The nervous peel of laughter grated on Will's composure, but he didn't flinch, he stood his ground. He couldn't say the same for himself when Abigail suggested that maybe he was too soon. That he shouldn't. He knew this was coming, but that knowledge wasn't enough to keep her words from sounding so foreign. Will carried around a significant amount of guilt, and it was bizarre to hear anyone say the exact opposite of what he always thought and felt, out loud.
Then there was Freddie. Freddie fucking Lounds. Hearing her name managed to elicit more disgust out of Will than Abigail mentioning Stammets did. If there was a God, that menace of a journalist was hundreds of miles away from him, Abigail, and Everett, but that didn't stop her from effecting everything for the worse. Abigail was never supposed to know about him. That might have been the one and only thing Jack, Alana, Dr. Lecter, and Will agreed on. It was easier to be angry at Freddie, though. It was easier than immediately reacting to what Abigail was so desperately trying to show him. It was an awful truth that Will understood, both in his conscious and subconscious mind, but he always denied fervently, no matter who would try to convince him or suggest otherwise. She wanted him to see too.
Will's feet felt heavy as they moved him across the cell floor, not stopping until he reached Abigail's bed. He slowly took a seat beside her, but didn't dare look her in the eye just yet, even as he spoke. "No. I never thought about it like that. I always thought about how I showed up too late." He drew a breath. "Your father was," horrible. "sick. But you aren't your father, Abigail. This should have never happened to you. You're not horrible," He paused again, words heavy, catching and scratching at his throat as he tried to force them, and the whole ugly truth to the surface. They needed to come out, no matter what. She needed to know that he understood, and if this was the only way he could offer her a semblance of peace, he would do it at any cost.