[Here's the thing: Frederick Chilton is the only person from home Will has left. All the worry for Freddie's safety and the stability she provided, their secrets, are now gone. Every ounce of paternal instinct in him to protect, nourish, and love Abigail Hobbs has been ripped away (again). The constant uncertainty about where he stood (so to speak) with Abel Gideon, mirror or not, vanished from where he sat, stuck to a wheelchair by an elk's antlers. Hannibal has come and gone, tipping scales both times.

All of that has to go somewhere, doesn't it? He can't just have his support torn away so quickly without it transferring. Sure, he has other people here he's concerned with, but he's already gone to illegal measures to secure Frederick's safety. He's turned conversations to himself (which he dislikes greatly) to get them off Chilton.

He dislikes even more that Crane has worked this conversation to be about both of them, which makes the whole straitjacket feeling tighter. Suffocating.]

What Doctor Chilton [Titles, Jonathan, tsk tsk. Dropping little hints, too?] does or does not do is not a reflection of me. And vice versa. [Birds of a feather isn't always the case—birds can have similar habits and patterns while also having extremely different plumage. But still, you gotta keep 'em separated.] He's an adult. I won't be so discourteous as to imply he doesn't know what he's doing. What are you doing?

[Just going to abruptly throw that brick, no big deal.]