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🍴 ( 001 ) Video
[The video comes on to a man sitting on a beautifully upholstered couch, in an oddly but unarguably well decorated room. He doesn't smile; there's a faint frown between his brow. He sits very strait, and holds the communicator angled in his lap. His appearance is immaculate, tie straight, suit in order, not one dark hair out of place. And he gives the feeling that this is how he always dresses, that casual is not a word in his vocabulary.]
It seems a shame I've arrived in time to miss a vacation. I've never been to Los Angeles. I imagine it must be very inviting, especially after so much time spent here.
[Pleasantries out of the way, his frown deepens, pulls at the corner of his mouth as his brow furrows.]
My name is Garret Hobbs. I've not been here long, and I would appreciate whatever information you may be willing to impart.
[He wouldn't, not really; he's read a great deal, and he doubts he'll hear anything new. But he'll hear from the people who spoke to Abigail. He'll see who pays attention. And he'll hear from her.]
It seems a shame I've arrived in time to miss a vacation. I've never been to Los Angeles. I imagine it must be very inviting, especially after so much time spent here.
[Pleasantries out of the way, his frown deepens, pulls at the corner of his mouth as his brow furrows.]
My name is Garret Hobbs. I've not been here long, and I would appreciate whatever information you may be willing to impart.
[He wouldn't, not really; he's read a great deal, and he doubts he'll hear anything new. But he'll hear from the people who spoke to Abigail. He'll see who pays attention. And he'll hear from her.]
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[She remembers what he did. But at the same time, she realizes she has some power over him. She knows all of what she's told other people about 'Garret Hobbs'; he doesn't. She's made friends - not that he won't, but he'll make different kinds.]
[And she knows what he's done.]
[When she turns on the feed, she's smiling, wide, relieved.]
Hi, Daddy.
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When she shows, he matches her expression, lets the tension leave his face, lets a small but intense smile flash across his face. He is the picture of the relieved parent, the man who has heard exactly what he wanted to hear.]
Abigail. You are here. Where are you?
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[Because of course he'd be a warden. Of course that's what he's best suited for. Of course he's here to help.]
[Of course.]
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Level four, room eight. Please, come.
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[And she cuts the feed, terrified, but - of course she's going to go. There's no question in his mind or hers. Ben said you can come back if you die. If he kills her again, he'll give himself away. He's not that stupid.]
[Ten minutes later, she knocks, smiling, scarf tied with precision around her neck.]
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I was worried about you.
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[She hugs him back. What else is there to do?]
I know you were. I'm okay. Aside from, you know. Being dead.
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He strokes her hair quietly for a moment, lets her take that solace that no doubt makes her stomach turn. When he pulls away, it's to usher her inside and close the door behind him.]
Yes. [He says it with some measure of regret; he knows he could be utterly unemotional with her, but he has no desire yet to see what lays down that road.] Aside from being dead. You went into port?
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[And it's on saying that, on entering the room, and particularly on the snap shut of the latch, that she turns on her heel to face him. The look she fixes him with is of a girl completely unrelated to the one who stood in the hall. It's not challenging, but it is cunning.]
[His presence is a relief, in that way. She has nothing to hide from him; he's already taken everything.]
Did anyone tell you yet? What happens to dead people here?
[Or does she get that privilege? Does she get to tell him how difficult his proclivities are going to get starting now?]
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You would be the first. [He knows, already, and the way he says it may very well give him away, if she's paying close enough attention. It is the truth: no one has told him, but he has certainly done his reading.
Still, he's interested in what she has to say.]
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[There's still some power in being the first to say it aloud.]
They come back.
[As she says this, she watches him, knowing that he won't give anything away, but needing to watch anyway. Trying to determine whether this, here and now, is fox and rabbit or fox and wolf.]
[She is not the fox. But maybe death hardened her. She wants to find out.]
[After the space of a breath, she allows a tendril of casuality to curl around her again and sinks down into his patient's chair with a sigh.]
You need to be careful.
[The soft crease of concern between her brows, at the corners of her eyes, warring with the slight smile on her lips. Here, now, she's confident being contradictory.]
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And some people do not deserve mercy.
That is a tantalizing thought.
Leaning against his desk, hands resting on either side, he watches her flip the switch. She needs finesse, more practice, and she might even get it, here. It will be so interesting, to watch her learn. Maybe one day she'll even fool him.
Though he doubts it.]
So we all do. [He inclines his head, an appreciation for her concern.]
You've spoken about me.
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[There it is. Pure and simple. Animal drives.]
[That, and she wants to win. So she'll have to be careful.]
You've read what I've said.
[Publicly, anyway.]
I spoke about you, and I spoke about you, [Hobbs and Hannibal, respectively] and what I said about my father was . . . well.
Pretty good, considering. And you haven't been attacked yet.
[By Ben or David or Arkin, all of whom she considers to be squarely on her side. David less so, and very subtly, which is why she likes him best.]
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[Strangely enough, Hannibal does not issue threats; he has never had need of it. Why bother instilling fear of what might happen when you can incite it with action?
He studies her face in silence for a long moment, then moves to take the chair opposite her, leaning forward.]
Thank you for that kindness, then. [He wonders what she said about him, Hannibal, not her father; he wonders if she's discovered there was another Hannibal Lecter here. He'll find out eventually; there's no need to rush.]
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[She actually smiles at this.]
I never mentioned your name. So you have time. Until they get your file, you have time.
[She hasn't found out, because she hasn't mentioned his name. His name is something she will hold to herself for as long as she can, because the nature of her death is not private but the road to it is.]
Don't thank me for kindness that doesn't exist.
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Hannibal is no slouch at any task he sets himself to, and that includes dubious psychiatric practices.]
I'm affording you the courtesy you deserve, Abigail.
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[She doesn't argue, though, not out loud.]
First impressions? Individual people, and overall.
[His will be valuable. She wants them desperately. She wants to know what he thinks of Ben and David, specifically, but - won't say it.]
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There are many people here who need more help than they seem to realize. Some of them are quite fascinating.
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Some of them.
[On the way down she was watching the conversations as they occurred, and she pulls one up - Chris's - hands her communicator over to Hannibal just enough that he can see what she's found, but not take the device for himself. She raises her eyebrows, then pulls away.]
[She wonders what Hannibal will do with him.]
You've talked to almost everyone I talked to, my first day.
[Which makes her indescribably happy. It worked. They remembered her. They remembered what she said about her father. And Arkin, at least, seemed a little concerned at the presence of Garret Jacob Hobbs.]
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When he sees Chris on the communicator, the corners of his mouth twitch in what might be a smile, if it reached his eyes. It doesn't. He feels no immediate urge to dispose of the young man - he rarely does - but should the opportunity present itself - should the necessity arise - Chris D'Amico will be a contender for the menu.
He says nothing on the matter, just lets his eyes settle on hers again.]
You have made attentive friends. Does their concern please you? [He knows it does.]
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[The question makes her roll her eyes, an excruatingly teenaged and wholly genuine response. She's not answering that. He knows it does. Instead she puts her communicator back in her pocket, her head on one side.]
Does it please you?
[To know that in her short time here she's made - okay, call them friends - who are wary enough of Garret Hobbs to tiptoe around the violence they know hides under his skin.]
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Very much. You are a very smart girl, Abigail. [And smart girls know how to manipulate, know how to make allies more than friends.
In any case, she's given him a place to start. He'll begin with the people who know her, who have come to be concerned about her, and he will circle out from there. Knowing who and what he deals with here is a necessity.]
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[A little flatly; not smart enough. Though she's doing the best she can, being strong, pushing through, she can't forget. The feeling of an almost painless slice of the pale skin at her throat, the oncoming rush of cold, the feel of her blood pooling in her collarbone, and the softness of his hands in her hair. His voice in her ear. Shh, shh.]
[Did he say anything? Did he sing her a song, or did she imagine that, as she lay dying?]
[Not smart enough.]
What happened to Will?
[This curiously. She finds she's less invested than she expected to be. Death gives her perspective - whatever happened to him, it's not as bad as what happened to her. But she was a part of whatever Hannibal chose to do to Will, and so she wants to know.]
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And here she is, breathing, walking, talking. How lucky they are.
He doesn't answer at first, just observes her in silence. Her curiosity - he wonders if there is worry there, too, but no. Nothing can hurt her so much as what's already been done to her. Inhaling slowly, Hannibal breathes in her scent, her sweat, and exhales again.]
He was arrested. [He doesn't feign sorrow, doesn't have to - but he doesn't let himself smile, either. Not yet.]
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[There's a small part of her that's offended. She was killed so Hannibal could get Will arrested. That's so - microcosmic. It's baffling. Too small-scale, she thinks, now that she's gotten a glimpse of who Hannibal really is. It doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem enough.]
[So it must not be.]
[She tilts her head, hair falling half-over her face as she considers him. He's pleased. He must be. She nods.]
But you won't get to take the next step. Because you're here.
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