Hannibal helped Ophelia stand for the first time the next day. It took her a while to stand; the painkillers had done a doozy on her coordination. He had assured her that he would take her off of the pills as soon as they were back at home and give her his own herbal remedy instead. Ophelia was silently wary of what his "remedy" would really be.
The first few steps yielded a sharp pain in her abdomen that shot up and down her torso. It was dizzying, but she refused to stop taking shuffling steps, her hand firmly grasped on Hannibal's arm. Her back hunched and her face set in a grimace, she made her way across the room and back again, only to be forced back into bed by the nurses. Though she insisted that a lap or two more would do her good, she was reattached to numerous machines and told to stay put once again. They made no attempts to hide their distaste at Hannibal's choice to remove her from the hospital so early, and Hannibal was just as ornery. Their bickering gave Ophelia a headache, but she stayed quiet, her mind focused on her conversation with Will Graham.
Around noon, Hannibal and the nurses appeared in her room with a wheelchair and a paper bag full of assorted medicines. They wheeled the small blue chair to the side of her bed and immediately started hoisting her into it, without any warning.
"Jesus Christ!" Ophelia hissed as Hannibal adjusted her legs for her, "I can still move my legs, you know." She flinched at Hannibal's touch, gritting her teeth and bunching the front of her hospital gown in her fingers.
"I apologize," Hannibal straightened, frowning down at her, "I am just quite anxious to get you out of this place and back to where I can properly care for you. These doctors don't know what is best." He had not let her perplexing behavior go unnoticed, but had temporarily passed it off as stir-crazy irritability.
"Eh," Ophelia shrugged, cradling her stomach, "I'm sure they're... fine at their jobs." She rolled her shoulders, trying her hardest to evade Hannibal's gaze, though he loomed over her like a headstone over a grave.
"Pills are clearly having a negative effect on you," Hannibal scowled only slightly, squatting in front of her and pulling her face up to his, "Your eyes are quite glazed. And you're nothing less than grumpy." He forced a sympathetic smile, holding her face fast in his hands, though she tried to pull away.
Ophelia pursed her lips, "I mean, I did get stabbed in the stomach, so..."
"I suppose that is a valid reason to be in a foul mood," Hannibal stroked her hair and popped back up, straightening his jacket, "Your discharge papers should be processed shortly. Not to worry, my dear Ophelia. You'll be in my hands again soon." And with that he was off down the hall, surely to pester the nurses and doctors even more. Ophelia frowned, watching his well-tailored back disappear down the hall.
"Overprotective," Ophelia sighed, wheeling herself to the window. She watched as a sparrow sat in its nest, tearing apart a small piece of string and whistling idly. Every once in a while, it looked over the edge of the branch, down at the ground.
There was a knock at the door, and Ophelia's heart thumped out of time. She spun the wheelchair around, clumsy and ungainly, her fingers catching in the spokes.
"Oh, it's you," Ophelia sighed, relief washing over her body as Alana Bloom entered the room, a basket of fruit in her arms. Her curly hair was pulled into a colorful clip the shape of a wren. She was a welcome splash of color and life, and a welcome change from the droll monotony of the nurses.
"How are you feeling?" Alana set the basket on the table beside the bed and pulled a chair over to where Ophelia's chair rolled back and forth.
"I'm okay," she sighed, "Walking is interesting, and the meds are strong, but I'm going home today, so..." Ophelia glanced down at the duffle bag of clothes that Hannibal had dropped off when she had ben sleeping. The thought of him watching her sleep made her insides churn.
"I bet you're relieved," Alana smiled sympathetically, "What with your name being cleared and your father... out of the picture. You're free to leave, start a new life for yourself. The entire department has agreed to help you start over whenever you're ready."
Ophelia's face darkened, her pleasant mask disappearing, "I think we both know it's not that easy."
After a heavy silence, Alana sighed, "That's true. I guess this means Will finally got in touch with you."
"Last night," Ophelia rolled her shoulders, her lips pursed, "He definitely shed some light on things. Confirmed some suspicions."
"He told me. About everything: the drawings, the writings, and the obsessive need to protect. Part of me feels that this is my fault. I allowed Hannibal to take you in, while I had knowledge of his... activities. I pushed you two together; you were on those drugs and didn't know what you were talking about when you said you wanted to be with him that day. You should have come to stay with me instead. I knew... I knew about Will, and everything that happened to him. He told me everything when he was able. I should have known that this would happen. It's like Abigail all over again. He's always been just so strange."
"Alana," Ophelia leaned forward and took Alana's hand into hers, wincing when the stitches of her stomach protested sharply, "I really don't see how any of this is your fault. It's not at all, really. If it's anyone's fault, it's my dad's. You tried to do the right thing. I consider you a friend, Alana, and I still will when I figure out what I'm going to do."
"I'll take you to meet with Will," Alana nodded resolutely, "I'll... I'll tell Hannibal that you need time away or something. He can't argue with me. He won't argue with me. And we'll go see Will together."
"Thank you," Ophelia squeezed her hands just as the door to the room swung open again. Hannibal stood there for a moment, his eyes darting between the two of them. For the slightest of moments, the micro-expressions on his face were raw and hideously angry, like a feral animal defending a kill. But then he softened, the mask firmly in place.
"Alana Bloom," he forced a smile, "What a surprise." He nodded to the basket of fruits on the bedside table, his lips pursing.
"Hello, Hannibal," Alana stood, letting Ophelia's hands fall away from hers, "I just came to check up on Ophelia. Looks like she's doing well."
"She is. In fact, she will be allowed to leave with me within the hour," Hannibal stuffed his hands in his pockets, a smug smolder on his face.
"You need a break. Let me take her with me for the night. I can take care of her."
"Why would she want to do that?" Hannibal was obviously resisting the urge to pounce on Alana, who was standing her ground, "Ophelia is in a delicate state, especially with the cocktail of medicines that she has been filled with. What she wants and what she needs is proper care."
"She needs to relax, Hannibal, not to be coddled."
"I'm not coddling, Alana. Am I, Ophelia?"
Ophelia looked from Alana, to Hannibal, and back again, "Um, I-"
"She just doesn't want to offend you. Ophelia needs a friend. Perhaps now is the time to allow her that. She's not going anywhere, obviously. Just... movies and dinner. Then medicine and sleep. Harmless."
"What she needs is to come home," Hannibal clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his hands along the hard line of his jaw as his face dissolved into a full glower, "Ridiculous. She was stabbed, Alana. This is not some silly playground accident. She needs me."
"Hannibal," Ophelia tried her best to look small and innocent, "Please? I'd like to spend the night with Alana. Just this once. I'm fine, my stomach is fine. Tomorrow I'll come back to you." She straightened in her chair, breathing steadily and deeply through the throbbing in her abdomen. When she truly focused, it did not seem quite so bad.
He licked his lips and stuffed his hands roughly into his pockets again, "Fine. Alana, I'll be expecting her back in the morning. Early."
"Thank you," Ophelia batted her eyelashes and smiled sweetly, "I promise I'll be okay." She knew that he would give. If he truly was as possessive as he had proven to be, he could not deny her this.
A nurse entered the room, skirting around Hannibal and handing her a clipboard, "Sign these, turn them in at the front desk, and you'll be free to go," she bent down to Ophelia, addressing her as if she were a child, "Come back the minute your stomach or your head starts to give you any trouble."
"Yes ma'am," Ophelia saluted the nurse. The petite woman turned her nose up at Hannibal and disappeared amongst the sea of scrubs. He followed her, protestations in regards to her medication on his lips. Ophelia scrawled her looping signature on the dotted lines in silence.
Alana looked up at the clock on the wall, "We should get going. Ten o'clock, right?"
"Right," Ophelia wheeled herself to where her duffel bag had been shoved halfway underneath her bed and hoisted it onto her lap, "At the coffee shop across from Hannibal's office."
"We have a few hours," Alana stood grabbing ahold of Ophelia's wheelchair and pushing toward the exit, "We'll get you changed and get some real food in you, then we'll go. Are you tired?"
"No," Ophelia muttered, "I'm just ready to hear what Will has to say."
Alana's home was on the outskirts of town, quite near where Ophelia had first encountered her father. It was a small, cheery little place, quite befitting elegant Alana. It was full of dogs, though, which Ophelia did not expect. Despite Alana's protests they all bombarded Ophelia with barks, tail wags, and sloppy kisses. Ophelia laughed and smiled so hard that she forgot that the stitches in her stomach had begun to smart.
With the help of Alana, she changed into a pair of cotton shorts and an enormous and cumbersome sweatshirt. She silently thanked Hannibal for packing with her numerous injuries in mind.
Alana kept the mood as lighthearted as she could, but she continued to glance at the clock every few minutes, waiting desperately for the time to come when they would travel to see Will across town. She cooked a quick meal for Ophelia; it was nothing as extravagant as Hannibal would have fixed, but she was grateful for the opportunity to eat a normal meal where she could easily name every ingredient on the plate. They sat in the living room, surrounded by dogs, Alana on the couch and Ophelia in her wheelchair, while they ate. Their conversation was forcibly light as well; they chatted about film, music, and boys. Ophelia told Alana all about her life before her father's influence. She felt thankful for Alana, and how she was allowing her to just babble about any menial thing that came to mind. Ophelia realized quickly as they chatted how desperately she had needed a normal friend and not an obsessive protector.
By the time half past nine rolled around, Ophelia was quite worn out. Without constant access to pain medication, her entire abdomen was throbbing and her head pounding. She downed a few tablets of ibuprofen, then wheeled herself out to Alana's car. With great difficulty, she slid into the passenger seat, gingerly settling in while Alana folded the wheelchair and put it in the trunk.
"That chair is a pain," Ophelia muttered as Alana turned the ignition.
"It's a necessary evil. You'll be out of it soon. It's just that if you put too much stress on your torso, you'll end up hurting yourself again," Alana smiled ruefully, "And that would mean more nurses and more Hannibal."
Ophelia snorted, "That's not gonna happen."
The rest of the ride proceeded in silence, with Ophelia staring blankly out of the window and Alana focused on the dark back roads of Baltimore. Before either of them were truly prepared, they arrived at the meeting spot, right on time.
"Look, I don't know what Will has planned," Alana turned to Ophelia, her face serious, "but I trust him. Completely. He's one of the only people I know who I would entrust with my life. I know he has the best intentions. When Will heard your story, he knew you were a kindred spirit and you had to be helped. He's going to help you, no matter what you decide to do."
"Will you help me?" Ophelia's voice was small. She could feel the universe shifting, as if something enormous was about to happen.
"Of course," Alana stroked Ophelia's hair, a gesture that was full of piteous affection.
With Alana pushing her wheelchair, they made their way down the nearly deserted sidewalk to the front window of The Coffee Bean, the little shop across the way from Hannibal's dark office. Ophelia had come here once or twice on days that were particularly stuffed with appointments. She knew Hannibal's coffee order by heart.
Will awaited them on the bench underneath the glowing "Open" sign. He stood as soon as he saw them approaching.
"We should go inside," he said, holding the door of the cafe open, "It would be safer in there."
Alana complied wordlessly, wheeling Ophelia inside and to the nearest table. The barista, a dough faced girl named Maria, rushed over to help clear a space at the table for Ophelia's wheelchair. She demanded to know the story behind the chair, but Ophelia insisted it was nothing and refused to comment more on the situation. They each ordered coffees and sat in formal silence until they were sure they were alone.
"I appreciate that you came so willingly," Will muttered, gripping his steaming mug in both large hands, "I also appreciate that you trust me."
Ophelia responded with a single nod.
Will continued, "So I've given it some more thought, and I really would encourage you to come to Cambridge with me. You'll be safe there. We'll both be safe. Unknown, new, secure. It makes me sick knowing what Hannibal Lecter could still do to you. To both of us."
For a moment, while the trio sipped their coffee, Ophelia studied Will's face. He looked so very tired, with dark circles under his kind eyes and his curly hair shooting off in every direction. His mouth hung in a permanent frown, and stubble covered his jaw. Holding his mug, Will's fingers drummed erratically with anticipation and trepidation.
"Okay," Ophelia finally answered, her voice no more than a whisper, "I'm in. I trust you. But more than anything, I trust Alana. She's vouched for you, and that's good enough for me."
"You are?" Will almost seemed surprised, "That's- that's fantastic. You'll be safe with me. Neither of us are going to be victimized by Hannibal Lecter any longer."
"So what's the plan?" Ophelia downed her coffee, suddenly filled with the adrenaline of the impending action, "How are we going to do this?"
"I'll take care of the logistics," Alana interjected, "Plane tickets, new identification, all that." She whipped out her phone and started tapping away at the screen.
"Great, Alana," Will placed his hand on her wrist and squeezed, "Ophelia, you and I need to get our things in order. I can be packed in a day, but you need to be more careful. If need be, you can simply pack a small bag of essentials and we can get you all new things when we arrive in Cambridge."
"When do I need to be ready?" Ophelia took a deep, resolute breath.
"The next direct flight to Cambridge is the day after tomorrow," Alana looked up from her phone, "Noon, out of LaGuardia."
"Can we make that?" Will looked to Ophelia for approval.
"Yeah," Ophelia leaned back in her wheelchair, "How far is it from here to New York?"
"About four hours. If we want to make that flight we'll have to leave town by seven."
"Fine," Ophelia nodded, beginning to feel an apprehensive fluttering in her stomach just beneath the stitches, "Hannibal has appointments all day; I'm sure I can slip out."
"That's good," Will finished off his coffee, "Alana can come for you at six-thirty, Tuesday morning. Can you, Alana?"
She nodded, her eyes glued to her phone again, "I'll have new identification papers for you then, too. And your plane tickets."
"What are you going to do about Hannibal?" Will sighed, "He's not stupid; he'll know something's going on if you start packing your things."
Ophelia frowned, rubbing her fingers across her lips as a nerve-wracking, gut-wrenching idea popped into her head, "I think I know what to do." She knew that she had to make him believe, without a doubt, that she would not leave him, and that they were connected indefinitely. An effective distraction and false reassurance.
"Good," Will daren't ask what she had in mind.
"Hey," Maria called to them from behind the counter, bursting their tense bubble, "We're closing. Sorry. Take your coffee to go, if you want."
Ophelia caught a glimpse of the clock, and suddenly her entire body realized what time it was. Her eyes began to droop and her mind began to blur. She yawned, covering her mouth with her hands.
"Take her home," Will stood, patting Ophelia clumsily on the shoulder, "I'll see you in two days, when we're not Will Graham and Ophelia Ford anymore."
With great effort, Ophelia pushed herself up out of her wheelchair and stood upright before Will. She held out her hand to him and he took it, shaking it firmly. A sign of camaraderie. She and Alana then watched as Will bustled from the cafe and disappeared into the night.
Alana began to push Ophelia back down into the chair, but she swatted her hand away and declared resolutely, "I'm going to walk."