UNCONTROLLABLE AND INSTANTANEOUS
~insanity and co~
Murder isn't something that binds people together. The act is just that...an act; it does not demand or require bonds to other people. Even others of their kind.
There can certainly be those that know of each other, are familiar with their acquaintance's style and preferences...but to have two bonding over a shared meal as friends was a unique thing. The act of murder did not bring people together, make them friends if they were capable of such things, or make them understand each other.
But the actions of Garrett Jacob Hobbs brought them together. This made it all the more intriguing for Hannibal as he sat at the dinner table, having filled the glasses of everyone around the table; always the perfect host.
It was only through her father's actions that Abigail sat at his dinner table, not her own doing, knife skipping over the beautifully prepared steak and aiming for the roasted potatoes on the side. Her hand came up and touched the scarf around her neck briefly, she glanced around the table over the rim of her glass, all of her actions watched closely and unbeknownst to her. She gulped, her eyes flickered, she moved her feet under the table.
There were others there as well, all gathered to specifically not discuss work. Alana had insisted that the topic not dwell on the gloomy and dreary and everyone else had wholeheartedly agreed to a night of happy matters...which meant that business was entirely out of the question.
The professor herself was sitting down the table, talking about a new movie that Jack had no interest in seeing, to her amazement. Hannibal listened, he even participated in the discussion of which actors would flounder and fail in their new roles, but his attention was elsewhere. Abigail had laughed, a high and nervous noise that grated his ears, but no one else took notice of the off tone. Her laugh - the real one - was far deeper and wilder. The potatoes had disappeared from Abigail's plate and she now picked at the garnishes on the side. They were meant for decoration only but Hannibal wouldn't correct her.
The rest of his dinner guests had all dove into the food - some more politely and elegantly than others - with gusto and praise to the cook. But the others weren't what mattered.
He watched, waited, and only half-listened to the discussions around him.
And finally, when the talk of the table had turned from movies to hiking in the nearby mountains, Abigail cut the meat. Her eyes flickered between Hannibal and the chunk on her fork for just a moment; such a brief moment that the nervous twitch went unnoticed by the keen-eyed FBI agents around them. But having watched and waited patiently since setting that plate in front of the girl, that bit of hesitation was read as easily as a book by Hannibal.
She knew what it was. She had her suspicions, theories... He did not know quite how deeply and accurately that wariness of him ran, but he would have expected no less from the instincts of someone like him. One of his own kind.
She knew.
And she ate it.
Author's Note: A mini-shout out to Queen of the Beasties for going over this for me. :)