[He knew already. He knew it had to be one of them. Lecter said it himself. Whoever killed her killed the others, and there was no way Will would have killed her, even if he had the vivid memory of impaling her on antlers in the home of her father who never served her properly. What a horrible life for Abigail Hobbs.
And he had only made it worse. Dragged her into his own sick world while trying to pull her out of hers. It might have been better if she'd stayed away. If he and Lecter had refused to speak with her. Had left her to the care of others and...
Too late now.]
I don't trust him, Abigail. I didn't trust him when we met. But he's very good at making you trust him, even if you have suspicions about him. [He made Will feel good, and when he'd spent his whole life feeling the opposite? It was a very easy trap to fall into. I don't care about the lives you save, I care about your life. Cared about ruining it, more accurately. He has the idea in his head that Abigail was used to get at Will, that Lecter used her like some chess piece. Disposable, even if he'd never get it back again. Bringing that up, however, isn't on the table. How would it make her feel, the thought that she was less of a person and more of a thing? She'd had enough of that.] You don't have to tell me how he did it, Abigail. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I thought it was best we knew what we last dealt with since we're the only ones from our home here. That's all.
[Despite the overwhelming sadness and anger that he's feeling, he manages to keep his voice calm and, more importantly, strong. He can support her as long as he remains stable, works better at it. But he can't say the same thing might not happen again, and so:]
It might be better if we weren't very obvious that we knew each other before we came here. It might be better for you, because people would probably ask questions about how we met. Questions you might not want to answer. If you want to tell people what happened and how you know me, that's fine. But I have no intentions to talk about it. I'm not—I don't feel like it... [I'm not ashamed of you, but who is he to say that?] ...a young woman going off to college who knows someone with my job, it might make people think the wrong thing.
[It's all for her. She won't have to confess about how she knows him. She won't have to deal with seeing his face when he's brought up in conversation. She won't have to talk about her father. About dying and being brought back to life only to die again.
He couldn't stop her from talking to Freddie Lounds, and he can't stop her from talking to anyone here. He hopes that she takes this chance to leave that behind and not discuss the Minnesota Shrike with anyone. Hopes.]
no subject
And he had only made it worse. Dragged her into his own sick world while trying to pull her out of hers. It might have been better if she'd stayed away. If he and Lecter had refused to speak with her. Had left her to the care of others and...
Too late now.]
I don't trust him, Abigail. I didn't trust him when we met. But he's very good at making you trust him, even if you have suspicions about him. [He made Will feel good, and when he'd spent his whole life feeling the opposite? It was a very easy trap to fall into. I don't care about the lives you save, I care about your life. Cared about ruining it, more accurately. He has the idea in his head that Abigail was used to get at Will, that Lecter used her like some chess piece. Disposable, even if he'd never get it back again. Bringing that up, however, isn't on the table. How would it make her feel, the thought that she was less of a person and more of a thing? She'd had enough of that.] You don't have to tell me how he did it, Abigail. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I thought it was best we knew what we last dealt with since we're the only ones from our home here. That's all.
[Despite the overwhelming sadness and anger that he's feeling, he manages to keep his voice calm and, more importantly, strong. He can support her as long as he remains stable, works better at it. But he can't say the same thing might not happen again, and so:]
It might be better if we weren't very obvious that we knew each other before we came here. It might be better for you, because people would probably ask questions about how we met. Questions you might not want to answer. If you want to tell people what happened and how you know me, that's fine. But I have no intentions to talk about it. I'm not—I don't feel like it... [I'm not ashamed of you, but who is he to say that?] ...a young woman going off to college who knows someone with my job, it might make people think the wrong thing.
[It's all for her. She won't have to confess about how she knows him. She won't have to deal with seeing his face when he's brought up in conversation. She won't have to talk about her father. About dying and being brought back to life only to die again.
He couldn't stop her from talking to Freddie Lounds, and he can't stop her from talking to anyone here. He hopes that she takes this chance to leave that behind and not discuss the Minnesota Shrike with anyone. Hopes.]