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[His lips thin out at the question, running over who she must mean. An eyebrow lifts when he connects Eldon Stammets, and for a second, he thinks maybe that's a valid avenue to go down. Share the blame a little, take some of that guilt off her shoulders by putting them on his own.

Where it actually belongs and won't be considered a burden.

But. Ah.]

End up like you? [Abigail might not love or like herself, but Will does. The way he looks at her, the way he speaks, his voice is infected with love, even as his tone stays light. Simple. Free hand gesticulating lazily to reflect how tired they both are.] You see a similarity, that's fine. I do too. Yuri and I were...friendly. I still have the spare key to his apartment. [Oh, that's such a sad excuse for a smile. Yes, there are plenty of similarities.] People can react to similar situations differently, Abigail. What affects one person deeply doesn't bother another at all, and vice versa. There is no set path that he has to follow.

[Sort of like how Will's not reacting in the same way as Abigail or Jayden, check it.]

[ the tightness in her chest swells and she looks down at her hands in her lap, palest pink nail polish chipped and peeling, knuckles scraped from digging her hand too roughly behind a box in the back of the bait shop. ]

When did you know?

[ what he was, seems to be the unspoken end of the question, but she leaves that and the subject of the question open for interpretation. they rarely talked about hannibal, only short spurts before it was glossed over with something else. anything else.

but now, when she's being smacked in the face with yet another freakin' serial killer, one she had literally compared to hannibal... ]

[For a moment, Will wants to run with the idea that the question is directed to Yuri Petrov, thinks that Abigail might allow it. But there is one serial killer that has already been brought up tonight, however unnamed, and it could be an insult to both Abigail and himself for him to swim along that particular stream. Insult. Avoidance. Another skirting around the real issue that ends with him refusing to give Abigail even the slightest bit of closure.

When did you know?

If only Will had a specific answer.]

When he...framed me, I knew he was the Copy Cat. [He shifts, brings his knees together as he sits up straighter.] Beverly helped me see he was more. And... [Maybe someone else needs one of those drinks in the fridge right about now.] ...when I walked into his house and saw you there, I knew that...I hadn't known as much as I thought I did.

[Things were bad. Then they got worse.

Then he realized he hadn't taken into account how much worse they could possibly be and well. What did he know then? What did knowledge matter when he had still been completely blinded, where did that leave Abigail and him other than shattered teacups on the floor?

Will knew, but he didn't know enough.]

[ that actually lined up with that she thought, what made sense. she flinches when he mentions beverly, but manages to stop herself from apologizing again. there were all sorts of times he could have figured it out, she doesn't even know why she's asking. (she's asking because some part of her is perpetually of the mind that he knew about her and never acted. she'd seen the genuine surprise on his face, but her mind didn't always choose to accept logic.) ]

I think I knew when you walked through the door with him. [ into her hospital room. ] I picked up the phone... I heard him, but.

[ but she didn't know until leaving for minnesota that the man on the phone was also a serial killer. she'd convinced herself it was just coincidence. no one would have been so arrogant.

but then again, she wasn't actually supposed to survive, was she? ]

I was too tired to care. Yuri reminded me of him. [ and she was still too tired to care. ]

[Aca-aca-awkward. Will is more or less unresponsive when Abigail confesses about the time frame of when she knew. He'd spent so much time picking apart what had been said in his presence he'd been puzzled by but had cast off, how far back they'd gone. It tore at him, and those weren't questions he felt she deserved to feel "forced" to answer. Why didn't you tell us?

She did. In her own way. And in the end of it all, Alana was her mother.

Will was her father.

And Hannibal was once again the man on the phone.

It's the part about Yuri that gets his eyebrows raised, has him putting his hands down on the edge of the bed (wrinkling Princess' blanket, no big deal) and stretching his legs out somewhat. Yeah. He had that feeling, too.]

Was it the...suits? The way he talks? Or...something else?

[He's doing a shit job of hiding that he got that vibe, but damning every tall, well-dressed, European guy with a good vocabulary is just

rude!]

Both.

[ her shoulders lift in a disheartened shrug. the cat abandons the windowsill to pad across her lap and headbutt will. not even ziggy likes abigail. her life is pain. ]

He was always so calm and... thoughtful. And he seemed genuinely concerned about my nightmares and how I was coping. He said I sounded like him -- not being able to sleep, not knowing how to relax, I think his father hurt him. Hannibal was always curious how much like my dad I am. [ and with yuri's comparison... but she hurries to reassure. ] I know I'm not.

[ but gosh that comparison feels like a slap in the face. maybe she is. ]

Edited 2015-02-05 00:23 (UTC)

[Not the kitty headbutt! Will plays along with it well enough. He might put on airs of being a dog person, dogs are the best, dogs furever, but any animal that crosses his path with good intentions is going to be treated just the same as a dog. Ziggy gets his attention, hand running over her head, down her back, whatever physical affection she wants and allows is going to be readily found on Will Graham's lap.

He's still paying just as much attention to Abigail, though. Of course he is. She's the center of his universe, even if he's not staring at her intently, she's in his focus.]

No, you're not. [Not like her father, not like Yuri Petrov...that's something Will is damn certain of, not afraid to sound it, either.] I don't what Hannibal might have said to you, I don't...I didn't hear every conversation, I know that. But. You are nothing like him.

[Him. Could be a blanket case, her father, her terrible surrogate, Yuri, all of them in one go. Three birds with one stone.

Aha.]

I know. I know. [ she doesn't know, but that's not the point. the point is reassuring will that she knows, even if it's purely intellectually. ]

Are you mad at him?

[Will doesn't think she knows, either, but if she doesn't want to get into the process of unraveling that hellish nightmare with him right now, he's not going to press. He drags one leg up to cross over his knee, half on the bed as he resettles to make room for Ziggy wherever she might want to move. Or flop, either or.]

No. [He says after a long pause, licking his lips and shaking his head.] It's a waste of energy to be mad at him. [Because he's not here. Because Will might be dead if the Porter ever decides to shuffle him back to Baltimore. Because Hannibal left a great deal of room for Will to be mad at himself. He's smaller, here and now, one hand Ziggy's faithful servant and the other fiddling with the hem of his pants around his ankle.] So I...don't.

[Doesn't waste the energy or fuel his entire existence off his anger at Hannibal Lecter.

But, oh. That in no way means he's forgotten, does it? Could anyone?]

[ her fingers fiddle with her blankets, the comforter plus her pink knit blanket from her own room. pillow from her room too, the one that smells a little bit like stiles still. she's been accidentally collecting her things at will's house, small stack of books on the nightstand having been rescued from her bookshelf little by little.

she, of course, is not mad at hannibal. she tries so hard to be, but she's mostly just sad. ]

Do you forgive him?

[ very seriously studying the blanket, she doesn't look up a will, that skittish nervousness of so long ago making her fidgety. like maybe he'll snap in an encephalitis fueled rage and scare the crap out of her like he did in minnesota. ]

[Abigail studies the blanket, and Will studies a small rip in the knee of his pants. Nothing worth fretting over, just a snag that ended up with a barely noticeable hole one has to be close to in order to even realize is there. He's just realized it's there. He hasn't just realized the growing collection of Abigail's things in the guest room, but he hasn't got in him to comment on it. She's more than welcome wherever Will stays, like hell is he going to risk proving that false through words he didn't think on before they came tumbling out of him.]

I don't know. [Still quiet, raw, completely honest. How can he know when he doesn't know the outcome of that bloody mess? If he's even alive to be able to forgive? What is the extent of costs he has to forgive? Without knowing how it all truly ended, it's difficult to gauge where to begin with forgiveness.] I guess that's a no, then, if I can't...say for certain either way.

[A sad attempt at a smile follows what might as well amount to thinking out loud, and he lets his hand drop from the small of Ziggy's back just long enough to see if she'll go padding across to Abigail for physical affection instead. She's going to have to; he leans back on that hand and lifts his other to get rid of some thread stuck between the blanket and Abigail's neck.]

Feeling any better?

[ ziggy stays planted in his lap. traitorously. ]

Yeah, I guess. [ she sighs a little, the picture of discontent, but the words that follow has a vaguely teasing quality to them. ] Don't tell Dr Chilton, I'd hate for him to think talk therapy actually works for me.

[ she doesn't really mean it anymore. not since will vanished and chilton became part of her coping. ]

[Chilton. Will looks to the nearest corner of the room, as if he's expecting there to be camera, something wired in that would make it pointless for him to say he won't talk. Nothing's there, of course. They have other methods of security in this house.]

Deal. [Ziggy might be a traitor, but Will's not. Not with Abigail Hobbs, at least. The hand that got rid of that bit of thread reaches out, arm loose over her shoulders as he gives her the epitome of a tired, lazy hug. They're both tired, might as well.] You gonna be fine or you want me stay for a while?

[In case she's going to try going back to sleep, that is. Will's no stranger to restless nights, knows that sometimes staying up and doing a bit of reading is preferable. If Abigail wants to knock out some sleepy reading by herself, fine. If she wants to bundle up like a sad burrito all by herself, fine. If she wants some company, regardless of whether they spend that time talking or not? Also fine.]

I'll be okay. [ her smile is weak but she's trying to be reassuring. and it's not untrue, she'll be fine. nothing a good sleep and maybe a giant order of fries for breakfast tomorrow morning won't fix. ]

Go back to bed before April sends the raccoons out to dye my hair purple.

[Purple hair. He doesn't puff up in fatherly disapproval at the mere suggestion, lets out a laugh that's less air than usual instead. He can't imagine April would ever go there, and he cann't imagine the raccoons could pull it off without Abigail waking up early on in the process, but the image is easy to exaggerate in an imagination like Will's and hilarious instead of horrifying.]

I'm going, I'm going. [Spoken like the dad who knows he's cramping the style of his kid, even as he takes an extra second to give himself a boost from the bed needed to get his stomach cooperative enough to stand. Ziggy gets a pat on the head and Abigail gets a lazy one on the shoulder, an act that might lead to a kiss on the forehead goodnight if it was a more comfortable situation. If they were blood related by birth. If Will didn't still have a few hangups about being associated with Garret or Hannibal.] You know where we are if you need anything. See you later.

[He'd say "see you in the morning" but that implies he expects Abigail to get up in the morning even if she feels like she has the ability to get a full twelve hours of sleep, and no. If she can manage to sleep a solid block of more than eight, she should feel free to. He'd say "see you tomorrow" but...well, it's already here, isn't it? So he goes for that instead, sending her a smile from the doorway and wiggling his fingers in place of a wave before he does as told.

How whipped.]

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