Arching a brow, Abigail leaned on her palms against the picnic table, watching Will with a hint of wry amusement. âI didnât realize Iâd be getting âperformance artâ out of the deal,â she said, indicating the sandwiches. âDo you need any help? I feel weird just watchingâŚâ
Sheâd âjust watchedâ with Hannibal, but he was also a man who seemed to consider his kitchen sacred, and she doubted that he wouldâve wished for her assistance. Growing up, sheâd been chastised for being idle, so it was a trait that had carried on (and to the point of discomfort).
When Will gave (or rather, attempted) a stern look at Winston, Abigail breathed a faux gasp and stooped over to pet the begging dog. âDonât worry. Iâll give you some of mine,â she assured him. Will handed her a bag of treats, and Winstonâs eyes immediately began to dance with recognition. He tried to leap up, but Abigail immediately stepped back.
âAh-ah!â she chided. Now holding a treat over his head, she waited until Winston patiently sat back down and wagged his tail. âGood boy,â she praised, beaming while handing over the morsel. Winston eagerly snatched the treat and trotted off to rest under the bench, still chewing noisily as Abigail closed up the bag.
âMarissa used to have a dog,â she said. âItâs not quite the same as having your own, but she let me teach Daisy some tricks on occasion. I wonder if sheâs with Marissaâs mom or dad nowâŚâ
Not wanting to dwell on her dead best friend, Abigail swallowed the lump in her throat, and gratefully moved on to Willâs next offered distraction. With a plate now set in front of her, her stomach gave a responding rumble and she flushed, not having realized how hungry she was. âIt looks great,â she assured him. âBesides, I canât remember the last time I had a good mealâŚâ Technically, she could, but Will didnât need to know about the time sheâd been high as a kite.
Pulling her plate in towards herself, she kept her eyes on the food and nodded. âHe has, yesâŚat least once a week.â Which is more than can be said for you.
Bitterness wasnât really her arsenal of choice, but since Will had more or less avoided her until now, she couldnât help but be leery with suspicion. After all, he worked with the Bureau⌠Had Jack asked Will to pump her for information? To pretend he cared until she confessed?
With her mouth forming into a thin, grim little line, Abigail shrugged and stirred her spoon around in the soup. âHannibal is strange, and he likes to believe heâs helping, butâŚâ No. She couldnât quite bring herself to say it. After all, if she confessed to him assisting her with Boyle, thatâd mean giving herself up too. And given Willâs profession, she wasnât so sure she could count on him to keep her safe.
Will loved watching her interact with Winston, but knew the brightness of this moment wouldnât last long. They were doomed to a gloomy life, and a part of him wondered if hers would ever be the same. How could she move forward? Sheâd aided her father in his horrid crimes. She had no other choice, certainly, but it would still leave mark. Not only that, but sheâd been faced with her own death more than once, and she had to cope with the death of her mother & best friend. He didnât want to pry too deeply into her mind, but he knew this wasnât easy for her.
So, Hannibal was visiting quite frequently. Socializing came more easily to the psychiatrist, though Will suspected he may also be prodding Abigail for bits of information to give him insight into her mind. It was in the manâs nature, he couldnât help it.
âHe has a bit more free time, I suppose. He doesnât have to be at every single one of these crime scenes, though he does show up more often than expected.â He sighed and paused, eating a small bite of his sandwhich. He wasnât particularly hungry and heâd mostly brought the food for her.
âI can agree that heâs strange,â Will said, taking a sip of his drink. âAnd he certainly likes to believe heâs helping. These days I find my therapy sessions with him to be long and drawn out dramas, with the both of us competing to see who can be the most poetic. Heâs a big fan of gilded speech.â
He went silent, trying to think of what to say next. A feeling of remorse washed over him as he considered the fact that he didnât visit Abigail as much as he should. There was only so much energy to spare in his daily life, and lately sleep had been getting more and more difficult. He was lucky if he could get six hours a night.
âLook, Iâm sorry I havenât come to visit much. Jack has just--â he paused, looking over at Winston for a moment. âWell, heâs had me on a very tight leash.â
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