Abigail felt sick. Aside from the disorientation of waking up, and after quite heavy sedation, she had discovered her mind was a blank canvas – a clean slate. She remembered absolutely nothing.
Despite the pitying looks the nurses gave her, Abigail could sense that some of them deemed this a small mercy. FBI agents stood guard in the halls, but weren’t allowed to come in. Their presence unnerved her all the more.
Who was she? Why was she being guarded? Or, more disconcerting still, could it be that they were protecting others from her?
Shivering at the thought, Abigail jerked slightly when the door opened to her right. Her hand fluttered toward her throat, and after drawing in a slow, cleansing breath, she blinked at the intruder in confusion. He was tired-looking and scruffy – resigned, almost – and she couldn’t help but wonder what had made him that way.
“Who are you?” she demanded. By a rule of thumb, the hospital personnel made sure to introduce themselves, so she didn’t appreciate him having the upper hand. Clearly, he knew who she was. She had seen that her name was “Abigail Hobbs” on her chart, but that didn’t mean a thing to her addled mind.
Those three simple words made him let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, the beginning movements of a smile before he shook his head and looked down to the foot of her bed. He doesn’t want to stare, she is probably on edge with his less than formal introduction, his social skills are still spectacularly absent.
“Will... Will Graham.” Teeth run over his bottom lip as he considers his next move, he should be open, perhaps. He’s already started off on the wrong foot, maybe if he’s honest she appreciate it more. He doesn’t know what she has been told yet, if she knows her family is dead, that no one is coming to claim her. Well, not that he is aware of.
“I was part of the investigation. I only just found out that you had woken up... I wanted to.” It dies on his tongue, he knows he has no right to ask if she is ok, after all that happened how could she be even if she remembered him. He doesn’t need an empathy disorder to know she is probably feeling out of sorts, after what has happened she has a right to ask questions, to know what happened. Yet he still feels that paternal desire to protect her.
“I’m guessing you have questions, I can help fill in some of the gaps, if you want?” He hesitates in the doorway, waiting for an invitation now instead of barging in like he has just done. He wants to give Abigail a choice to either let him in or tell him to go away, even if the latter hurts, he understands why.
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