since that horrible day, but it hadn't grown much. There were only hints of a dying green among the fallen leaves and mud.
It was dreadful. That was the word replaying in her head. Dreadful. Such dread would have been there, building in her chest, regardless of the large letters scrawled across the front of the house, spelling the word "CANNIBALS".
Turning on her feet, she looked to Abigail holding out a hand for her to hold. It was all she could give.
The second she felt Abigail's slender fingers curl over her hand, grasping onto it tightly, as if it were her very lifeline, Bella felt it.
That foreign sense of responsibility. Parental responsibility.
There was something else.
Something deeper.
Love.
Bella couldn't decide if she should be concerned or comforted by those feelings. It felt strange, neither good or bad, this level of emotion she felt at the sight of Abigail, eyes brimming with tears. She couldn't understand it, not in the way people understood things like art or religion. She couldn't understand what it was or where it came from, only that she would have given anything in the entire world to keep those almost overflowing tears from falling.
When they were about to pass over the front step, Abigail looked down, staring for a moment at the faded rust-colored stain. Bella hadn't been there when it happened, but looking down, she could almost picture Abigail's mother, lying there, dying.
Her eyes stung, overwhelmed by a feeling of terror, trying to imagine the pain Abigail's mother must have felt, not knowing what would happen to her daughter, only that it would be nothing less than terrible. Instinctively, her free hand rose to her chest curling into a fist.
If this is what imagining losing a child must feel like. . .
Closing her eyes, she tried to drown those thoughts.
"Goodbye, mom," she heard Abigail whisper. The words washed over Bella like cold rain, and, opening her eyes, she looked to the younger girl, and found blue eyes staring back at her, hopelessly lost, desperately looking for a familiar face. Bella wondered, briefly, if that is why they fell into place so quickly. Did they look into the other's eyes and found a mirror in the form of another woman?
Abigail took a step closer to Bella, not a foot's width between them. And, in a whisper, she asked, "My family is gone."
There was a graveness in her voice as if finally realizing her new reality.
Abigail was looking to her for help, all but begging Bella to bring her just a shred of comfort. Something-Anything to hold onto.
It wasn't her place.
Bella wanted to shake her head furiously, telling Abigail to look elsewhere, telling her that she was the last person in the world that could give her safety, stability, or security. Yet, when her heart cried out, she gave Abigail's hand a squeeze, and heard herself say, "But you're not alone, Abby." Bella doubted Abigail could ever be alone with her still breathing.
Abigail gave the faintest of smiles, eyes looking of nothing less than gratitude as she opened the door, walking into the dark, still holding Bella's hand. For a moment in time, they both forgot about those that followed them. In the dark, they were alone, but together. There was something oddly alluring about the feeling, a floating comfort in a place that once frightened them both: isolation. So, they lingered in it, but only for a moment.
Abigail lead them through the house, through the rooms that were thoroughly scrubbed clean. As shaky as Abigail was, as fragile as she felt, Bella knew that she had to let her lead, that although she could offer her strength, she had to let Abigail decide what she would do with it. Abigail needed to grow familiar with being in control.
"If you ever want to go, you just have to say so and we'll go."
Alana's words fell unto deafened ears. Abigail simply carried on through a haze of memories into the kitchen. It was Bella's first time seeing it. The table was clean, the counter was spotless, and had the linoleum floor not bared the slightest of stains, Bella would have felt as though she were back in her childhood house. She could even feel her steps become lighter, trying to tread lightly through uncharted waters in fear of falling under the eyes of a mother or father. Her house, this house, it was too clean. Only the most dirty of places could be cleaned as well as it was.
When Abigail's hand slipped from hers, Bella pulled herself from her memories and followed Abigail's gaze to the refrigerator, where all the family pictures on it were turned around. With the hand that once held hers, Abigail traced the edge of the photo as if to contemplate turning it over. Did she truly want to look into the past? What would she look for? What would she find? What would she do with it? What would it do to her?
Bella took a step back, purposeful clumsiness in her knocking an empty trash can over, gaining enough attention to draw Abigail's eyes away. The only one that wasn't convinced of her "accident" was staring straight at her with dark brown eyes. Her doctor, Alana's professor, and Will's. . .
"That isn't supposed to be there."
Abigail seemed to fall back into the past for a moment, moving forward without hesitation, fingers curling around the rim of the trash can, picking it up and looking to the corner of the kitchen. Just when she was about to move it, to put it in the place she'd been taught that it belonged, she stopped, blinking as she wrapped her head around the fact that there was no place it was "supposed to be". Not anymore. There was no proper place for her in this house either.
"Nevermind," she muttered, setting it behind her, not wanting to look at it. There was a moment of silence, one where Bella had enough respect for the girl to not stare. Instead, she cleared her throat, crossing her arms, that same shield coming over her. Bella reminded herself that she didn't owe Abigail anything, that she needed to stop trying to be someone she couldn't.
She told herself that she shouldn't feel that same sense of surrogacy that Will and Hannibal did. She told herself that she made peace with the idea of never having a family. Despite all she told herself, when she stepped away to let Will and Abigail and the two doctors speak, she still felt her heart ache in fear of what would happen if she left Abigail alone for even a short moment. She barely had enough strength to leave the room, to wander off in hopes of being lost.
She cannot learn to stand on her own if I am there as a crutch.
She was betraying her own sentiment, Bella realized as she found the living room. She nearly took a seat on the couch, feeling her panicked heart cry out for relief, but the second her fingers grazed the armrest of the long couch, she stopped. Instead, she looked around the room until finding herself a place to rest, which was leaning on the windowsill, staring out away from the home. She didn't want to see where Abigail grew up. It was too much of a reminder. The last thing she needed was to start having nightmares about her parents cutting her own throat.
She stayed away, for as long as she could, which, in truth, wasn't long. The second Abigail called for her, asking if she'd help her gather the boxes of things that were left behidn, and Bella all too easily came to her aid. She knew better. Abigail was a strong girl, a girl capable of more than others would give her credit for, but she was innocent, so very innocent. She knew that even the most helpless looking of people could do far more than any capable person would seem to be able to do. She had done things far more capable people would be able to do. Still, looking at Abigail, she felt it. A brave sense of dedication, of purpose. It made her question what she was, what more could she be capable of. It was all a beautifully big mess.
Sifting through boxes was easy. It was methodical, systematic, the perfect thing to keep her mind occupied while Abigail sorted through more than what was in the boxes she was looking through. It was a willful blindness, one that came easily with years of practice with keeping her head down and lips shut. She could almost picture herself restocking the pantry at the diner, if not for hearing her name. No one knew her name at the diner. Anonymity was a luxury she could no longer afford.
Looking up from her box, she looked to Abigail, who called her, standing beside another young woman around Abigail's age, staring at her with curious eyes. Bella's eyes flickered from Abigail to Will, to Hannibal, even Alana, looking for a shred of what she'd missed.
"Can you come with us?" Abigail asked, probably for a second time.
Though her brow furrowed slightly, Bella pulled herself to her feet, carefully avoiding the other's eyes as she followed the two out.
She imagined Alana wasn't pleased with the development between them. Abigail was confiding more in her than her therapist. Here Abigail was, inviting her into her personal life, proving the doctor's worries. The only one who would be pleased was Jack.
Dr. Bloom was right about Bella. She wasn't a professional. She wasn't formally trained to look after anyone, let alone a girl like Abigail. She could barely look after herself.
Still, she couldn't help but want to be there.
No matter how many times she told herself to stop, to let Abigail handle herself, she always came when called.
And so, when Alana brought her concerns before Jack the day before leaving, Jack only stared at her for a long minute with his arms crossed. He remained that way, silently contemplating his own mistrust in her until she spoke up. When she did, her voice sounded louder than it usually was, her words more certain. When she offered to become a confidant to the young girl, to do what was best for the girl, Jack and Alana both placed their trust in her. Not much, but enough trust to keep Alana quiet while they left, Abigail's hand taking hers as they stepped beyond the threshold. The only one not looking the slightest bit concerned was Abigail.
The three of them walked slowly, making their way through the backyard, down the hill in an uneven path, Abigail and Bella holding hands. Their closeness felt nothing short of natural, and that in itself made Bella uncomfortable. She tried to slip her hand from Abigail's, in hopes of trailing after the two like an unbothered chaperone, Abigail's hold only tightened. She only let go once they arrived at the edge of a stream that ran like a scar through the yard. Even then, Abigail was reluctant.
The distance she put between them was like that of her mother's whenever she was a child, something that both frightened her and comforted her. It was far enough to give the feeling of privacy whilst being close enough to still invade it.
"Does it hurt?" Marissa asked.
Bella cringed.
"Sometimes."
She didn't need to see Marissa to know the answer didn't satisfy. She could hear the puff of a breath and the sound of leaves shifting beneath Marissa's boots as she tried to redirect the conversation in that same clumsy and haphazard teenage way.
"I thought it was TV," Marissa mentioned with a scoff.
Bella wasn't there, but she didn't have to be. She was familiar with gunfire and cries of terror. How anyone could mistake those sounds for television was beyond her.
"But I was watching Applejack and Twilight and they don't scream like that. And then there was all this shooting."
She heard Marissa imitate the sound of a firing gun. She didn't need to imitate it. It wasn't as though Abigail had forgotten that awful sound.
"Very surreal, very public. Everybody on the block was on the news and then everybody at school. . . Whores."
"They won't let me online."
It was one of the few terms all of Abigail's unofficial keepers agreed upon, and for good reason.
"You don't want to be online. It's all 'The family that preys together stays together.' But it's prey with an E instead of an A because everybody thinks you did it."
Bella noticed how Marissa doesn't exclude herself. Surely, Abigail did as well.
"I read the front of my house."
She could all but see the wry smile on Abigail's face, and her heart broke in two. The girl was bright. She didn't deserve to have her future ripped from her.
"Do you think I did it?"
Abigail's voice was sharper than usual, more anxious, but Marissa didn't pick up on it.
"I don't think you're the type. But I didn't think your dad was the murder-suicide type."
Bella fought the urge to scowl at how casually Marissa spoke of what happened, but how could she understand? At the end of the day, Marissa went home to two parents and a home with her only worry being what she might wear or do the next day. Bella and Abigail hadn't the luxury, yet, at the same time, neither envied Marissa for it. There was something pitiful in how she lived. The lack of death did that to a person. How precious could life be without Death looming over their shoulders?
Bella couldn't dwell on the subject long enough. A man in his mid twenties, curly blond hair, loud eyes, and a strong stride came through the trees. His body, his eyes, his existence seemed, in this very moment, was centered on Abigail, who stood, arms crossed protectively, feet planted firmly, and eyes watching him sharply.
"This is private property," Abigail said quietly. It's then Bella is reminded of how smart the girl is. She wonders if Marissa or the man can see beyond her fragility. She wonders if they know that a broken girl is one of the most dangerous, that Abigail's sharpened edges cut both ways.
"You were the bait," the man said, venom in his voice as he stopped at the other side of the stream. "Is that how it worked? Lure 'em back to daddy for-"
Bella heard Marissa shout at him. She saw the man move sideways, trying to avoid the stone Marissa had thrown. Still, she remained in her place, trying to deafen the voice in her head, the one telling her to stop this man, to step between him and Abigail, to protect her. As much as Bella wanted to take Abigail away from it all, somewhere no one could hurt her, she knew it wasn't for the best. Bella couldn't protect Abigail forever, just as her brother couldn't protect her.
The man continues to spew out hateful accusations and another rock was thrown.
It doesn't miss.
In under a second, the man was bleeding from his forehead, a small gash marring his skin. When he stumbled back, Bella saw the look in his eyes. Clutching his bloodied head, his eyes, that rage, that hatred, that violence, was no longer on Abigail. The murder playing in his eyes is directed at Marissa, and it is then that Bella realized, with a chilling feeling, that she doesn't mind it. She would readily trade Marissa's life for Abigail's. . .
. . . And that terrified her.
When the man turned and ran, Bella only stared, wishing she could have as well.
She felt herself move forward, why she did, she did not know. She didn't know what her intent was. Was it to apologize? Was it to check to see if he was okay? Was it to harm him? She did not know. Before she could see her own actions through, he turned quickly, running into the trees. Briefly, she considered running after him. Her heart, for just a moment, picked up with the desire for it. The chase. Only, this time, things would have been different. This time, she wouldn't be the doe. This time, she would be the hunter.
But she didn't.
It wasn't in her nature to.
She was a runner. At a young age, she learned the first rule of how to run away from someone or something: don't look back.
And that man? He was a runner. She could see it as he ran away. Whatever violence he wanted to ensue, he was running on anger, and anger ran out. Anger never satisified. She knew that all too well.
". . . Bella?"
Blinking twice, her eyes followed the direction of the voice that called her. She turned, just as quickly as the man did, readying to do the thing she did best. To her relief it was Will, looking as tired and worried as ever.
"Are you okay?"
She wondered what she had done to deserve his affection.
With a forced liveliness, she gave her best reassuring smile. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she nodded.
"Just startled," she promised.
When she looked in the direction of Abigail, she found him.
She noticed the difference in his posture. His chin was raised curiously, his back straight for the most part, but holding the finest of arch backwards, taken by some surprise. Following his gaze, she saw Marissa, arms crossed, glaring at her mother. Bella's lips pressed together, feeling that same anxiety rising in her chest once more. For what, she did not know.
She told herself that she would be his friend. . .
So why did she feel so frightened?
Motel 6, Bloomington, Minnesota
Will lied awake in the dark, staring at Bella, watching her with worried eyes as she twitched in her sleep. He wanted to wake her, but he knew better. She, like him, was riddled with nightmares. Of what, he did not know. She never spoke of them. What little she spoke in her sleep was no less telling than the silence from when she was awake. And, while he wanted to pull her from those nightly terrors, he would be responsible for her lack of sleep afterwards. The most he could do was hold her. And while it would calm her some, she would, every so often, let a shudder, sob, or whine pass her lips. It was a rough thing to watch, but what more could he do? She already had darkening circles under her eyes.
Just like me.
Unlike Bella, he had the luxury of waking from his nightmares.
It started out as a dream.
He'd been in a forest. The branches of the trees swayed softly to the crisp morning breeze. He heard the sound of an intake of breath, and when he turned his head, there she was, Abigail. She smiled at him, gently, lovingly, before she pulled her eyes away, scanning the area, listening for something. Anything. Before long, they set off, under a canopy of trees. No set path or destination, only that natural instinct on where to go in hopes of finding something.
And, they did.
She was a natural beauty. A beautiful white tail doe, illuminated by the broken light streaming through the branches, catching in the autumnal mist, with her head down, calmly eating leaves. Quickly, as if noticing their presence, she raised her head, dark eyes peering into his own, unafraid.
She was beautiful.
In under a second, she jumped, taking off at the sound of a gunshot into the forest, darting between trees, terrified.
Will's eyes snapped to Abigail, who had a gun raised, having been aiming for the doe. She was different. Her eyes more sharp as she moved forward, chasing it. Will followed, feeling his heart pounding as soon as Abigail stopped, raising her gun once more. He moved forward, trying to stop her, but she fired before he could.
When he turned his head, heart filled with dread for the poor doe, his stomach twisted at the sight.
Bella.
Lying on the forest floor, clutching an exit wound on her shoulder, bleeding out. Her eyes met his and, this time, all he saw was fear.
It was enough to wake him, jolting from his sleep. He'd been drenched in sweat, breathing heavily.
Bella hadn't woken, but her fist that held onto the front of his shirt tightened. The simple gesture was enough to calm him, to remind him that it was a dream, that she was alive. After that, he couldn't go back to sleep. All he could do was watch her, scared that if he looked away for even a second. . .
He didn't want to relive the nightmare.
When Bella woke, he wasted no time. He peeled off his dampened shirt, shuffled to the bathroom and tried to clean himself up. While in the shower, he scrubbed angrily at his skin, trying to wash the guilt caused by his nightmare away, wondering why he even had such a terror. In the end, he settled on a simple answer: Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Abigail being a hunter, killing innocent women just like he did, was his dream. Will would rather believe that it was the deceased's fault than question the innocence of Abigail.
She didn't deserve his mistrust.
Minnesota Shrike's Nest, Minnesota
He kept an eye on her.
The whole drive, Bella noticed Will's watchful gaze. She didn't know what she had done - if she had done anything. She felt her heart grow heavy, wondering if she said something in her sleep. The more nights they spent together, the more anxious she became. Of why, she wished she knew. She'd like to think that of all the things she'd done, Will would still care for her all the same. Still, she worried.
She tried not to let it get to her.
When they arrived at the cabin, she entered last. She wasn't an official and she wasn't the victim. The last thing she wanted to do was contaminate something. Judging by the look of the cabin, she knew it wouldn't be hard.
"Everything," Abigail said, dragging her finger along a table, looking at dust that was collecting. "He cleaned everything," she clarified, her eyes taking in the room. Her brows furrowed and she blinked furiously, not wanting to cry. "He said he was afraid of germs," she scoffed.
Bella averted her gaze. She'd used that excuse before. Before she settled down, she'd stayed at her fair share of cabins. Every few days, she would clean, rigorously, and if anyone asked it was because of that very reason. "Don't like the idea of things being dirty. I don't have enough money to afford getting sick," she'd told others if asked. To them she was just a small, poor, paranoid woman. She understood the lie all too well.
Moving away from the others, just as she had in the house, she took it upon herself to look around. And, like in the house, she found herself a shadow.
Hannibal.
"Come here often?" she asked quietly. There was a humorous tone to her voice, a slight upturn of her lips, one she expected him to return, but he didn't. Not for a moment, at least.
"No," he answered, his lips tugging upwards as he moved forward.
Instinctively, she took a few steps backwards, but stopped as soon as she realized what she'd done.
"Why aren't you with them?" she asked, looking over his shoulder, nodding towards Abigail, Alana, and Will.
"Do you often see yourself as separated from others?" he asked, avoiding her question.
As much as she wanted to give a sigh or roll her eyes, not being in the mood, ever, to discuss herself.
"It's the human plight, I suppose," Bella answered, fighting the urge to dig her nails into the wooden table she leaned against. "We tend to do that. See other people as 'us' or 'them'."
"You do not see yourself as 'us'?" he asked, curiosity sparking in his eyes.
"You don't."
To that, he smiled.
The smile was short lived, however.
She felt it. A drop falling onto her cheek.
Out of habit, she wiped at it, expecting it to be a broken pipe or something along those lines. To her horror, when she looked at her hand, at her fingertips, she saw red. For a brief moment, she stared in disbelief. Slowly, she looked upwards as another drop fell, this time hitting her bottom lip. She turned her head down, but not before she'd seen it.
Blood.
With widened eyes, she raised her head, looking to Hannibal. She knew what she wanted to see. She wanted to see his eyes sharp, worried even. Instead, his eyes were no less relaxed than before. The only tension in his face was in a single brow, pulling into a refined arch. Perfection, as always. In all humanity's desire for perfection, it was times like this when Bella wondered whether it was worth it. Where was his surprise? Where was his worry? Where was those feelings that made the heart beat a little faster? Where were the feelings that made them human?
She averted her gaze once more.
She didn't want to look. She didn't want to find an unusual absence of emotion. For all her mistrust, Bella didn't want to see Hannibal Lecter's faults, and his greatest of all faults that she has seen? A lack of fault. How strange it was to look unto a man, a man with no faults as far as the eye could see, and feel nothing less than discomfort.
All these thoughts, all these feelings, only rose in a matter of seconds. That was his effect. Standing before him was enriching. She couldn't recall a time when she didn't feel less than four emotions simultaneously whilst he was around.
"I'll get Abigail out of here," she said quietly, taking a step away. She kept her head down as she walked back towards Will, Alana, and Abigail, bringing her hand to her face, gently dragging her pinkie along her bottom lip. Those three were all too familiar with the sight of it.
"Will." Her voice was louder than usual, more solid. Instantly, he stood straighter, blue eyes sharp, just as she wished Hannibal's had been. "Hannibal has something," she said in a lower voice, still loud enough for Alana and Abigail to hear, but quiet enough for them to know that she was speaking to him and him alone.
Will hesitated. Worried eyes flickering to their Dr. Lecter and then to her. Briefly, his eyes fell on Abigail. Bella noticed how quick he was to look away. As much as she wanted to ask, she knew better.
"What'd he find?" Abigail asked slowly, her eyes following Dr. Bloom and Will as they moved, slowly, anxiously.
Bella moved in front of her, blocking her view.
"Let's wait outside."
Abigail frowned, her eyes flashing to Bella with a look of slight anger.
"I thought you said you'd never hide things from me."
Bella pursed her lips for a moment, partially regretting that promise. Still, she held her ground. She wouldn't lie to Abigail. She wouldn't.
"There's blood."
The color drained from Abigail's face, and quickly, almost instantly, she moved forward, almost running towards the stairs that Will, Alana, and Hannibal had gone up. Just as fast, if not faster, Bella's hand shot out, grasping onto Abigail's arm, stopping the girl. Abigail's head snapped in her direction, blue eyes almost blinded by her own fear of the action.
Bella should have known better. She shouldn't have grabbed her so quickly, so tightly, so... demandingly.
With an apology resting on her lips, she loosened her grip on Abigail's wrist, bringing her free hand to the girl's face, gently resting it on her pale, freckled cheek. Her fingertips were cold on Abigail's warm cheek, and, for a moment, she nearly lost herself in the gesture. She always cherished these moments, those sweet moments where she felt what she could only describe as a maternal instinct. However, just as quickly as she felt it, she was reminded of all the reasons she was was ill-suited for any of it.
"Abigail."
There was something in the way she said it. She heard it as soon as the name passed her lips.
Something gentle, yet stern.
All at once, all Abigail's defiance washed from her eyes. Soon after, she nodded, yielding to Bella's command, and lead the way out.
It left a foul taste in Bella's mouth.
It was in the way Abigail changed. It was like magic. Bella spoke the words, held intent, and made a change. But she didn't want it. She didn't want it because it was the very cruel change that she used to fall under.
She felt her blood run cold at the thought of becoming like that woman.
Quickly, she tried banishing the thoughts. She told herself that she wouldn't become like her mother, that she wouldn't let herself.
In a matter of minutes, Bella found herself and Abigail sitting outside, sat still, knees drawn to her chest, arms around her legs, resting her head her shoulder. She's a child, Bella thought with a heavy heart. She is a child with no home, with no family, with no one to trust.
As much as Bella wanted to say that Abigail could trust her, she doubted that she could even trust herself. Already, she had exercised some hold over the girl. Already, she had proven herself unworthy of being on an equal footing. How can anyone consider themselves equal when holding power over the other? The thought brought a sickening feeling to her stomach, and, soon enough, she, like Abigail, kept her head down with a heavy frown on her lips. She never imagined life to be this way. She never imagined that she would ever care for anyone as much as she cared for Abigail and for Will. She never thought she would have to feel so impossibly inadequate because of it.
All she wanted to do was help, and all she could do was wait.
Plucking at the grass, Bella heard the sound of sirens, coming from the distance. It was the first time she felt relaxed by the sharpened noise. Abigail and her had been waiting for over an hour, trying every way to be together without acknowledging the other person. On the occasional simultaneous glance, Bella would be the one to look away, feeling unworthy. What made matters worse was Abigail's yearning expression, so hurt by being ignored. Bella wanted nothing more than to shower the girl in affection, to hold her and give her the safe place to grow that she was denied, that they were both denied, but she couldn't. She couldn't trust herself to be the person Abigail needed.
Maybe Alana was right.
Closing her eyes, raising her head, facing the clouds, she tried to take in warmth, any source of comfort, from the hidden sun. All she could feel was that cold and wet breeze rolling through the forest. Her face twitched, fighting the urge to frown, to let her expression crumble into despair over all she wanted yet could not have.
Soon enough, she didn't have to fight the urge. Soon enough, the cabin was flooded with police cars and officers. Soon enough, Jack Crawford came, providing the perfect distraction.
Jack Crawford, for all his faults, was a good commander. The second his shoes touched the dying grass, Bella could feel herself tense up. She sat straighter until he drew close enough for her to stand. It was the first time she felt right near him. The first time she stood with purpose before him. It was the way he looked at her, without suspicion, but almost familiar. Almost as if she were a part of his team, a soldier to his army fighting for that sweet justice that she and so many others were robbed of.
"Where's Will?"
There was no hesitation with Jack Crawford.
"Inside. Upstairs."
That was all he needed.
With a strong stride, Jack went on, leaving the two of them behind, telling them to ask any one of the other officers for a ride back to the house.
When Jack found Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, the two were standing before the body. Will standing close, just as he always did, and Hannibal, like a guardian, a few paces back, watching. Jack, for all that he urged Will to dig close, always felt this pang of guilt. Alana's words, asking him not to let him get to close echoed in his head as Will examined the naked corpse's swollen lips.
It was times like these when Jack remembered Miriam Lass.
The Hobbs Residence, Bloomington, Minnesota
They had gotten back to the house early.
Bella couldn't have been more thankful.
Staring out the window, she had a taste of what Abigail felt: pure, unadulterated violation. She couldn't feel a sliver of privacy as the lights of cameras and police lights danced through the windows. It was madness outside. A terrible circus of news reporters, police officers, and strangers all trying to catch a glimpse of their new obsession, their new scapegoat for all the cruel things that were going on in the world: the daughter of a cannibal. Quickly, she snapped the blinds closed again, turning her back to it all. She couldn't afford to get lost in it all, not when Abigail needed her.
The poor girl was shaken.
Bella couldn't help but clench her jaw and dig her nails into the palms of her hands as she remembered the voices of those reporters that arrived before the rest of the police.
"Abigail-" "Did you know you were a cannibal?" "Abigail-" "Anything to say to the families of your father's victims?" "Abigail-" "Did your father feed you those girls?" "Abigail-"
Of all the things she'd endured, never had she felt that level of craze. It was the definition of being thrown to the sharks, surrounded by hungry and bloodthirsty animals.
Abigail hadn't made it out unscathed. Sitting on the couch, crying quietly, terribly exhausted after the news of the body in her father's cabin belonging to Marissa, Abigail looked to her. Her big blue eyes were now red, puffy, and shimmering witth fresh tears. Furiously, she wiped at her nose, turning her gaze away, an apology resting on her lips.
It broke Bella's heart.
"Abby," Bella whispered, face breaking into sympathy as she moved across the room. Abigail, out of habit moved aside, making room on the couch. Like so many times before, Bella took her place beside her. The difference in this time was slipping her arms around the girl, holding her tightly. "It'll be okay... It'll be okay..."
Abigail's hands grasped onto her arms in an attempt to pull her closer. This was what Abigail needed. Whether it was true or not, she needed to feel that there was hope. Bella came this far on hope alone. She would too.
"It'll be okay," Bella murmured once more. Again and again, she would say it, repeating it until she felt Abigail relax.
When Abigail stilled, when Bella could feel the beating of her heart slow, she slipped from behind her, replacing the comfort of her own body with that of a handmade pillow. For a moment, she stared at the young girl, and again she felt that maternal pang. It made little sense. She wasn't old enough to even mother a child of Abigail's age. She never even showed a desire for children. Yet, she felt guilt at moving. Shaking her head, confused by what she knew was best and what she wanted, she walked toward the bathroom. Once inside, she went straight to the sink. She turned on the faucet, and with cold water, she splashed her face, trying to wash away either the memories of her parents and the fear of ruining a child or washing away this desire to be like a mother. This cognitive dissonance was maddening.
Looking at the mirror, into her reflection, she felt comfort.
She could still do it. She could leave at this very second, disappearing into the night. She could get on a bus, leave this life behind and find a new diner, a new strange and abandoned place to hide away in. When she turned to the door, she took one strong step, but stopped. She couldn't.
She built a life. A new life.
It was something she never imagined having again, yet, here she was. This life of hers, staring her down with eyes so loud, telling her that she could not leave. She could not leave and find the kind of warmth that she found in the arms of Will Graham or the purpose she felt while holding Abigail Hobbs. She didn't find her brother, but she did find a family.
How could she ever leave that behind?
Before she could resign to this new truth, she heard Dr. Bloom calling from downstairs. Quickly, she hurried towards the stairs with the intent to stop Alana before she woke Abigail. That's when she heard a loud thunk. Her legs stilled. Her blood chilled. All at once, she fell into an old habit. Turning on her feet, she nearly took off back towards the bathroom, ready to lock herself inside before escaping through the window. And then she remembered Abigail, and just as quickly, she turned back around, and rushed downstairs only to find him.
"Hannibal," she whispered, eyes wide with surprise at the sight of a now unconscious Alana Bloom on the ground before an all too calm Dr. Lecter. He, just as unbothered as before, raised his eyes to her. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. She knew right away what to do. And she did it. She went back to the bathroom and locked herself inside.
She didn't go out the window.
She didn't flee.
She sat there.
She sat on the edge of the tub, thinking, wondering what had happened. She told herself to stop, to not ask questions. It went against her conditioning. It went against the rules she made for herself, the rules that had kept her alive so far. She whispered those rules softly, saying, "Keep your head down, don't ask questions, stay invisible."
When she heard loud noise from the opposite side of the door, she stood, half wanting to call after Abigail, desperate to know if she was safe. Instead, she bit the inside of her bottom lip and sat back down, burying her face in her hands, frustrated. It had been far too long since she'd experienced this: this torture of wanting to do something, say something, and being able to do neither.
This whole trip was a terrible idea. If anyone had any sense, they would have stopped Jack Crawford's plan in its infancy. Why would returning to this awful place help anyone? The dead were gone. There was nothing they could do for them. Their families would never get closer, bodies or no bodies. Their justice would never be taken. Not without costing Abigail her own. All of it was falling apart, and it had only been two days.
There was no clock. There was no sun. She couldn't tell if she was there for minutes or hours. She was stuck in a room without time until she heard loud noise again. This time the door swung open, and a terribly messy Will Graham stood in the doorway for a mere second before she was in his arms. She couldn't tell who moved first, her or him or maybe they both had. Either way, she found herself holding him tightly, and him holding her.
The relief only lasted a moment before she pulled away, asking what happened.
Will looked over his shoulder, as if he could see what was going on outside, as if he could have seen all that she willfully made herself blind to.
"Nicholas Boyle. He attacked Abigail, Alana and Dr. Lecter."
Lie. She knew it the moment he said it. . . and she did nothing.
She almost had the nerve to wonder who lied, but she knew it the moment he said it. When she saw Alana Bloom at Hannibal's feet, Nicholas Boyle was no where in sight.
It wasn't like him either.
He was a runner.
"He must've locked you in the bathroom. They're dusting for prints right now."
She knew who locked her in the bathroom.
"And Abigail?" she asked, trying to quell her discomfort for her own lack of caring for Hannibal's lie.
"He took Abigail back to the hotel. Alana's outside in the ambulance."
She didn't ask about Alana.
When she said nothing, calming visibly at the knowledge that Abigail was okay - as okay as she could be - Will looked at the ground, then at the door with a level of uncertainty that he'd been showing for the past day. Half of her wanted to ask, but she'd done enough of that. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her.
The answer came unspoken, told through his hesitance when it came to taking her hand, leading her downstairs and out the door.
They were almost to a car when Jack Crawford stepped into their path, eyes wide, brows furrowed, lips curled with frustration.
"Where are you going?"
Will only pulled her to the side, walking around him.
"I'm tired, Jack. We're going home."
Home.
Will Graham's House, Wolf Trap, Virginia
For the second day in a row, Will Graham woke up with Bella Bennet in his arms. For a second night in a row, he had a nightmare.
This time he had been standing outside his house, the very one he all but fled to. It was dark, so dark that the only light he could find was coming from the house. He was close enough to make out a figure. Her figure. He could see her, walking through the house, the faint echo of dogs happily barking rang in his ears. It was a happy scene, one that he found himself walking towards until he heard a branch snap. All at once, he turned his head and he found himself looking straight into the dark eyes of a large black stag. It walked, with heavy yet quiet steps through the meadow towards him. He held his breath, feeling his heart swell with anticipation at the beastly creature. Yet, the stag stopped, just out of arms length, staring at him. When Will turned, looking for something, anything else that the stag could be looking at, he found that everything had changed.
He could see himself.
He was holding her.
Abigail.
He held a knife to her throat. Though horrified by what he was doing, his self, his other self, looked as calm as could be. And with an unprecedented tenderness, he saw himself hold a struggling Abigail and whisper into her ear, "I'm sorry. . . Abigail, please just hold still. . . Please. . . I'm going to make it all go away. . . I'll make it all okay. . ."
Will did nothing but watch as his other self cut Abigail's throat. Before the drops of blood hit himself, his real self, he woke at the awful trill of his alarm, covered in sweat. His final jolt startled Bella awake, causing her to pull herself into a sitting position, eyes frantically searching the room, only before settling on him, and relaxing. She slunk down, lying against him once more, resting her head over his dampened chest. He would have felt embarrassed at his sweatiness had he not woken from a nightmare seconds before. Holding her head, his calloused, shaking fingers slipping into her hair, was a comfort. He could feel his heart beating heavily against her ear.
He was alive.
He was awake.
He was okay.
He felt Bella draw in a deep breath, a question resting on the edge of her lips, but she said nothing, just as he said nothing of her own nightmares.
She wanted to ask. He wanted to ask. Neither did.
Neither said a word as the time ticked by, but eventually he caved. Yet, the question that passed his lips wasn't about her nightmares.
"Is this your home?" He asked, blinking twice as he realized he'd said it aloud.
There was silence.
"What do you mean?" he heard her ask. Though her voice was soft and quiet, he knew that the tiredness of the morning was long gone.
He thought about telling her to forget about it. Though neither would, he knew Bella. She would pretend, trying to give him the peace of mind of not thinking that he ruined the peace between them. But he didn't take it back. He didn't take it back because he wanted to know. He wanted to know if the one good part of his dream rang true. He wanted to know if his hope would be reality.
"This place, I know it's not much, but. . . this place, for me, it's safe. It's solid. In all the craze that goes on at work, when I'm here, it doesn't follow - for the most part," he added, trying not to remember the black stag and the nightmare it brought. "I've just been thinking. . ." How long had he he seen her this way? How long had he pictured his home with her in it? "When I think of home, you're. . . you're there." He closed his eyes, not wanting to see her as her head raised. He couldn't meet her gaze and risk seeing her rejection.
"Will," he heard her say softly. Her body shifted. He felt her cool finger tips against his cheek, drawing them over his cheekbones. "Will, please," she whispered. Unable to stop himself, he opened his eyes and met those warm brown eyes. There was a slight tension in her eyes. He couldn't tell how to take it. Her eyes flickered to his lips, and without needing to hear her, he answered her call, leaning forward into her kiss. He couldn't help but wonder if it was a goodbye, if she would pull away and leave, running back to that small apartment and see him again only at work - if she would even return to work. She was like a ghost. How easy she could vanish, answering to no one except her own will. . .
"Will," she whispered again in between her kisses. Never had he loved his name as much as he had when she said it. "Will," she said one last time before she pulled away. Almost instinctively, he leaned forward, not wanting to say goodbye. "Of course my home is with you."
Her eyes were searching his own, looking for whatever possessed him to ask the question.
Will heard his laugh before he realized his own relief wash over him. Her lips lifted into a smile, her eyes brightening with surprise as she felt his hand, still resting on the back of her head, pull her closer until their lips met once more. It began gentle, as it always had, but there was an eagerness to it, a lively and effervescence breathe filling their lungs. Her laughter, delighted by this new side of him.
For a moment, it was just them. Just Will and Bella. Nothing more.
Everything that happened, everything that would happen, was background noise.
It was the closest to normal that either of them knew.
He'd rolled over, to where she was lying on her back, to where he was gazing down at her, at this woman who made him feel. . . alive.
"Move in with me," he said, catching his breath. Her reddened cheeks lost some of their color as she realized what he'd said.
"What?"
"Move in with me," he repeated, his bold smile softening. It was the first thing he'd said in a long time that felt right. No worries, no wrongs. It was right. It was strong. It was true. "You're here all the time. You think of it as home. Why not move in?"
She stared, for half a second before that same smile bloomed on her face. He knew her answer.
"What about Jack?" she asked, as if she hadn't already decided. Will chuckled, leaning in and kissing her one more time before rolling back to his side and pulling himself off the bed. Their bed.
"What about him?" He asked as he pulled off his shirt.
"Is there a 'non-fraternization' policy or something?" As if she were afraid of breaking a rule. "Moving in would make things official. . ."
"According to Freddie Lounds, I'm not a real agent. At best, we're consultants," he reminded her, a scoff leaving him. Still the smile rested on his lips. "Besides," he began again, stopping as he reached the hallway. "Jack already knows about us."
"What? Not that I'm too surprised, but how?" she asked, sitting up, her fingers habitually curling into the bed sheets. The sight gave him what he could only describe as pride. She had made herself at home long before he asked.
"He asked where Abigail was yesterday night."
"She was in her hotel," Bella remembered.
"I told him that," Will assured. "He asked where I was and I told him."
"With me?"
"With you."
He didn't fail to notice her small smirk before he turned, continuing down the hall.
"Where are you going?" she called after him. He didn't need to see her to know she was smiling.
"To shower and get dressed."
"For?"
"Breakfast. Unless you feel like cooking," he added smiling.
There was silence.
"I'll get dressed!"
It was a happy moment. A happy memory. A happy day.
It was their peace before the storm.
So it's been over a month. For that, I apologize.
It's just, I've started university and I had writer's block. I mean, hell, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I did feel like ending on a happy note.
I know I said at the end of the last chapter that it would be Hannibal and Bella centric, but I did want to stay on track on the show a bit longer. I promise that the next chapter will be them! After all, she still has a dinner with him!
This chapter was mainly to show the development with Abigail. I really wanted Abigail to have a slightly-moderately different pace. I like to think that Bella, in all her love and care, would want to mother her, to protect her, but prepare her, and she's really struggling with those feelings. I also wanted to end with her and Will because this is different from the show. In this little alternate universe, Will isn't as alone, and I wanted to show that. This is not to say that there won't be struggle and tension. After all, Hannibal Lecter is still in this story.
I wanted to thank all of you who reviewed. I had a bad case of writer's block, but I wouldn't have pulled through if not for you (Special thanks to MariDark and to .927, Sanja, MopingBlues, CC, Twelia, Ghouly-Girl vanessaserrato, CaptainMc, and paninihead!).
I'm hoping I didn't disappoint with this chapter, and I hope that you'll continue to stick with me.
FINAL NOTE
Reviews truly help me with writing - I have this feeling that since they slowed that people didn't like it, so I was also anxious about writing again which kinda prolonged the time I spent writing and rewriting...
So please, don't be shy, drop me a review. I always love hearing your thoughts, feelings, and questions.