#shcsallrightnow

                         Her father’s home had always been a refuge, a safe haven blocked off from the rest of the outside world - no matter where it was; and they had many. Abigail Hobbs was a subject that was very rarely brought up, However, when she was, her father always spoke so kindly of the girl. It had been the main ignition for his desire to become a father himself, and when Ariel came along, it was as if the universe had shifted for the cannibal, in every way possible. That afternoon, she enjoyed the peacefulness of having their Virginia home all to herself, a rarity. 

                          Her mother was off having a secret meeting with her godmother, Ardelia Mapp. Her father was running errands, which meant one of two things - he was shopping for her and her mother, or he was tending to someone’s discourtesy; or perhaps even both. Either way, she would have the whole property to herself for at least the next hour. Chores finished, she decided to enjoy some time out on the patio, a book in her hands. The sun cascaded across her face, lighting up her freckled face and the red specks in her eyes. An unfamiliar person’s scent alerting her hyperosmia tore her focus away from the literature, her eyes scanning the area discretely. 

                                          Who could it possibly be? 

                             “Hello?” She called out, slowly shutting the book. 

      Her hand twitched as she set it aside, starting to reach for her version of the Harpy she kept at her hip. 

It wasn't but a few months that it took for Abigail to heal enough to be moved to a distinct clinic as she began the second half of her recovery, and Will had stood alongside her the whole time, regardless of Jack and Hannibal's undermining. He checked himself in quickly enough as his feet carried him effortlessly towards the younger girls' room. He had taken the time in between work to construct a decent gift physically and emotionally to her liking and his. Still, as he entered the pale room, his thought process reconstructed as distress and worry overwhelmed his mind.

  "Hey," he greeted just barely above a whisper as he pulled the chair provided closer to her bed.

  "Do you feel like getting some fresh air?" He queried vaguely with a set smile directed at her. 

"Oh," he reached into his small bag to dig around shortly as he searched for the gift he had taken the time to prepare for her.

"I made you something," he adds, now carefully pulling a small plastic container resembling a tackle box.

He hands it over gently as not to force her to accept the gift right away, nevertheless feeling confident in his sentimental notion.

( * @shcsallrightnow​︱prompt accepting ! ) :   ❝ it’s like everything that made the world anything more than what it is is just –– stories. like snake oil. but worse, because snakes are real. ❞

                                a twisted tale of a father’s “love” and a girl who blames herself. abigial is young, and alone, and if there is anything lounds can relate to it is isolation. self imposed or otherwise. she’s still just a girl in a world set to give advantages to those who are harsh. freddie has seen the bloodstains that stick to the feet of men who would stomp kindness to cruelty if it meant getting ahead, her own heels leave prints on linoleum flooring, but that does not mean she doesn’t hold empathy when she looks at the fragile little bird that was shot from the nest. if there is pity there, she doesn’t show it, keeps it pressed behind porcelain mask she has trained herself to wear. no one wants to be pitied. it is a foreign and grease slick feeling, there is no room for it on journalist’s features.

“Abigail is awake, Will. Already talking to the doctors about what had happened, not that’s there much for her to tell as she doesn’t remember.”  The words ring in his ears as he stares at Freddie Lounds, the smirk she wears on her face as she realizes she is the first to tell Will what she considers good news. 

His fingers curl into a fist, nails biting into his palm as he exhales rather loudly while trying to keep calm. Of all the people to tell him that Abigail is awake, that she is conscious and talking, it had to be Freddie Lounds. There was a certain irony in it, being the last to know despite putting his name down as a contact with the hospital.

Perhaps the FBI had crossed his name off the list of contacts. Probably for the fact he was involved in the case, a conflict of interest, or because he emptied an entire clip into Garret Jacob Hobbs chest and continued to pull the trigger even when there was nothing left to fire.

Instead of replying, he turns on his heel. He doesn’t need to look at Freddie to see her smirk become wider. She already knows where he is heading. Truly, he wants to go to Jack, to ask why he wasn’t informed. But it’s likely Alana had something to do with it, she would of had some sort of involvement to not let him get too close. Had Hannibal even known this information and kept it from him. 

These thoughts crash against his skull like the rising tide of an ocean, filling him with anger and resentment. He’s on auto pilot as he drives to the hospital, barely focusing on the road as his mind wonders instead to what Abigail’s reaction will be when she see’s him. Could he be the piece that jolt her back to her own memories. Could she only see him as the man that killed her father. After all, he wasn’t really the man that had saved her life. If he had of been alone, she would have bleed out on the kitchen floor next to the man that had loved her with such a twisted passion. 

As he signs himself in the nurse asks him to wait for the doctor, he agrees, but his feet are already taking him to Abigail’s room. His mind actually blank and numb as he see’s the number on the open door. He approaches, swallowing as he steps into the doorway and knocks. 

   ❛  The law couldn’t do anything to help that little girl.  But I could.  ❜