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At first, she'd been quite scared of Will, this trembling mess of a man, covered in her father's still warm blood.
Then, removed from the dire frenzy of their violent first meeting, he was stumbling through and all over basic social protocol like a particularly clumsy elephant.
Naturally, it took her a while to warm up to him.
She was far too preoccupied with figuring out Dr. Lecter. The ominous voice on the phone - "a copycat, a fellow killer" - Will had, quite accurately it turned out, speculated.
Lecter had at first seemed like a safe haven, an understanding ear. No judgement from him for her past, her feelings, her savage instincts.
But some time after the Nick Boyle incident, it had dawned on her that she'd allowed him to tie them together in a pact of mutually assured destruction. Only he was far older, far more experienced and likely far more ruthless than her.
She could fight tooth and nail to defend her life if necessary, didn't feel as horribly torn up and disgusted at her father's crimes, at her own complicity, as she probably should. But she wasn't an inherently violent person. She didn't crave an outlet, a victim, to savagely unleash her feelings on.
Despite what had happened to her, what her father's homicidal compulsions had forced her into, she didn't want to step into his lethal footsteps. Carry on that murderous legacy. And Lecter, now that she was paying especially close attention, clearly wanted her to become a remorseless killer in his own image, a happy ready made cannibal daughter to compliment and slot nicely into his existing life.
It was frankly insulting. And a little hurtful.
Once again she wasn't enough for a father figure. Once again the father figure in question was a murderous cannibal. And once again said father figure worked very hard to isolate her from anyone else who might offer help or stability. Or affection not his own.
She'd let him convince her to push Will away, with his subtle comments about the profiler's instability, already predisposed to think unkindly of her father's killer. Will's nervous and socially awkward behavior letting the wedge between them grow without protest, while she treated him with cold, sometimes hostile, indifference when he came to visit.
Lecter also cautioned her against confiding in well-meaning, kind Dr. Bloom. While she still agreed that the woman would feel duty bound to report Abigail's shared culpability in her father's crimes to Agent Crawford, she had a feeling she wouldn't be judged for it, not by her. Though she expected quite a bit of insulting pity. She'd seen how Dr. Bloom treated Will, after all. Like he was mere moments from falling apart. And sure, the man had seemed close to becoming a nervous wreck after he'd shot her dad, but now that she'd started to pay proper attention, she could tell he was actually a lot like her.
Willing to kill, without hesitation or remorse, to save himself, those he loved and those he deemed innocent, but never for pleasure. He might take joy in a righteous kill, but would never seek it out. His instincts focused almost entirely on protection.
And hadn't that been a painful, but pleasant revelation? Noone had mentioned to her that Will had rushed to her still comatose side, taking out another killer in her defense. The knowledge made a giddy warmth pool in her belly.
Her father had killed so he wouldn't kill her. Lecter killed purely because he enjoyed it. But Will had killed for her, unleashed his violence in a controlled burst purely to save her life.
Twice now.
Lecter may have held her gaping, gushing throat closed with a past surgeon's skill, but it was Will who'd actually come to her rescue. And Lecter the architect behind her father's sudden, desperate, violent outburst.
She'd only found out about Will's second heroic intervention on her behalf from Freddie Lounds, of all people, intercepted by the annoying nosy reporter on one of her wall-climbing nighttime escapades.
Port Haven's internet access was strictly regulated, no Tattlecrime for her to read. And completely unlike many people in his position would, certainly unlike manipulative Dr. Lecter, Will hadn't even mentioned the incident once. Hadn't tried to use it to curry her favor, or a kinder reception from her.
Hadn't asked for anything in return either. No quid pro quo in the vein of Lecter's machinations, coercing her into an agreement of mutual silence to cover up each other's misdeeds.
She felt shame heat her cheeks at how she'd treated Will all this time, when he'd only tried to be a sympathetic ear or shoulder for her, not wanting to replace the father he'd killed, but still feeling he should offer himself up for the role regardless. Only to be repeatedly met with her covert and overt hostility.
Her more recent feelings for him, while certainly not hostile anymore, were not very parental either, however. Much to her chagrin.
Once she'd gotten over her initial distrust and dislike - more information and a lot of time to think letting her reevaluate all the new people in her life - she'd had the uncomfortable realization that Will was in fact the only one who didn't want anything from her.
Crawford wanted a confession of her guilt. Bloom wanted her to be more normal, to grieve properly and feel remorse. Lounds wanted a sensational story to sell. Lecter wanted an apprentice of sorts.
Will just wanted to be there for her, in all his nervous, awkward fumbling.
And she'd practically spit in his face, callously slapped away his outstretched hand, trampled all over the soft belly of the feelings he'd so readily bared to her.
But no more.
Lecter gave her the creeps, the more time she spent with him, checking her out over the weekends and teaching her to cook in his opulent Baltimore home. How to turn someone's kidneys into perfectly sliced strips of meat, someone's liver into a fine paté, someone's intestines into sausage casings. So eager to finally have someone be in on the joke.
She knew the man might seem affable and kind right now, readily doling out praise while she danced to his tune. But he was an apex predator, a merciless killer, whose prime objective would always be self-preservation. Who would, without a second thought, put his own safety, his own pleasure and entertainment, over her own continued freedom, health and life.
Just look at the convoluted game he was clearly trying to play with Will. The phonecall he'd made to her home, instigating her father's desperate lashing out only the first of many moves in this elaborate sheme he'd dreamed up.
She often found herself just humming and nodding placatingly to his longwinded monologues, usually utterly nonplussed, when he went on a complicated tangent involving history or classical literature. It was beyond amusing, the few times she'd had the chance to see him verbally spar with Will, who could meet him on that playing field, but also liked to throw him off by inserting ridiculous fishing metaphors and comparisons. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes whenever Lecter was stuck trying to parse his odd interjections, was the first thing that had started to soften her antagonism towards him.
She could tell that something wasn't quite right with Will. And not in the 'secretly homicidal nutjob' way Lounds liked to imply. No, something far more mundane and physical health related. Every time she laid eyes on the man he seemed paler, weaker, the dark bags under his eyes becoming ever more pronounced. And when she'd asked Lecter about Will's condition, the man had been even more evasive than usual, dismissively chalking it all up to Will's stressful job. Bullshit!
And this is how she found herself, late at night once more, absconded over the crumbly stone walls of the Port Haven Psychiatric Facility, driving a hot-wired car (one of the many useful skills her dad had taught her) towards Wolftrap, Virginia.
She was determined to make amends with Will. And to warn him about Lecter, her own secrets be damned. Not to mention convince him to see a proper doctor, check himself into a hospital for some thorough testing. His FBI agent status should pay for excellent medical care, right?
It had taken some careful questioning of Dr.s Bloom and Lecter to finagle enough details about Will's home address out of them. An internet café and Google maps had done the rest of the work, though she only had a street name, quite assured that the most isolated property was the one she should aim for.
She had to double back once, having missed the turn off into the long gravel driveway, but eventually she brought the car to a stop in front of a cozy little farmhouse. A set of wicker deck chairs stood on the porch, the polished wood gleaming in the moonlight, a metal wind-chime tinkling softly in the light breeze.
There was a lot of yipping and barking now sounding from inside, but it didn't deter her. In fact it assured her that she was in the right place. Both Bloom's and Lecter's mentions of Will's pack of rescued strays had only further endeared the man to her, once she'd allowed her defensive shell to soften.
She'd only just ascended the porch steps, mentally preparing herself to knock, when the porch light flicked on and the door opened to reveal Will in all his disheveled sleepy glory.
She cursed her hormones for the surge of inappropriate arousal caused by the sight of him in a tight threadbare shirt and boxerbriefs, his curls sleep-mussed and wild. The flimsy garments left little to the imagination - the wiry muscles of his chest and arms starkly defined, his thickly muscled thighs, the bulge in his underwear seemed obscenely large to her inexperienced eyes.
With effort she pretended not to be looking at Will's crotch, but merely to have lowered her gaze in nervous apprehension, valiantly ignoring the no doubt spectacular blush coloring her face.
He blinked at her in momentary incomprehension, one hand clinging to the door, the other rubbing first over his face, then through his hair. His dogs swarmed around them, nosing curiously at the unexpected visitor and took advantage of the presented opportunity for a nightly romp in the yard.
"Abigail? What are you doing here? How did you even get here? Shit, come in, did something happen? Are you alright?!" His speech became more frantic with his sudden worry and again she was touched by his immediate concern for her. His first instinct not to scold her for her escape, but to care for her well-being.
"I'm alright, well mostly. No injuries! Promise!" She quickly clarified at Will's alarmed look. "I just really needed to talk to you!" She felt mortified when her voice started to wobble, wetness gathering in the corners of her eyes. She'd employed her ability to conjure tears before, to manipulate the nurses and Dr. Bloom, assuming Lecter wouldn't be moved by such displays and so not even trying. But her current distress was entirely genuine.
"Oh, darlin', what's wrong? Come 'ere." Will opened his arms but seemed to regret the instinctively offered comfort immediately, his posture drooping, as he probably remembered the many previous times she'd rebuffed him.
She wouldn't have that! She practically threw herself into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder, her fingers digging into his back. All the stress and fear and apprehension of the past weeks pouring out of her. A strong calloused hand rubbed her back soothingly as he murmured nonsensical assurances into her hair.
Such simple physical comfort was something she hadn't felt in several years, as her father had stopped hugging her with the onset of puberty and neither Bloom nor Lecter thought it appropriate. At most Lecter would put a proprietary hand on her shoulder or back as he guided her to perform in whatever pageantry he'd concocted for the days' meeting.
Will smelled of sweat, the shirt damp where her fingers clutched at his back. Clearly his sleep had not been restful, but it didn't bother her overmuch, his compact body emanating a near furnace heat she just wanted to burrow herself into, his arms cradling her protectively against his chest.
Eventually she managed to collect herself enough to proceed with the plan she'd set out to enact. "Will. You need to go see a doctor. And I don't mean Dr. Lecter. There's something going on with your health and it's not just stress. I'm serious! I had an aunt who died from a brain tumor, she had a lot of similar symptoms." A bit of a white lie. Not the similar symptoms, but the aunt in question was just a character in a TV show. "Please, please, get it checked out at a hospital. I can't lose you as well!" She hiccuped, maybe laying it on a bit thick, but needs must.
"Shhh, Abby, it's alright. I promise, I'll go to get checked out tomor- today, I guess, if you need the assurance. Just don't be disappointed if they don't find anything, okay? I'm afraid my brain has never been the most conventionally functional and my job was bound to drive me nuts one day. Happened a bit sooner than I'd hoped though."
The nickname warmed her all the way to her toes, making butterflies squirm in her belly. They'd have to work on his self-deprecation though.
"Now, what brought this all on? You didn't just drive all the way out here because you worried for my health."
"Can we talk about it after you get checked out? Please?" She employed her very best puppy eyes, biting her lip.
"I can see right through that manipulation, you know? Unfortunately, that doesn't make it any less effective." He chuckled, teasingly pulling on one of her bangs, causing the butterflies in her belly to increase their frenzied dance. "Come on, I'll make up the guest bed for you while you freshen up."
He led the way upstairs and showed her into a bathroom with a toilet and shower stall, pressing a set of sweatwear into her hands, before heading through a different door.
She took a quick rinse under the shower, tempted to touch herself to relieve the arousal still lowly simmering in her gut, but ultimately abstained. She'd already ogled Will so rudely, masturbating to thoughts of him, under his own shower, while he was a mere two doors down the hall, seemed both too risky and a step too far.
Slipping into Will's clothes was far more comforting than it had any right to be, her slim form swimming in the soft, baggy garments smelling vaguely of mint and lavender. On naked feet she padded to the room she'd seen Will enter and found him just finished with making up a very nice looking bed.
"Why do you sleep downstairs when you have such a nice bedroom up here?!" She blurted out, and immediately felt bad for how judgemental it had probably sounded.
"I just like being close to the front door. And the dogs, I guess." He shrugged embarrassedly, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and not looking at her.
Impulsively she grabbed him in another hug, squeezing him tightly. "Well, I'm not complaining. Means I don't have to crash on a couch. Thank you!"
His hand carded through her hair a few times before he pulled back, clearing his throat. "Well. G'night, Abby. I'll see you in the morning."
"Night, Will."
*****
When she saw him the next morning, much earlier than expected, with dawn only just painting pink outlines onto fluffy clouds, it was not in any way she'd hoped. Woken by some noise, she listened closely, repeated shuffling and scraping sounds making her peel herself out of bed and tiptoe down the hall.
She found Will, still in his ratty sleep clothes, outside on the roof, his gaze disturbingly empty. He'd climbed out of a storage room's window, now stood shivering in the crisp morning air.
Carefully she reached out to him, kneeling on the windowsill. The angle was extremely awkward, pressing her face into his sweaty back, but all she could think of was Will tumbling down the slippery slanted rooftiles and breaking his neck in the fall.
Leaving her.
Her arms clamped tightly around his hips and belly, pulling him back towards the open window. "Will! Will! Please, wake up, snap out of it!" She babbled fearfully into his lower back.
Like emerging from deep water, he slowly seemed to regain consciousness. Had he been sleepwalking with his eyes open? It was clearly another symptom of whatever sickness had him in its grip and a hot surge of hatred for Lecter coursed through her, at his careless meddling and manipulating. How he'd convinced Will that it was all just in his head, just stress. Basically his own fault. The subterfuge now outright endangering Will's life.
She could tell that Lecter was interested in Will, maybe even romantically, if he was capable of feeling such base human emotions as lust and love. But clearly the man had no fucking clue how to treat someone he wanted to befriend. Probably too used to just pulling everyone's strings until they danced to his desired tune.
"Shit, Abby, did I crawl out onto the roof in my sleep?" Will croaked hoarsely as he finally, blessedly, lowered himself back inside on shaking legs. The moment he had both feet on the wooden floorboards again, she clung to him tightly, sniffling the release of her anxious energy and adrenaline into his cold neck.
"You. Me. Hospital. Now."
"Alright, darlin', alright. Let's get dressed, we'll grab some sandwiches and coffee on the way."
*****
"I'm not saying I told you so, but I'm very very tempted." She groused a few hours later sitting at his bedside, Will hooked up to a steady drip of steroids to battle the inflammation of his brain.
He reached out to clasp his hand over her own nervously fiddling ones, giving them a small squeeze. "You deserve to be a bit smug, I think. Thank you. For insisting. For not thinking I'm crazy and that it's all just in my head."
He looked pained at the admission, causing an answering ache in her own chest. None of his friends and coworkers had thought to prompt him to get further checked out, get a second opinion. All of them eager to believe Lecter's interpretation of his ailing health to be wholly the result of badly coping with the stresses of his demanding job.
"You just concentrate on getting better now, okay? They said they caught it early, that it could've gotten a lot worse." She fretted, visions of him falling off the roof replaced by distressing imaginings of him getting into a car accident during a seizure or getting attacked and killed by a suspect while he was disoriented. It really was lucky she'd intervened, the encephalitis on its own could've killed him. But even all the symptoms just taken by themselves had far too much individual potential for causing him harm.
Had Lecter suspected? He'd told her that anecdote about smelling someone's cancer. Could he have smelled this? And then decided to just, what, let it run its course? Utilize it for manipulation? Callously risking Will's very life in the process? She suppressed a shudder of dread.
"Now, I believe you still owe me an explanation? What, other than your clearly deserved and appreciated worry over my health, had you escape Port Haven last night?" He tapped his fingers against her wrist where their hands were still entangled on the sheets.
"You have to promise to hear me out. To not start questioning me until I'm done, okay?" She begged, nervously worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
"Promise."
She took a fortifying breath, ordering her thoughts. "Okay. Okay. Here we go. Alright, first thing you need to know - the man on the phone that day, you said he was likely a fellow killer, the copycat that killed Cassie Boyle - I... I recognized his voice." She gave him a quelling look when his mouth opened, clearly wanting to interject with some sort of question or admonition. He closed it back shut with an audible click of teeth, chastised, a wry little smile and apologetic look bidding her to continue. "I know, I probably should've said something right away, but it's hard to get out of that mindset I was in, still kinda am in, you know? Carefully assessing the potential threat any adult poses. See, the voice on the phone, warning my dad, it was Dr. Lecter."
For a moment Will looks at her in clear disbelief, but then stark realization dawns on his face, hardening his features. Clearly this revelation, while unexpected, had caused some pieces to fall into place for him. "When we all went back to Minnesota and Nick Boyle attacked us in my home... I actually killed him. I'd been sorting through my stuff, looking at one of dad's hunting knives when Boyle broke in and surprised me. I lashed out with the knife to defend myself, ending up cutting him from navel to sternum." She felt tears start to gather in her lashes and impatiently wiped them away, annoyed with herself.
"Dr. Lecter witnessed the whole thing and when Dr. Bloom came to investigate all the noise, it was Lecter that knocked her out. He told me noone would believe that I'd only been acting in self defense, that it'd be better to get rid of the body and concoct some story of him getting away. I already knew he was the man on the phone, clearly it was better, safer, to go along with his suggestion. Who'd believe Abigail Hobbs, a cannibalistic serial killer's daughter, over respected psychiatrist and FBI consultant Dr. Lecter?"
Her voice had started to shake badly with her distress, so she took a moment to try and gather her composure again. Will's fingers stroked over her knuckles and when she dared to look up at his face, she only saw understanding. And a simmering fury on her behalf, its heat warming her chilled insides.
"Has he been threatening you? I know he's been taking you out of the facility every other weekend. You have any idea what his game is?"
She felt buoyed by Will's belief, her whole body feeling hundreds of pounds lighter, like she would just float away if he unclasped their hands. She strengthened her grip onto them.
"It's going to sound weird, but I think he's bored and lonely. Like, we're interesting diversions? He's used to manipulating people, used to them always following his oh-so-sensible suggestions, you know? We're just different enough to be a challenge. I feel like he's been trying to turn me into his apprentice, or something. You're probably not going to believe this, but I swear, he's been teaching me to cook all these fancy dishes and he's having us use human meat, every damn time! It's like knowing my dad fed us people made me irresistible to him. Some sort of sick kindred spirit sort of bullshit." She babbled, disgust contorting her features.
She felt momentarily offended when Will broke out into a bout of wheezing laughter, tears streaming down his face from the force of his hilarity. "Oh god, it rhymes. It fucking rhymes, what are the chances?!" He managed to get out between giggles.
Realization dawned on her as well and she couldn't help but join in his desperate, manic laughter at the absurdity of Hannibal the Cannibal. What a ready made banger of a Tattlecrime headline.
Once their surreal mirth had subsided, Will tightly grasped both her hands in his own. His eyes clear and so intense, it made a blush rise to her cheeks. "We have to be incredibly careful, Abby. Some things just became clear to me that mean we could be in well over our heads. Hannibal Lecter is far more dangerous than you already suspect. And you were right to go along with him, don't hate yourself for that. We'll deal with the Nick Boyle problem once I'm on my feet again. I can tell you're beating yourself up over that. We'll figure it out, alright? Together. I'm not abandoning you. You probably saved my life, Abby, your insistence on getting me properly checked out. Fuck knows what could've happened to me once the hallucinations got bad enough, or if a seizure had hit me at just the right, worst, moment." He echoed her own previous fears.
Feeling near sick with the intense feeling of relief, of being believed and not condemned, she crawled onto the bed and hugged him, hiding her blushing face in his chest, soothed by the hands softly carding through her hair and the steady beat of the heart beneath her head.
They talked about some more inconsequential things for a while, soothed by conversation not focused on the manipulative murderous psychiatrist seemingly obsessed with them. Though she felt hurt and robbed once more, her ire at Dr. Lecter stoked to new heights, when Will confessed to Lecter talking him out of gifting her with a fly-tying kit. Immediately she made him promise to remedy that and to teach her how to fish, just as soon as he was out of the hospital again.
Regrettably, she had to leave at some point, Will pulling a wad of bills from his wallet to finance her ride back to Port Haven. He needed to call his boss and it would be better for everyone if she wasn't around when Jack Crawford stormed the hospital to no doubt try and bully Will back to full health faster.
Dithering a moment in shy indecision, she eventually let her secret desires win out once more and pressed a quick chaste kiss to Will's chapped lips, his lashes fluttering in adorable surprise. "Bye, Will! I'll convince Dr. Bloom to have us visit you again as soon as possible!" She squeaked and hurried out the door, back to the dreary oppressive atmosphere of her own hospital lodgings.
Together they could come up with a way to get out from under Lecter's thumb, maybe turn the tables on him. The thought made a surprisingly vicious glee bubble up inside her.
Will was a smart guy and soon he wouldn't be hampered by his brain being on fire anymore. He'd be able to come up with a good plan, some sequence of events that would end with Dr. Lecter receiving his just desserts.
Would serve the old bastard right, to be fed some of his own deceptive treats, now wouldn't it?