Abigail Hobbs is a survivor. (laniidae) wrote in canonwarslogs, @ 2014-07-21 15:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | abigail hobbs, will graham |
Who: Abigail Hobbs and Will Graham.
What: Meeting up.
When: Right after arrival, 7/1.
Where: Purgatory and then Will's house in London.
Warnings: General PG-13 for stuff relating to Hannibal TV canon. Gory and murdery discussion but nothing really bad happening.
After meeting Kirsty, Will had risked the horrible teleporter back to Puerto Rico, figuring he could get more information on this whole ‘fictional’ idea. He preferred to gather as much information as possible. So, he’d changed into the lightest-weight shirt that had been in the closet in England, slacks and shoes that weren’t hiking boots, and gone back.
Abigail was waiting where they’d agreed to meet. She’d been wearing the same things she’d died in, but the government people (which was just so weird) gave her shorts and a t-shirt. She looked like any other tourist, and had ducked into a shop to grab some sunscreen. Her missing ear was getting some strange looks, but she didn’t really care.
He found her there, making sure it was indeed her before speaking - hard to miss the ear. “Abigail?” She looked the same as ever, just ... even more frightened. On her guard. It made his heart hurt a bit. He’d never really seen her happy.
He was about to. At hearing her name, she grinned brightly, jumping up and running toward him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. “Will. I didn’t know if you were real.”
“I - oh.” Will hadn’t expected that, and froze a little. “I’m - yes. I’m here, I’m as real as you.” For whatever that was worth. “Are you doing all right? Besides the obvious.”
Looking up at him, she beamed. “I’m alive again. I’d say I’m okay. What about you?” He looked like he was seeing a ghost, which she supposed he was.
“I’m .. all right.” That was a good word for it. “Confused, and out of my comfort zone, but at least physically I’m whole.” Thankfully. Abigail had mercifully been gone when Hannibal had cut him. He wouldn’t have wanted her to see that.
“Did he - “ Abigail blinked, her eyes suddenly filmy. “Of course he did. He couldn’t control you anymore, so he broke you.” She never wanted to see blood or death again. Unless it was Hannibal Lecter’s.
“He looked into my eyes and stabbed me in the stomach.” Will said quietly. “Because I spurned his gift.”
“Me.” Abigail closed her eyes tightly against angry tears. “And being like him. He’s ... I hate him, and I’ve never hated anyone at all so much in my life. It scares me.”
“Yes.” To everything. Will hated him too. And it scared him. Because what if he came here?
He shook his head, though. “I don’t think I ... I ever died. I remember blood, yes, and pain, but ... I don’t know. I’d remember that.”
She nodded, knowing exactly that he’d remember death. She remembered hers plainly enough, the coldness of it all. “Will? I’m sorry. I should’ve let you help me, and I didn’t, and it was just so stupid of me.”
“Huh? Oh.” Back in that world. “Abigail, I can’t blame you for that.” He couldn’t help a bloodless smile. “I didn’t look like a safe choice. It’s very human to go with what you see; what’s tangible. There was no indication I could do anything but hurt you or weigh you down.” Hannibal had done a perfect number on his brain for a long time.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I knew, though, I knew in my gut. Hannibal’s the walrus and I was the oyster and ... you made me feel safe, except for when you didn’t, but Hannibal told me it was because you were sick with a brain disease. He kept you sick, didn’t he? To manipulate you?”
“Yes.” The word landed like a glob of spit. “He lied ... kept the MRI results from me.” Seeing that had made him feel sick. “Wound me up and watched me go.”
Abigail grit her teeth and moved to sit down. “I don’t blame you hating him either. I hope he doesn’t come here. I really hope he doesn’t because I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“I don’t believe warrants from other worlds are enforceable.” He had to joke. Otherwise he’d start screaming.
Abigail smiled, but it never met her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I’d probably try to kill him, and then he’d eat me.” She looked down at her hands. “I wonder how many people I’ve eaten at this point. I’ll probably sprout horns.” Her father had told her about wendigos many times, how the flesh of other people made them beautiful, otherworldly, and strong.
Dear God. It was hard to even contemplate that. Will swallowed, suddenly feeling ill. “Abigail, intent has to be factored in. I know it doesn’t make you feel better, but you didn’t wilfully participate.” It just wasn’t the same. Even if it felt the same.
“I knew what it was after the first one he made me talk to.” She swallowed thickly against the bile rising up in her throat. “I just wanted to live, Will. I just wanted... to finish my SATs and go to prom and not worry about my dad in my doorway when I changed clothes anymore.” She shut her blue eyes tightly against tears. “And with Hannibal... he said they’d lock me up if they found out what I’d done, that they’d burn me at the stake if I’d lived a few hundred years ago. I just want people to forget me.” Some days she lay in bed and tried to play dead, to pretend that her body was cooling just like those other eight girls. It scared her how easy it was.
“It still doesn’t make you a murderer. Or a cannibal!” Will was surprised at his own vehemence. “It makes you a scared hostage. Because that’s what you were. A hostage has no choice but to play along - and playing along to stay alive isn’t selfish. If it was, a whole lot more of us would probably be dead.”
“That’s not how people see it. Well, everyone but you.” She impulsively moved to hug him again, knowing that in this world and the one prior, he was the only father she’d ever had. “I’m sorry, I let you down,” she murmured. Not crying was difficult, but she had practice.
“You didn’t let me down.” Will was firm in that regard. He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t possibly. He’d have done the exact same thing - who was he to play the hypocrite? It felt strange to hug her, but he knew she needed it. So he managed. “Anyone who thinks they would have acted differently,” he told her, “has never been in any situation like that one.”
“Nobody should have to.” It never should’ve happened to her. She should’ve been free to live like any other normal girl, to laugh and cry at trivial things, to find herself. Instead, she felt like she had eight bodies weighing her down. Nine if she counted Nicholas Boyle, ten if she counted Dr. Bloom. “Oh god, I killed her for Hannibal, I did. How could he want me to do that? Wasn’t he dating her?” She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle sobs. Not in public, her father’s voice in her head.
“I don’t know.” On any count. “I don’t even know if she’s dead.” The idea hurt, but he hadn’t been able to get to Alana. He’d been lying on the kitchen floor. Bleeding. Dying.
Somewhere deep inside him, he found the impulse to stroke her hair. “You had no malice, Abigail. You’re not like him. You aren’t like him.” It seemed to be the thing she needed to get through her skull to most. “You’re not like him.”
“I don’t know who I am sometimes. Sometimes it feels like I know, and other times it feels like my head’s all full of static.” A poetic, just like the father she wished she had.
Will managed a faint smile. “I would recommend therapy. Actual therapy, with a doctor that you trust. If they breathe wrong, you would be within your rights to run.”
“Sometime soon. First I want to get settled. Where do they have you living?” The idea of living alone made her want to throw up.
“London.” Will replied. “I met a woman who works with me. Him. The person whose life I’ve fallen into. Winston’s here,” he said, face lighting up a little. “My dog. Not all of them are, but Winston and Applesauce. Alana named Applesauce,” he added belatedly.
Abigail’s eyes went wide and she smiled. “I go to the University of London. I have an apartment, but I haven’t gone to look at it yet. It’d be like I killed someone else.” But the idea that Will’s dogs came for him, it made her smile. A shred of sunlight.
“There’s no proof that you did.” Will pointed out. “And even if you did, there’s no possible way you could blame yourself for it.” That would be the work of some strange force far greater than them. God, if there was one? Who knew?
“I know, but ... they gave us these people’s lives. They existed before, but where are they now?” For that matter, what happened in their own worlds? Abigail wouldn’t be missed if she disappeared, but Will would.
“That still doesn’t mean it’s something you did.” Will persisted, calmly but firmly. For some reason, he could be calm enough for Abigail, even if not always for himself. “We can work on that question, but for now, the basics need to be addressed.” Food. Shelter. “There needs to be somewhere you can stay.”
“Can I - would it be too much if I stayed with you? Just at first, I don’t want to be a bother.” She saw people gawking at her missing ear once more and sighed, pulling her hair out of a ponytail, tugging it over the scar. It was hot, but better sweaty than mocked.
Will’s first impulse was to say no, that she needed to stand on her own two feet, but after a minute, he nodded. “For a while, yes.” He could understand wanting to be near something that was familiar. If he hadn’t been slated for law enforcement here, it would have been very upsetting.
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes for a moment, resisting the impulse to hug him once more. “I’m going to treat this as ... a new start. I’m not dead, Will. I was before, I know that. I know I saw you, and it was really cold, and I could feel ... I was in this warm puddle, like a bath, only I was freezing anyway. Then I fell asleep. Will, I died.” She felt herself starting to cry and laughed at her childish weakness. “But I’m alive now. I’m in college. Dad wouldn’t even let me go to a state school - they were too far - but I’m in school in London now. This is my shot.”
“I know you did.” Will was serious, looking at her with what he hoped came off as compassion. “I wanted to protect you. I hope that - I don’t want to sound strange,” he hastily added, looking away. He’d grown up without a father, and she’d taught him that it could have been worse. Much worse. “I felt responsible, as I’m sure you could guess.” She’d never been stupid, and he’d never been subtle in that regard.
“I wished you were my dad,” Abigail whispered, looking down at her hands. “You’d be a good father.”
“I don’t know about that.” It was the only acceptable response, even if it was a bit of a lie - he’d wanted to protect her, above almost all else, and that wasn’t quite parent material, but it was close. “But just know that I will protect you here.” Especially if their nemesis appeared. The idea was too unnerving to say out loud.
“I can protect myself,” she said, chin jutting out stubbornly. “But it’s nice to know I have you in my corner.”
“Should you require my services, I mean.” Will said gravely, trying not to be amused by her brave face.
“Of course.” She shuddered. “What if he comes here? At least we have the whole wide world to run away to hide in.”
“I wouldn’t hide.” Especially not after the indignities visited on him. Oh, no. There was a score to settle now.
“Well. Not hide.” Abigail looked at Will, noticing how very blue his eyes were. But they were a darker blue than her own, more cold. “Camouflage.”
“Now you’re talking.” Will managed a faint smile. “Let’s go back to where I live.” It wasn’t home yet. “You can see Winston.”
Her eyes lit up. “Dad never let me have pets,” she beamed. “But I always wanted a dog.”
“Winston is very, very smart.” Will beckoned her back toward the teleporter Kirsty had shown him. “I think he’ll be able to tell you’re happy to see him.”
Walking with Will, Abigail felt safe for the first time in a long time. She loved the idea of a dog being happy, they’d always seemed sweet and innocent to her. Her father had always hated the idea of her loving something besides him.
They got to the teleporter and Will pointed to it. “This will sound strange,” he said, “but hold my hand firmly.” He held his out. When she took it, he touched the poster, closing his eyes and steeling himself for the nasty jump.
She did, and closed her eyes. When they landed ... wherever they were, Abigail doubled over in pain and laughter at the same time. “Was that - was that a portkey?”
“I think that’s what Kirsty called it. The woman I met that I apparently work with,” Will added in explanation, once he’d got his breath back. “I mean, this is London. Well. The outskirts.” He’d thought specifically of the little house that was apparently his, and they’d landed behind a building that was on the edge of a field. Through the field, the house was visible. He’d left a light burning.
Abigail blinked. “You’ve never read the Harry Potter books, huh.” She couldn’t help but almost romp toward his house, loving that it was by a field. “Room for your dogs to play.”
“Yes. I do like that.” Will smiled just a little. “I want to get at least one more. Two are here, but some of my pack ... isn’t.” He didn’t like thinking about that, but he couldn’t do much about it, or so he assumed.
They cut through the field until they were standing at his front door. Will fumbled for the key, eventually opening the door and flicking the oddly enormous light switch. “Winston! Applesauce!” He felt a little silly every time he said Applesauce’s name, and compelled to explain, “Alana named Applesauce.”
“It’s a cute name. Have you tried giving her some? Maybe she likes it.” Abigail heard claws on wood and couldn’t help but grin, laughing out loud at how happy the dogs looked. “They’re smiling.”
“No, I never have.” Will would have elaborated, but then his dogs came galloping in, and he had to smile. They stopped in front of Abigail, sizing her up. “They won’t jump.”
She kneeled in front of him, not really hearing what he was saying. She was too mesmerized by the thought of a dog that she could sleep with, play with, take for walks. Reaching out a hand for them to sniff, she was beaming.
Winston did sniff, then Applesauce. Will smiled, relieved that his dogs were behaving. They seemed to understand when they needed to. “Good,” he murmured, petting Winston before stepping back. “They’ll be happy to have someone here when I’m not,” he commented. “They’re social creatures.”
“They’re beautiful,” she murmured, tentatively petting Winston for a moment before being totally unable to resist hugging him. Dog therapy was probably exactly what she needed.
Will didn’t quite understand wrapping one’s arms around a dog like they were a person, but he didn’t stop her. Winston seemed to understand, at least.
Burying her face in his chest for a moment she felt exactly like what she was: an eighteen-year-old girl who needed time to heal. And that was okay.
“You can stay here for a while,” Will said quietly, smiling a little. “Until it feels safe to go.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” If anything, he felt like he owed her.