#vigilax

UNOFFICIAL TYPING BY: Abdulluh

Extroverted Thinking (Te): Vilgax wants to rule the entire universe. He has great leadership skills as he is able to lead his army. He is also the ruler of Vilgaxia.

Introverted Intuition (Ni): Vilgax has a vision for the future. He has an ambition that he will lead his army (in which all soldiers have an omnitrix) to take over the universe.

Extroverted Sensing (Se): Vilgax is able to have his “feet on the ground” while fighting. He is also able to make split second decisions when things do not go according to his plan.

All ships of the GDI First Fleet, this is Fleet Admiral Red!

As of now, 00 06 hours, Oct 17th, 2433, I am raising the official Alert Level from Vigilax to Adorior. I want every last ship in every Fleet to be battle-ready in 15 minutes!

Second to Fifteenth Fleets are to be on full alert! Be ready to reinforce the First Fleet!

[[ Closed to vigilax || Post-Mizumono/Post-Season 2 || After both Will and Abigail survive Hannibal's attempt on their lives, Abigail goes to visit Will in hospital... ]]

Trauma, she was used to. But recovery?

Recovery was harder than one might have expected.

She had done it before, of course--and in some ways, that made it all the more difficult: that strange, dislocated feeling of deja vu that accompanied every surgery, every drip in her arm, every shot of painkillers and every drug-hazed nightmare.

And there were plenty of nightmares.

The worst of them involved the lie, the beautiful fantasy Hannibal had sold her, had convinced her would be real. In that nightmare, there were no monsters. There was no blood. No cold blade at her throat, no threats, no restraints...

In the nightmare, they were together--the three of them, she, Hannibal, and Will. They were together, somewhere safe. Somewhere warmer, away from the harsh Baltimore winter, the snow that never seemed to melt to a thaw.

In the nightmare, they were family. And even through the cloud of opiates, waking up to the reality, to the mask over her mouth to help her breathe right, waking to the stiff hospital blankets and the thick padding of gauze around her mangled neck--well...

Abigail felt the inertia almost physically as she was thrust with a sickening force into the cruel reality of what had happened to her.

But she had healed. Healing was what bodies did. Perhaps it was what minds did, too--she wasn't sure, anymore. But she certainly knew better than anyone what the doctors wanted to hear, the right words to say to convince them she didn't need prolonged intensive psychiatric care.

So once the worst of the wounds had healed, once she was down to only five or so milligrams a day of low-grade pain pills, and once she could sleep through the night without screaming, she was assigned to a residential psychiatric ward for observation. It was alright--reminiscent of Port Haven, but smaller, a little more clinical. There was still that hospital smell. Fuck, she was pretty sure the scent of antiseptic was permanently embedded in her skin and hair, by now.

That, and the scent of blood.

They hadn't wanted to tell her much--probably laboring under the misapprehension that her fragile mind couldn't take any more stress (when in actual fact, Abigail felt in such a state of numbness that the psychological effect was a near superhuman ability to not give a shit). She knew Crawford hadn't made it. That Alana was still in critical condition.

But Will.

Will was alright.

It had taken some time, after they moved her to psych--some wheedling, some pleading, one or two emotional breakdowns (she wasn't sure whether her tears were real or not...just for show? A means to an end? Or a genuine display? She'd lost the ability to differentiate). The answer always came back the same: he's still recovering, Abigail. We'll let you visit when he's stable.

Time had stretched. Become loose and cracked, like an old rubber band. Was it a few weeks? Or longer? Was it months...?

She didn't remember much, of that night in the house. Just Will's face. One solitary image, that first shock and then the crumpling of his face into pain and the widening of his eyes as he realized. As he finally knew what it was that Hannibal would take from him.

And yet here she was, finally. At the door to his room, dressed in some of her old clothes, whatever the FBI had managed to salvage from Hannibal's house. The red sweater. The one Hannibal had liked.

Always so hard, to let the past go.

Abigail knocked on the door frame before taking a hesitant step inside, arms folded protectively across her chest, not sure what she ought to be prepared for, but utterly unprepared regardless.

{✞} "You're that man that was supposed to be that killer from Maryland. My mother listened to your trial on her radio." Oh, she shouldn't have said that. For one thing, that was very rude (he probably didn't have to be reminded of the accusations), and for another, the whole 'radio' comment would lead to questions. 

                                    Why a radio?                                           Do you have a television?                                                 Why are you even talking to me?

   It was just another night. Will had invited Apple over for dinner, wanting to spend time with her after the little adventure they had nights ago. The killing was nothing to be spoken of. They both hid the body and he showed her how to do it properly. So far, no one had found the man. The suit was in someone else’s garbage, most likely to be overlooked, and the two criminals would be able to look the other way and go on with their lives. If she had not come to Will for help, it would have been an entirely different story. Without his help, she would most likely be locked up in a jail cell for a good portion of her life, but that was not something Will wanted to think about after dinner.

   They both moved to the living room, watching TV as they always did, sitting side by side. His eyes would wander to the walls, the coffee table, then to her own. She would not notice at first, still staring at the TV, but she had noticed eventually. William would give her a small smile, shaking his head before saying, “Nothing,” and returning his eyes to the TV. Everything would stay the same, but this time things seemed to be different. His eyes had fell upon hers, but they did not look away. There was something in her eyes that he had never seen before. A part of him felt like she was angry, and this was what he saw in her eyes, but that was not the case.

   Her hand slowly moved from her lap and was placed on his knee. Will’s eyes moved away from her own and down to the small hand, wondering just what she was up to. He smiled nervously and looked at her, creasing his eyebrows as he did when he was nervous. 

      ” What— uh— what are you doing? “

   Then came the sudden approach. Her hand was moving up his leg; from his knee and to his thigh before stopping. He gulped, nervously, then looked at her hand. It was now apparent to him of what she was trying to do. Being seduced by the girl was… different. It felt wrong, at first, but the longer her hand was pressed against his thigh he understood that this would cure their ever-loving boredom, and the loneliness that came along with it.

She doesn’t say no when he invites her to dinner because she has no reason to decline. Apple only does so much as leave a note for Alana since the older woman is already out. Something to say that she’s taken a cab and chances are she’ll be home later. And it’s not as if it’s out of the ordinary, her visits to Will’s small home.

Still, it’s as if there’s something heavy lingering over their heads. At least, for Apple that much is certain. And it has her taking just a little longer to actually stomach her dinner. The quiet is what gets to her the most. Leaves her with enough time to be in her own head. Part of it is unsettling, but what’s done is done and she’s grateful to be done with it. It’s only a matter of time before it’s behind her for good. There’s a lot that she owes to Will for this. For helping her the way he did and for being as willing as he was to keep her secret.

By the time they finish, Apple helps with the dishes. Washes them as Will dries. And it happens just a few times. His hand touching hers when she passes along a glass or a plate. Each time she smiles. And each time she goes over just what she knows she wants to do. She’s thought about it for a while. Figures that the need came to fruition later that night. It was always there, she was sure, and tonight was when she would do something about it.

Between them, there isn’t a whole lot of talking. This, she’s fine with. And takes her place beside him on the couch with ease. It’s normal, almost routine. Going on watching just about anything on his television. By all means, she’s content. Apple can be happy with just this for the rest of the night—— though to admit that, she’d be lying. She makes up her mind when she happens to catch him looking at her from the corner of her eye. This time, she looks back. She looks back and she smiles, thinking nothing of it. But it’s the second time when something is significantly different.

Apple isn’t angry, she’s just determined. It could be confused with anger just by the way her brow furrows, but she’s the first to lower her gaze. It could be taken as shying away, but it’s not so shy once she places her hand on Will’s knee. She could keep it there, but she doesn’t. And Will’s question only drives her further. Slowly sliding her hand up along his thigh, until she gently squeezes and catches herself as she licks her lips. Were he to push her away, she would stop. No questions asked. But least of all, after the other night, she just needed to try. So she’s still sure with her movements as she brings her hand over the juncture of his legs, and gently rubs with her palm.