Garnet's Drabbles - Updated 09/27/2015 - (Various Fandoms)

[Feta Sneeze]

Unffff....good world of warcraft fics are so hard to find. Then you threw Thrall into it.

“And I drink the blood of my enemies with pinky extended.” - best quote. I love Thrall and Jaina.

Fantastic job!!

[phoenix]

*exhales*

Wow, that was amazing. I would have said that I was only into Will, but I think you've made me a convert. The sense of voyeurism when Abigail is watching him, and her pride in her sneaking abilities, and his uncovered sneezes and his willingness to admit that he's ill... it's all so wonderful. As is the description of the house. I think I'll just go hang out in that attic for a while...

(Also, I've been looking back in the thread, and all of your Will stuff is fantastic as well. He's just perfect for this, isn't he?)

[evermissing]

Juuust for the record, I probably wouldn't object too strenuously if this were continued. Y'know. Probably.

This is awesome as usual. I mean, there's just some straight-up great prose in here, especially the descriptions of the house and of Hannibal painting. "A sensory experience for more than the eyes"--that's exactly how he would think.

On a related note, I love how well Abigail knows Hannibal already (I mean, relatively speaking--nobody really knows him)--how carefully she observes him, how she can read his body language. You really tap into that weird bond between them, and how Abigail is very very sharp and not quiiite as innocent as she may first appear. The idea of her playfully stalking a predator--really the apex predator, at least in the world we see (he kills other serial killers!)--is so creepy and ominous and right. And how Hannibal approves of her games, as though he sees them as practice for something... auuuugh. (Because of the explicit predator metaphor, it actually kind of made me think of the way that the young of social carnivorous animals like wolves or lions learn very early on how to stalk and/or hunt, often with the adults' active participation in the process.)

ANYway. Other stuff I particularly liked: Abigail's absolute glee--both kind of childish and kind of... creepy--at seeing Hannibal's vulnerability. ("Either way, Abigail was terribly amused, and smart enough not to show it." YESSS.) Just how perfect a viewpoint character she is for this scene, because she registers so many little details--stuff like "It only seemed to make them react with a twinge, and she waited with patient anticipation as it gestated" and "The right continued to tic gently from time to time, bothered. She wondered if he noticed" hnnnnngh. Hannibal's "I'm fighting something"! And his total dismay at Abigail's seeing him sneeze openly. "Had Will carried her in? Hannibal?"--ahhhhh now I want to know if this means that Will was actually there at lunch, and if so does this mean he knows that Hannibal's letting Abigail drink as much as she wants and is just... turning a blind eye?

So yeah. I am a fan of this.

[Garnet]

@Z-4ce - Aw yay, glad to see someone else that plays WoW! I'm not on as much anymore, but I still have a weakspot for most of the characters. Especially Thrall and Jaina, ugh. I will ship them until I die, I don't care what canon dictates <3

@phoenix - Thank you so much! I am thrilled you enjoyed, especially because it was outside your normal preference. I watched Silence of the Lambs when it first came out and then devoured all the books in high school, getting around to Red Dragon and its film adaptations last. Because I'm backwards, and admittedly because the film was made last (not counting Manhunter, or Hannibal Rising because it was just so different from the rest of the trilogy, I consider it more of an outlier).

So I think Hannibal is still deeply ingrained as my favorite character because he had more presence in my formative fandom years, although the TV series Will very quickly burrowed his awful way into my heart and now I have so many feelings about him I don't know what to do with them all. Muh <3

I'm super glad when people are willing to appreciate both, or even write both :q Conversions ahoy!

@evermissing - Awww your comments make my day. I agree, I love Abigail's relationship both with Will and with Hannibal, and especially how completely different they are. It's ironic and yet... kind of not that she's taken such a shine to Hannibal, despite that he technically fucked her life over more than Will did. Just layers and layers of intricacy to the whole, messy entanglement.

That said, I have a definite weakness for having an almost pupil-like bond with Abigail. It's so great and terrible, almost like Will is his long term project that he has to unmake and break first, but Abigail is kind of already in pieces and he gets to slowly train her and build the foundations of a trusting relationship from scratch. And ugh man I could go on for hours about how interesting it is seeing the completely different approach to both, like the fact that it takes him seven... eight episodes to even put a hand on Will's shoulder, meanwhile he's sleeping next to Abigail's bed and holding her hand from their first meeting, because they're both being groomed in totally different ways based on their needs and personalities.

I do see Abigail as part of the predator metaphor too, yeah, she just hasn't quite acknowledged it or come into her own yet. This is, of course, my headcanon as the series went a slightly more ominous and sad note with it (quelle surprise) but I'm stickin' to it.

And yes, Will was totally there at lunch and enabling Hannibal's bad behavior >:3 Because they're freaking terrible parents. I think I may indeed write a little bit more on this before I put it to bed.

[Firenight111010]

Every single one of these is amazing.

[evermissing]

Aww, I'm glad my comments aren't just obnoxious. I always feel like I'm TALKING TOO MUCH, ugh.

I love Abigail's relationship both with Will and with Hannibal, and especially how completely different they are. It's ironic and yet... kind of not that she's taken such a shine to Hannibal, despite that he technically fucked her life over more than Will did. Just layers and layers of intricacy to the whole, messy entanglement.

Yes, this, me too! And it's so sad how Abigail's set up to distrust Will more (see: obviously, he killed her father; Freddie Lounds telling her he's insane right before Abigail sees him for the first time in the hospital; the way he's projecting himself onto her father and she kind of knows it; I think there was another good example I had but now I'm forgetting it....) And then their last interaction is her basically confirming for Will that he's unstable and frightening and just like her father. ohhhh god that scene. Almost as heartbreaking as her last interaction with Hannibal. WHY, SHOW. WHY.

And yeah, I agree, the parallels and divergences between Abigail and Will as Hannibal's "projects" of the season are totally fascinating. Especially when taken together with other Hannibal projects / FBI agents assigned to his case over the course of the extended canon (i.e., Miriam Lass, Clarice Starling). (I also find it interesting that Will is the only one of this particular set of Hannibal's victims/targets who's not a young woman.)

like the fact that it takes him seven... eight episodes to even put a hand on Will's shoulder, meanwhile he's sleeping next to Abigail's bed and holding her hand from their first meeting, because they're both being groomed in totally different ways based on their needs and personalities.

I hadn't even really thought about this, but you're right. I also think some of it is that--while both Will and Abigail obviously have very ambiguous relationships with Hannibal--at least nominally, Will is his patient and Abigail isn't. So Hannibal, I think, behaves in a more traditionally... shrink-like way with Will, if only to keep up appearances. And so touching Will is a really, really loaded gesture, and Hannibal has to choose the exact right moment to do it.

And yes, Will was totally there at lunch and enabling Hannibal's bad behavior >:3 Because they're freaking terrible parents. I think I may indeed write a little bit more on this before I put it to bed.

adsfdlkfdkljgjkf

[Garnet]

Aaaand one more little bit to that last one, not proofread so ignore any glaring errors :| Enjoy!

It was a little less entertaining to know that he was aware of it, but Abigail stayed committed to her slow, measured approach while Hannibal put himself back together. She reached his side as he tucked the handkerchief away again, and caught his gaze as she hovered her hand in mid air. Fingers together, palm out, angled at the wrist in a silent request for permission. His eyes fluttered closed in an unspoken agreement, and she settled her palm to his brow with a little prickle of pleasure in her gut. It felt like slowly leaving out food for a feral dog, or even a wolf, until it finally consented to take it from your hand for the first time, and be scratched behind the ears like a tame animal. Only, sometimes she wasn't sure who was the wolf and who was the trainer.

His skin was warm to the touch, a little moreso than she thought normal, but not yet simmering with fever. Abigail let her hand rest in place for a careful two beats, a frown puckering her mouth, before sliding her fingers with daring indulgence back through his hair. Hannibal slit his eyes open just slightly, and watched her with twin glimmers of maroon from beneath hooded lids, but he offered no protest. Encouraged, she pushed the sweeping fringe of his bangs away, smoothing it back from his forehead the way he sometimes wore it for more formal occasions, and studied the naked and serene cast of his features.

Abigail had met some people with generic faces, before, but Hannibal's was the first she would truly describe as amorphous. For such a distinctively framed visage, she was consistently thrown by how easily he could look like two different people in the right lighting, or with the slightest angle change of his jaw. Natural, organic lighting was the kindest, a candle's flame gathered deep-set eyes into wells of dramatic shadow, and sunlight illuminated the arch of cheekbones sharp enough to cut herself on. She wouldn't deny a slight, confused waver of arousal from time to time, when he glanced at her warmly over the rim of a wineglass or from beneath a skewed forelock, with arms bare and buried in a sink full of suds. By contrast, an overcast day or the fluorescent lights of the hospital washed out his skin to a sallow tone, showing his age and making him appear almost alien. Very strange.

Her gaze tracked down the slight, elegant upturn of his nose, and the thin bow of his mouth. She let his hair fall back against his brow as she put her fingertips just barely to his jaw, and applied a guiding pressure. Hannibal turned his head obligingly left, and then right when she nudged the other side.

She wished she could get Will Graham to sit still like this, so she could carefully dissect the boyish, almost heartbreakingly handsome features that he thought so well hidden beneath a scruffy beard and thick-rimmed glasses. But she was pretty sure he would consider this weird, or at the very least uncomfortable, and shake himself apart with nervous fidgeting before she drew any good conclusions.

Hannibal twitched his nose with a sniffle, wrinkled it at the bridge. It sounded frustratingly unproductive, as if his sinuses were already swelling themselves shut, and suddenly she understood why she was able to sneak up on him quite so easily. The man was crippled without his sense of smell. She was aware of how keen it was, but had perhaps underestimated how much he relied on it, especially if he could scent her approach before he heard or saw her. Did he always do that? It explained a few things about his almost preternatural ability to sense a person's presence and mood, even with none of Will's empathy.

She made a subtle, mental notation of a strength that could so easily become a weakness. Just in case things ever went sour between them.

"Colds must be terrible for you," she observed at last, softly. The doctor raised both brows, as if silently impressed with her perception.

"On many levels, yes. Given an option, I would even prefer a more serious illness, if only it had a different set of symptoms."

Abigail huffed in amusement. "Food poisoning? Appendicitis?"

"I no longer have my appendix, but yes, that would be acceptable."

She knew he was clothed, but still glanced down with automatic surprise, as if to seek out the scar of an appendectomy through the fabric somehow.

"The other side."

Abigail adjusted her gaze accordingly, caught herself in the sudden moment of absurdity, and gave him a narrow look. Hannibal smiled.

"Very funny. It doesn't seem to have dampened your spirits too much." Smug jerk.

"Not yet," the doctor agreed, and tried another discreet sniff. This one was just as futile, but left him slightly hazy-eyed in the aftermath. She was tempted to poke the very tip of her tongue out at him in silent admonishment -- see what you get? -- but restrained her petulance heroically.

Instead, her attention fell with interest to his weakening expression, eyes starting to crease shut and nostrils distorting into high arches. Her hand was still hovering close by, and ... God, she just wanted to touch, just for a moment. Could she get away with that, or was it pressing the boundary of his indulgence a little too far? Her fingertip almost made it to the quivering edge of one nare, tempted to tickle, before Hannibal seized her hand in a rapid and vice-like grip.

To her credit, Abigail didn't startle or gasp, she held her place with tongue caught between her teeth, guilty. Hannibal hid the rest of his grimace behind the turn of his head and an upraised arm, but kept his hold on her securely as he sneezed.

"... HhhRRSSH-shoo!" A beat, bleary, as his shoulders swelled. "... hrrssh-sheuh!"

She missed the uncovered voyeurism of the first two, but still straightened with interest, even as he gripped her wrist hard enough to bruise.

"Bless you."

"Thank you," Hannibal managed, and released his fastening on her wrist as if popping a safety lock. Abigail rubbed the spot thoughtfully, but not ruefully.

Damn, so close.

"Where's Will?" She wondered, abruptly.

Hannibal blotted gently at his nose with the recovered handkerchief. "He had a pressing engagement."

Her brows lifted. "With Jack Crawford?"

The doctor glanced at the floor, indicative of a story below the attic. "With the guest bed. I'm afraid he holds his wine worse than you do."

Abigail snorted outright at that, her humor returned. But that was a small relief. She had difficulty pinpointing her precise relationship with Will Graham, at once warm and reluctant, even a tiny bit hateful in her darker moments, but sometimes she worried. The man was a mess, and looked perpetually like he could use a solid eight hours of sleep.

Hannibal rose to his feet, forcing her into taking a step or two back. "I'll drive you back to the hospital."

Abigail grimaced in silent displeasure, watching as he began to gather brushes and palette. He scraped the latter slowly clean and thinned the former in a little jar of turpenoid before carrying them to a nearby utility sink, already heavily patina'd with paint. Who the hell had plumbing in their attic?

"Right now? I mean, I don't think they'll miss me."

Hannibal gave her a mild look as his hands moved over the brushes, soaping and rinsing, soaping and rinsing until they were soft and clean.

"If they don't, Dr. Bloom will." A corner of his mouth twitched, wry. "And as reluctant as I am about coming down with a cold, it is still preferable to being eviscerated."

A laugh threatened in her throat, but didn't quite make it to fruition before Hannibal abruptly turned away, hands still wetly lathered, and sneezed with unexpected violence over the sink.

"Hh-ETSSCH-sheuh!"

Abigail shivered unexpectedly. What was that about?

"Gesundheit. That doesn't sound good, doctor," she observed as he rinsed and dried his hands, then blew his nose wearily into the handkerchief.

"Is that your prognosis?"

"It is. Your temperature's up, too. Maybe you should be in bed."

He wiped the bundled fabric roughly beneath both nostrils, with an uncharacteristic coarseness that made her wince and want to do it herself.

"I wouldn't worry. It's warm in here," he dismissed, and she squared off to the challenge.

"Not that warm."

Hannibal looked at her evenly. It was easy enough to tell when he was amused, but negative and neutral emotions were a little more closely guarded, and it made Abigail vaguely uncomfortable. It was safer to identify an aggressive animal from a distance, she preferred to be snarled at instead of bitten unexpectedly.

Not that... she expected Dr. Lecter to bite, exactly. She was going to have to revisit these metaphors later.

"I could take care of you," she hedged suddenly, with an uncertain vulnerability that she didn't have to pretend at, despite that she'd always been forthcoming and direct with what she wanted from him. Hannibal enjoyed the finer things in life, but he didn't seem the type of man who enjoyed being coddled. "... for a little while? Maybe?"

This time, the doctor regarded her with mild curiosity, chin lifted. "And what would that entail?"

A shoulder lifted and fell as her fingertips traced the seat of the stool, warm from where he'd occupied it. "Tea, bedrest? I'll improvise."

He didn't answer her directly, but the mood seemed to shift a little closer to amusement as he finished putting up his supplies. "Perhaps."

Meaning he would decide en route to the door, no doubt. Abigail finally remembered the canvas itself, and lagged behind as she glanced back at it, studying what he'd been painting.

She felt her face pale, and heartbeat increase to a fluttering tremor.

"Abigail," Hannibal beckoned from the door. Wide-eyed, blinking, she tore herself away and hastened after him out of the room.

[evermissing]

I only just got off work and am not coherent enough to feedback this tonight, but I just wanted you to know RIGHT AWAY that:

(1) This new installment made my week.

(2) There was a point where I squealed so loudly that my deeply sleeping dog across the room jerked awake and came over to make sure that I was okay.

(3) It is totally your fault that I now kind of want to write a Hannibal-centric story, which I never thought I'd be brave enough to even consider.

[Garnet]

(1) Yay, I'm so glad!

(2) Oh my god haha now I'm curious at which point this was.

(3) KLFJDHF I WOULD BE OVER THE MOON, seriously. I love love love Will so much, but I need to see more Hannibal torture :q Especially since most everybody on the forum seems to do a really good job with writing him as a side-character.

[Bruyere]

This was amazing. Seriously. The description of Hannibal's attic, the hunter/prey metaphor running through it. The amazing description of Mads Mikkelsen's face (How is it possible for it to be so different depending on light and the angle you catch him at? It's ridiculous.)

The sunlit window actually caught the thin aerosol of the release, briefly illuminating it into a thousand short-lived points of light.

I think that was the point that I actually died. And Hannibal sneezing uncovered? Gah, yes please!

I really liked the way you portrayed Abigail and Hannibal's relationship. The way he encourages her to continue stalking him at the end of the first part and her desire to look after him at the end of the second. It's such a twisted relationship but the way you write it is beautiful and I get the sense that it's actually beneficial for Abigail. But I also like that she's smart enough to figure out the importance of Hannibal's sense of smell and file it away for potential use later.

And it's now headcanon for me that Will is totally unable to handle wine!

Hoping there might be another part to this...? *crosses fingers*

[phoenix]

Things I love about this:

- Abigail continuing to stalk Hannibal (with just a hint of self-consciousness) even after he's aware of the game;

- the forehead feel and subsequent hair-playing-with (there may have been a not-entirely-suppressed squeal on my part at that point);

- Abigail's desire to do the same to Will (right there with you, girl);

- Hannibal sneezing while restraining Abigail;

- Hannibal sneezing while his hands are soapy/otherwise occupied;

- Abigail's offer to take care of him.

So... all of it.

(Like Bruyere, I'm going to file away the bit about Will and wine as well. I definitely sympathize.)

If there's more, I would be thrilled to read it! If not, I'll be thrilled to read whatever else you have in store. :-)

[evermissing]

Okay!

I'm enjoying this even more on the second read-through. General comment first: GOD, I love your Abigail. She's so smart and relatable, so simultaneously knowing and vulnerable. I feel like you actually write her better--anyway more convincingly and consistently--here than they often did on the show.

It felt like slowly leaving out food for a feral dog, or even a wolf, until it finally consented to take it from your hand for the first time, and be scratched behind the ears like a tame animal. Only, sometimes she wasn't sure who was the wolf and who was the trainer.

I love the whole predatory/animalistic thread running through this story (as in the show), but here in particular--especially the way it kind of echoes, in a more sinister way, Will and his strays-turned-pets.

Abigail had met some people with generic faces, before, but Hannibal's was the first she would truly describe as amorphous. For such a distinctively framed visage, she was consistently thrown by how easily he could look like two different people in the right lighting, or with the slightest angle change of his jaw. Natural, organic lighting was the kindest, a candle's flame gathered deep-set eyes into wells of dramatic shadow, and sunlight illuminated the arch of cheekbones sharp enough to cut herself on. She wouldn't deny a slight, confused waver of arousal from time to time, when he glanced at her warmly over the rim of a wineglass or from beneath a skewed forelock, with arms bare and buried in a sink full of suds. By contrast, an overcast day or the fluorescent lights of the hospital washed out his skin to a sallow tone, showing his age and making him appear almost alien.

This whole paragraph: soooo awesome. You do such a good job pinning down how Hannibal's appearance is so... protean, how (both literally and metaphorically) one moment he's so appealing and the next so inhuman. Also, "from beneath a skewed forelock, with arms bare and buried in a sink full of suds"--HOW DID YOU DO THAT, I know exactly the image you mean and I am so with Abigail in finding Hannibal confusingly attractive in moments like that.

she put her fingertips just barely to his jaw, and applied a guiding pressure. Hannibal turned his head obligingly left, and then right when she nudged the other side.

Yeaaaah, kinda jealous of Abigail here.

She wished she could get Will Graham to sit still like this, so she could carefully dissect the boyish, almost heartbreakingly handsome features that he thought so well hidden beneath a scruffy beard and thick-rimmed glasses. But she was pretty sure he would consider this weird, or at the very least uncomfortable, and shake himself apart with nervous fidgeting before she drew any good conclusions.

Oh, WILL. (I love fic that elicits the "OH WILL" response in me the way the show does. ) I especially love "shake himself apart with nervous fidgeting" OH WILL.

She made a subtle, mental notation of a strength that could so easily become a weakness. Just in case things ever went sour between them.

This is totally one of the reasons Hannibal is such an appealing subject for this kind of story, isn't it? That his sense of smell is, canonically, such an asset to him. Good on Abigail for figuring that out, and for being canny enough to know that maybe she's not always going to be safe with him, and for trying to prepare for that. (Even if it didn't help in the end. I also spent a lot time watching the show and going, "OH ABIGAIL.")

She knew he was clothed, but still glanced down with automatic surprise, as if to seek out the scar of an appendectomy through the fabric somehow.

"The other side."

Abigail adjusted her gaze accordingly, caught herself in the sudden moment of absurdity, and gave him a narrow look. Hannibal smiled.

<3 <3 <3 FOREVER. This is so funny and perfect.

Her hand was still hovering close by, and ... God, she just wanted to touch, just for a moment. Could she get away with that, or was it pressing the boundary of his indulgence a little too far? Her fingertip almost made it to the quivering edge of one nare, tempted to tickle, before Hannibal seized her hand in a rapid and vice-like grip.

To her credit, Abigail didn't startle or gasp, she held her place with tongue caught between her teeth, guilty. Hannibal hid the rest of his grimace behind the turn of his head and an upraised arm, but kept his hold on her securely as he sneezed.

Sorry, no longer capable of coherent speech dasafkfkdfksgkl

Okay, one thing I can verbally render: love that you used the word "nare."

The doctor glanced at the floor, indicative of a story below the attic. "With the guest bed. I'm afraid he holds his wine worse than you do."

hnnnnnngh

Yeah, so perhaps predictably for me, this was the point at which I made a sound that literally only dogs could hear,* and my dog became concerned. Like Bruyere, I'm adopting this as head-canon, that Will is a lightweight when it comes to wine. (Funnily enough, for months I've been struggling to write a non-SF Hannibal story in which it becomes clear Will is fine with beer and liquor but just catastrophically cannot handle his wine.) OH WILL. Not gonna lie, I'm staging the preceding lunch scene in my head as I type, and it is very satisfying.

*I mean, it's possible that at the time, I'd had a little** wine myself, but STILL. I've had a little** wine tonight, and this all still holds true.

**Understatement.

The man was a mess, and looked perpetually like he could use a solid eight hours of sleep.

OH WILL.

"If they don't, Dr. Bloom will." A corner of his mouth twitched, wry. "And as reluctant as I am about coming down with a cold, it is still preferable to being eviscerated."

yessss. Alana Bloom is secretly the biggest badass in Hannibal.

Abigail shivered unexpectedly. What was that about?

Haha, ONE OF US.

Not that... she expected Dr. Lecter to bite, exactly. She was going to have to revisit these metaphors later.

ohhhh god, OH ABIGAIL.

A shoulder lifted and fell as her fingertips traced the seat of the stool, warm from where he'd occupied it. "Tea, bedrest? I'll improvise."

I can absolutely see this moment on the show, if the show had just pushed the envelope of Hannibal/Abigail just a liiittle further.

Like Bruyere, I definitely wouldn't object to continuation (WHAT WAS HE PAINTING), but in any case, this is so good, thank you.

[March Hare]

You are still the best writer in this entire effing place, and that is a Fact.

[Garnet]

Oh damn, I never responded to all of these comments from last time. Ahhh, you're all amazing and make my heart swell. I will definitely reply to all of these shortly. In the meantime, I said I was going to work on Levi fic, but then my brain decided to continue that little Hannibal story instead. I don't even know.

Still completely shameless, slice of life fluff (inasmuch that anything in the Hannibal fandom can be fluffy), don't go looking for a plot.

-------------------------

Hannibal Lecter was both a model patient and a frustrating one.

Abigail had watched the long, neat line of his back tensely as they descended out of the attic, braced for the jingle of keys like the inverse reaction of a dog excitedly dancing at the rattle of a leash. She dreaded back going back to the hospital. It was cool and quiet here, it smelled of leather and old books in place of industrial soap and bleach, and the sheets were six hundred thread count. To say nothing of the improvement over the ward's cafeteria.

So she was relieved when he angled instead for the kitchen, and passed her an expectant glance over one shoulder.

She panned her gaze around in confusion for a moment, then looked back to him with steepled brows.

"Tea," he reminded her, and she suddenly straightened to the task. That, she could certainly make.

"Tea," she agreed. "Go lie down."

She hadn't meant to sound as if she were speaking to a dog, but Hannibal only gave her an amused look and disappeared into the hallway, obedient. She tracked his movements by ear, the hearty, satisfying sound of a sneeze clearly announcing his retirement to the study.

Not quite the bedroom, but it would do.

"Gesundheit!" She called down the hallway, then turned to the task at hand. She didn't shy from loose leaf tea over the bags of Lipton her family had preferred, nor the freedom to arrange her own blend from the numerous sachets and jars he kept in one drawer. It was one of the many things she was learning from the doctor: how to improvise.

She'd also learned to trust her nose. It might not have been as unusually developed as his, but she bypassed the astringent bergamot scent of an earl grey with knowing distaste, skipped over the too-smoky too-woodsy odor of a pu'erh blend. The loamy sweetness of a summer darjeeling appealed to her, however, as did the overwhelming perfume of mint from a tiny, dark jar of crumpled and dried leaves. She added a pinch to the darjeeling, and steeped the clasped mesh ball under a bubbling deluge of hot water. Hovering over the steaming contents for a moment, she considered her alchemy. Better.

When the liquor had steeped to a color of her liking, she sweetened the tincture with a dollop of honey, and stirred until the surface shimmered smooth. A perusal of Hannibal's refrigerator perhaps unsurprisingly did not yield any tiny, fake plastic lemons, but there were a few real ones knocking around in the crisper drawer. And a few vacuum-sealed slabs of meat whose cut and species she couldn't identify, and maybe didn't want to. The doctor tended to favor organ meats, and despite her father's insistent efficiency lingering in the back of her mind, she preferred not to know beforehand that she was tucking into something's brains or heart. Recalling the painting taking shape upstairs, Abigail blanched and closed the refrigerator door. No lemon, then, he would have to suffice without the full tableau.

Eschewing any of the silver or lacquered serving trays, she balanced the cup carefully on its saucer and navigated her way towards the study. She made only a brief stop along the way in the hallway bathroom, and re-emerged with a tissue box tucked under one arm. Hannibal rose an eyebrow at that when she came to greet him on the sofa, offering first tea and then Kleenex.

"I know you're old fashioned, but that handkerchief's already not long for this world," she explained, as he tucked it with conceding amusement into one pocket. Abigail watched with hopeful anticipation as he hovered the teacup under his nose for a moment. She suspected it was as much for the benefits of the steam as it was to scent its delicate aroma, sampling the bouquet the same way she'd seen him do before each sip of wine. It would be very difficult to slip anything into his drink and still get past that nose, she mused, even with a cold.

Not that she'd had occasion or desire to. But she tried to keep her options open.

She brightened to his noise of approval as he drew a careful swallow. "The peppermint was a good choice," Hannibal said. "Thank you."

Glowing with subtle pleasure, Abigail eased herself down beside him onto the adjacent cushion, their knees not quite touching. She didn't want to be so easily swayed by a word of praise, but there it was. The hospital environment bred a strange kind of emotional starvation, even considering the events that had led her there.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well, doctor."

Hannibal manufactured a thin smile. "I'm...enduring."

She liked the way his accent curled and lengthened the middle vowel. It sounded as if the mint had opened up his sinuses a little.

"Still, it can't be fun. Can I do anything else?"

But he politely declined the notions of food or lying down, a lap blanket or dimmed lights. Abigail exhausted her repertoire of options very quickly. Neither was he complaining, so she supposed that was something. She'd had a sort-of boyfriend in high school who was a terrible whiner whenever he caught so much as a sniffle, to the point that she'd spent most of flu season with her teeth grit. She'd assumed that all men were insufferable babies when sick, but this was a jarring change of pace that reminded her more of an animal grimly trying to play down its injury.

Still and all, idle hands were a problem. She began to fold tissues into neat bars of white across her lap, making a little stack even as she heard his breath lightly catch.

"--hrissh-sheuh!"

Abigail shivered again, bewildered. It was like he tried to force them out of his sinuses as vigorously as possible, in an effort to scratch a deep internal itch, while also putting great effort into controlling the sound. Such a strange, strange person. She passed him one of the tissues.

"Gesundheit. Who was that woman you were painting? She looked... familiar."

Hannibal leveled her a musing glance, only slightly skewed by the tissue dabbed beneath his nose. "In features, or fate?"

She recalled the explicit, creeping rot slowly engulfing the painting's subject, not quite a portrait but neither was it a specific scene. A character study, maybe.

"A little of both, I guess."

Hannibal drew another sip of darjeeling. "No one you know. Not as such."

Abigail grimaced. "Yeah. I think I'd remember that." She reviewed the brief mental snapshot she'd taken of the painting, the clumped hair and discolored skin, the bones laid bare but the expression serene, even sweet. Gruesome, and yet framed in a way that could still be qualified as artistic rather than depraved. Something in it still tickled strangely at the back of her mind, but it wasn't anything she could flush out simply by thinking hard. It would have to come on its own. "It seems morbid. Even for you."

The doctor gave her an enigmatic look, but didn't protest her apparent assessment of his tastes. "You don't find any beauty in death," he observed, posing it as a question without really making it sound as such.

"I might be a little biased against it, as of late," Abigail admitted with a roll of her shoulders. "I suppose it depends on whose death it is."

"Objectively, then, disregarding any emotional attachments to the vessel."

Easier said than done.

She thought about field dressing a deer with her father, about sawing through its sternum and pelvis until they cracked satisfyingly, about carefully saving its heart and lungs and liver for the dinner table, about working its hide off with neat, teasing motions of the skinning knife, and scraping it over and over once it was free in a great, ragged sheet. Every gobbet of fat reserved, melted down, every bone boiled clean.

Then she thought about the same process, enacted on human flesh, and passed a palm over her mouth uncertainly.

"Yes," she agreed at length. "... in some aspects, I liked seeing how it all broke down, the sum of the parts. How soft and fragile everything was once you changed one, crucial thing."

Hannibal nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer, which relieved her in turn. "You'd have a pretty strong stomach for that, though, right?" She laced her fingers together and looked at him with creased brows. "Will said you used to be a surgeon, before you were a shri--..." She paused, uncertain if the slang would offend. Oh, well, she'd already made the commitment. "A shrink."

Hannibal smiled faintly, that funny way he had that used just his eyes. "I had a part time job preparing cadavers, in medical school, so I admit that I may be a little biased as well."

Abigail tried to envision that. A younger, fresh-faced, maybe even gawkish Lecter working late nights in the morgue or anatomy labs. Still with the same kind of detached calm, though, even while draining the humors from a body and cracking the rigor mortis out of its limbs. She wondered if he'd listened to the same soaring arias and tender concertos then, or if he'd had a period of his life where Edith Piaf or the Rolling Stones had intruded.

She meant to comment on it, but her tongue paused, caught behind her teeth, as the doctor gave a slow blink in profile and creased his nose. She reached for one of the tissues to preempt it, but then hesitated and put up her free hand, bargaining. He side-eyed her pointedly and reached towards the boxed source. Abigail plucked that deftly away too, relocating it to the opposite side of her hips.

Come on, her expression begged wordlessly, haven't I earned this?

Hannibal was either too tired to argue, or curious about the persistence of her whim. After a beat and a sigh, he bent his head and allowed her hand to light back to his face.

"I take no responsibility for collateral damage."

"Understood," Abigail smiled, and traced a thumb down the lean slope of his nose, bridge to tip and briefly over the curve of one nostril. It was a remarkably rigid feature, unyielding to the press of her finger, although she managed to work the very end back and forth by tiny degrees. That hazed his expression immediately, eyes weakening and brow crumpled. Sensing a premature end to her study, she bit her top lip and settled a forefinger just beneath the join of septum and upper lip, experimental. Hannibal squinted in distress as a tiny muscle or nerve impulse tic'd twice against her knuckle, badly irritated, but he held patiently still, as if this were interesting to him on some level as well. Beat by beat, the tension bled back out of his features, his whole demeanor seemed to both smooth and sharpen with an exhale.

Abigail broke first, lowering her hand with a subtle squirm in place. So. That was new. She thought that only worked in cartoons.

Hannibal brushed a thumb and forefinger across both nostrils with a discreet itching motion to dismiss the strange sensation.

"Satisfied?"

"Yes. Thank you for humoring me."

He nodded, lips already parting as his expression wrinkled back into a sneer and he turned in profile. Apparently that maneuver was only a temporary stopgap, after all. Abigail pressed her knees together as he sneezed with enormous force, seemingly twice as strong for having been detained.

"HRISSH-ue!" A pause, buried into the crook of his arm. She remembered the tissues belatedly, and reached for them with a twinge of guilt. "... hrrissh-shoo!"

"Bless you." She offered the box out apologetically. "You really should be in bed, I can have Agent Graham drive me back when he sobers up."

"I'm sober," a sleepy and annoyed voice intoned from the doorway, bringing their conjoined attention up in surprise. Will stood groggily rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm, obviously still dragging himself back to full consciousness. He really did hold his wine worse than her. "... what am I doing?" He squinted at Hannibal around the sloppy spread of his hand. "Were you sneezing?"

He sounded bewildered and a little amused as well. Maybe it was a universal reaction.

Hannibal's expression remained carefully composed and unreadable again. Abigail couldn't tell whether he wanted to lie or not, although she supposed that the wadded tissue between his fingertips made it fairly unlikely. "Yes." And then, breezily moving on, "How is your head?"

"Mm," Will murmured. He rubbed his face a final time. "You're my doctor, you tell me."

Hannibal seemed unfazed by the sassmouth. "Only during office hours. Sit."

Abigail scooted closer to Hannibal to make room on the sofa. Will hesitated, looking both pleased and a little wary. It was the inviting pat of her hand that finally moved him forward until he sank in a heap of disjointed limbs beside her. She felt strangely complete, and also slightly suspicious of how quick her brain was to substitute in this pair of unlikely paternal figures in the absence of her own family.

She considered Will thoughtfully, all rumpled curls and soft eyes. "Are you okay?"

He seemed more willing to answer her than Hannibal, or at least he was guilted into it more easily. "I'm good, just...disoriented. Nap hangover." A frown twitched his brow as he glanced towards the doctor. "Sorry about that. It usually doesn't hit me that har-- well, no. That's a lie. It always does."

"Don't apologize," Hannibal replied evenly, with a sip from his tea. "You needed the rest."

Will rolled her a look. "And Abigail?"

She thought about the nightmares that regularly plagued her in the hospital wing, grimaced, and answered for herself. "Yes."

Will relented, though she could already see him making mental notations not to let this become a habit. Too bad. She could get behind languid lunches sipping at a glass of whatever Hannibal was training her palate on, and listening to their dry, sarcastic banter in the background. Dr. Bloom would probably say she was looking for tradition, a sense of pleasure and familiarity to fill in a void that had opened wide beneath her. Looking in all the wrong places. Dr. Bloom would probably be right.

A sudden, sharp hitch of breath drew her attention. She looked to Hannibal, blinked at finding him serene and inquisitive, and turned just in time to see Will crumple over his lap with a hand cupped to his face.

"...Heh-KSSH!" His brows folded inwards, expression agonized. He actually looked as if he had either just lost his best friend, or been punched in the face. Possibly both. "--KGXSHH!"

It was an awful, thick sound disproportionate to his slight frame, and with sympathy Abigail accepted the tissue box from Hannibal, and passed it down the line.

"Not you, too?"

"Not me too what?" Will muffled around a handful of Kleenex as he cleaned himself up. He roamed a glance aside at Hannibal, the tea, and the crumpled tissues loosely clutched in his own hand, and finally seemed to resolve it all into a startled observation. "Oh. Are you coming down with something?"

"Regrettably," Hannibal agreed.

"There was something going around the Academy last week," Will posited, then frowned when Abigail fed him a plain look. "No, I'm fine. This is just..." He started, voice already wavering, and in frustration crammed the ball of tissues under his nose as he turned away. "KSSCH-ue!" His knee bumped against hers, shoulders trembling, and something about it put that same well of fluttering warmth in her gut. It was a good feeling, being snugly sandwiched between them, with the feel of denim and the smell of sweat and dogs on one side, and crisp cotton, the lingering scent of linseed oil on the other. She felt suddenly homesick for no place in particular.

Will gave his head a bleary shake on the recovery. "Something in the air, maybe. Dust."

"Prosit. Are you criticizing my housekeeping skills?" Hannibal mused.

Will smiled, a rare enough sight that it hurt Abigail's heart a little. "Yeah. I think I saw half a fingerprint on your oven door. Slovenly, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal chuckled and passed a knuckle beneath his nose with a stuffy sniff. Abigail took the box of tissues back into her lap. "Why don't I just hold on to these."

"We should get you back," Will protested weakly. Maybe he was feeling that vague and aching sort of comfort, too. Hannibal only looked thoughtful, albeit passive. The slightest little pointed incline of his head and hooded glance spurred her into action. Right then, field test time. She angled herself until she was tucked neatly against Hannibal''s side, her head lolling onto his arm as he settled it across the back of the couch. She felt his chest rise and fall with a yielding sigh. One down.

"It's not dark yet. We could stay just a little longer," she hedged, and angled her bent knees up into Will's lap, comfortable and reserved in the same gesture. Will looked flustered, and sniffled uneasily for a few seconds while she considered her prey.

"Abigail, this isn't..." He glanced to Hannibal for help, but seemed confused when he looked unperturbed. In fact, the only tension from the doctor's side came as he turned himself into his arm and swelled with a sharp and tickling breath.

"--hrrssh-sheuh!"

Feeling the sofa tremble, Abigail bit the side of her tongue in containment. She let the spike of pleasure and Hannibal's sighing excuse me pass, before she offered an emphatic "Gesundheit," and patted his knee.

"Thank you."

They made a neat example of it, and now Will was looking at them both with distress and wanting, a fist curled unconsciously against his nose as if it were prickling sympathetically.

"I can make you some tea," she offered. Will's gaze flicked back towards his lap, and he settled a hand carefully on her bent knee.

"I'm not sick."

"I know. But Dr. Lecter is, and you're probably going to catch it now, if you haven't already."

"My apologies," Hannibal murmured, but Will waved him off with a resigned expression.

"One cup of tea. Then we're leaving." He switched a glance between them, unsure who he had to warn. "And no spiking it."

Abigail reached across to squeeze his fingers where they had settled like nervous birds on her knee. "I would never." She moved to rise, Hannibal's hand steadying at the small of her back until she was upright. She heard Will relax back into his corner of the couch with a grunt as she navigated her way back down the hell.

"I don't even like tea," he grumbled. "What the hell." Abigail smiled to herself and turned a corner into the kitchen.

This was easier than she thought it would be, than Hannibal made it look. They were baby steps, and Will was a complete pushover where she was concerned, but she would get better as she went. Next up was Dr. Bloom.

It could even be fun.

[Bruyere]

I'm always so happy to see this updated and I love that it's a continuation of the previous story.

Loved Abigail making tea for Hannibal and creating her own blend for him.

Hannibal was either too tired to argue, or curious about the persistence of her whim. After a beat and a sigh, he bent his head and allowed her hand to light back to his face. "I take no responsibility for collateral damage."

Oh GOD. This bit was brilliant and I love that Hannibal indulges her.

Were you sneezing?" He sounded bewildered and a little amused as well. Maybe it was a universal reaction.

Haha!

I loved Abigail patting the seat to encourage Will to come and sit next to her and that when she asks, he opens up more to her. It's also a nice contrast to when she tells Hannibal to go and lie down. She's already got Will at least part-trained.

"...Heh-KSSH!" His brows folded inwards, expression agonized. He actually looked as if he had either just lost his best friend, or been punched in the face. Possibly both. "--KGXSHH!"

Gonna have to default to just Oh Will -ing here because really what else can I say?! Oh Will.

"I'm not sick."

"I know. But Dr. Lecter is, and you're probably going to catch it now, if you haven't already."

"My apologies," Hannibal murmured, but Will waved him off with a resigned expression.

Mmmm, yes. Doomed Will is doomed.

Abigail smiled to herself and turned a corner into the kitchen.

This was easier than she thought it would be, than Hannibal made it look. They were baby steps, and Will was a complete pushover where she was concerned, but she would get better as she went. Next up was Dr. Bloom.

It could even be fun.

I love your Abigail. So perfectly manipulative.

[VoOs]

Garnet. Your Hannibal fics make me roll over and purr. I swear I'm actually purring.

I could eat your writing with a spoon. Hnngh. Halp.

[evermissing]

Lengthier comments later, when it's not 3:00 a.m. on a weeknight, but I just wanted you to know ASAP that... well, pretty much I agree with VoOs above, this installment literally had me making a little hum of enjoyment as I read. GOD, you're a good writer, and I'm so glad you added to this story.

[iety]

I daresay this is sweet, or at least as sweet as this murder family could get! I love Abigail's role in this so much and I am maybe a little jealous eheh.

[March Hare]

I don't care that half the time I don't know what the hell they're on about. It's enough to read something that's really well-written and with those glorious spellings into the bargain.

[Feta Sneeze]

Hnng...can't handle all of the awesome in this thread.

I agree with Maru, you are the best. In the woooooooooooooooooooorld.

Seriously can't get enough of your Warcraft fics. Even the fics I don't know I read just for your style and pizzazz. Bravo! Encore!

[Garnet]

You are all too kind, and flatter me more than I deserve <3 But I really appreciate it, it makes my day.

Hnngh I do miss writing Warcraft, I could do to work on a few more little drabbles. If you have any races/characters you wanted to see in particular, feel free to leave me a suggestion :>

[Feta Sneeze]

Loved your Thrall/Jaina one. I mentioned that before. Maybe how he learned to use a handkerchief? Maybe...from Taretha...?? Just a thought. I'd read anything you wrote really.

[evermissing]

I meant to reply to this days and days ago, but then my computer broke and I lost internet access for a week. Anyway, I just... uuuugh, this installment. I love everything of yours that I've read, but this may be my favorite thing so far. (Although it's so hard to decide--they're ALL so good!) It just pushes all the right buttons.

She tracked his movements by ear, the hearty, satisfying sound of a sneeze clearly announcing his retirement to the study.

One of the many, many things I love about this whole story is having Abigail as the point-of-view character. It works for so many reasons. For one thing, you write her so well--this strange and incredibly sympathetic mixture of... not quite innocence, but inexperience, maybe, and then her old-before-her-time hypervigilance and canniness. For another, I'm such a sucker for outside-perspective stories on Hannibal and/or Will. And finally, the fact that your Abigail in this story is kind of... y'know... one of us, at least in her fascination with the physical vulnerabilities in both Hannibal and Will.

The whole tea-making scene is great, so rich and full of well observed detail. I know nothing about the subtle art of tea, but I totally believe that both Abigail and you do.

It would be very difficult to slip anything into his drink and still get past that nose, she mused, even with a cold.

Not that she'd had occasion or desire to. But she tried to keep her options open.

Yeah, stuff like this is why I love your Abigail. She's absolutely the opposite of the helpless victim, even if in the end she can't quite outthink Hannibal. I mean, WHO CAN? It has nothing to do with her age or her gender, though, and you show that so well here.

She didn't want to be so easily swayed by a word of praise, but there it was. The hospital environment bred a strange kind of emotional starvation, even considering the events that had led her there.

<3 <3 <3 And this. Her awareness of her own soft spots, her recognition of Hannibal as a manipulator and of being herself manipulated, without quite being able to resist it--and, later in the story, her awareness of Will's parallel plight, except that his tragedy is that at some point he stops being able to recognize the manipulation, stops even trying to resist it.

this was a jarring change of pace that reminded her more of an animal grimly trying to play down its injury.

Great line.

Abigail shivered again, bewildered. It was like he tried to force them out of his sinuses as vigorously as possible, in an effort to scratch a deep internal itch, while also putting great effort into controlling the sound.

dskljdkjldsfjfdsfkldjsfdk

"In features, or fate?"

I can hear Hannibal saying this.

She reviewed the brief mental snapshot she'd taken of the painting, the clumped hair and discolored skin, the bones laid bare but the expression serene, even sweet. Gruesome, and yet framed in a way that could still be qualified as artistic rather than depraved. Something in it still tickled strangely at the back of her mind, but it wasn't anything she could flush out simply by thinking hard. It would have to come on its own.

Haha, this story is such a tease! I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THE PAINTING.

sawing through its sternum and pelvis until they cracked satisfyingly, about carefully saving its heart and lungs and liver for the dinner table, about working its hide off with neat, teasing motions of the skinning knife, and scraping it over and over once it was free in a great, ragged sheet. Every gobbet of fat reserved, melted down, every bone boiled clean.

Then she thought about the same process, enacted on human flesh, and passed a palm over her mouth uncertainly.

In a way this is just how the show works: by sort of aestheticizing violence in the abstract, giving you a flash of the killer's own mindset (basically, kind of mirroring Will's experience)... and then jarringly reminding you of what's actually happening. It's great.

The whole scene where Abigail "bargains" for the chance to touch Hannibal while he's about to sneeze... yeah. yeah. god.

she managed to work the very end back and forth by tiny degrees. That hazed his expression immediately, eyes weakening and brow crumpled. Sensing a premature end to her study, she bit her top lip and settled a forefinger just beneath the join of septum and upper lip, experimental. Hannibal squinted in distress as a tiny muscle or nerve impulse tic'd twice against her knuckle, badly irritated, but he held patiently still, as if this were interesting to him on some level as well. Beat by beat, the tension bled back out of his features, his whole demeanor seemed to both smooth and sharpen with an exhale.

asdasdadlkskdkladkf

"I'm sober," a sleepy and annoyed voice intoned from the doorway, bringing their conjoined attention up in surprise. Will stood groggily rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm, obviously still dragging himself back to full consciousness. He really did hold his wine worse than her.

Predictably, I made that patented only-dogs-can-hear-me noise when Will made an appearance. Is there any possible way this story could get any better? oh, right, Will could be in it and a totally disheveled helpless mess and THERE HE IS.

He squinted at Hannibal around the sloppy spread of his hand. "Were you sneezing?"

He sounded bewildered and a little amused as well. Maybe it was a universal reaction.

Hannibal's expression remained carefully composed and unreadable again. Abigail couldn't tell whether he wanted to lie or not, although she supposed that the wadded tissue between his fingertips made it fairly unlikely. "Yes." And then, breezily moving on, "How is your head?"

"Mm," Will murmured. He rubbed his face a final time. "You're my doctor, you tell me."

Hannibal seemed unfazed by the sassmouth. "Only during office hours. Sit."

This whole section so perfect that I can imagine it on the show... and now I feel like, WHY WAS IT NEVER ON THE SHOW???

He seemed more willing to answer her than Hannibal, or at least he was guilted into it more easily. "I'm good, just...disoriented. Nap hangover." A frown twitched his brow as he glanced towards the doctor. "Sorry about that. It usually doesn't hit me that har-- well, no. That's a lie. It always does."

"Don't apologize," Hannibal replied evenly, with a sip from his tea. "You needed the rest."

fsksdfklmsdffdkssfdkfdsk I CAN'T EVEN. HOW ARE YOU THIS GOOD?

She could get behind languid lunches sipping at a glass of whatever Hannibal was training her palate on, and listening to their dry, sarcastic banter in the background.

Oh, Abigail. Couldn't we all.

I actually got an error message when I tried to put my whole response in one post, so see continuation below.

[evermissing]

A sudden, sharp hitch of breath drew her attention. She looked to Hannibal, blinked at finding him serene and inquisitive, and turned just in time to see Will crumple over his lap with a hand cupped to his face.

Aaand here my reaction was: is there any possible way this story could any better, now that Will is present and a totally disheveled mess OH WAIT, YEAH, THEN THIS COULD HAPPEN.

His brows folded inwards, expression agonized. He actually looked as if he had either just lost his best friend, or been punched in the face. Possibly both.

Oh, Wiiiiiiilll. I love that even his sneezing is so full of suffering. <3

"Not me too what?" Will muffled around a handful of Kleenex as he cleaned himself up. He roamed a glance aside at Hannibal, the tea, and the crumpled tissues loosely clutched in his own hand, and finally seemed to resolve it all into a startled observation. "Oh. Are you coming down with something?"

hahaha. This is such a great contradiction in Will--that he's an extreme empath and yet also kind of unaware and awful at normal social cues.

His knee bumped against hers, shoulders trembling, and something about it put that same well of fluttering warmth in her gut. It was a good feeling, being snugly sandwiched between them, with the feel of denim and the smell of sweat and dogs on one side, and crisp cotton, the lingering scent of linseed oil on the other.

How jealous am I of Abigail right now? VERY.

"Prosit. Are you criticizing my housekeeping skills?" Hannibal mused.

Will smiled, a rare enough sight that it hurt Abigail's heart a little. "Yeah. I think I saw half a fingerprint on your oven door. Slovenly, Dr. Lecter."

Another exchange that could've and should've been on the show.

They made a neat example of it, and now Will was looking at them both with distress and wanting, a fist curled unconsciously against his nose as if it were prickling sympathetically.

I loved everything up to here, but this was the part that just melted me into an inarticulate pile of happy goo. hnnnnnngh. Will's expression of "distress and wanting," and his sympathetic itch, and Abigail making note of it all. grjgjkdgjkdfljkdfskjsdfsfkl

He switched a glance between them, unsure who he had to warn. "And no spiking it."

ahahahaha this is so cute and funny and yet ALSO AWFUL, because of course Hannibal gets Abigail high on shrooms and is only too happy to keep Will in an altered state for most of the season. Poor babies.

This was easier than she thought it would be, than Hannibal made it look.

uugggh, again, so good and so heartbreaking. "easier [. . .] than Hannibal made it look," and Abigail recognizing Hannibal as a professional manipulator, and Will as a pushover.

Anyway. Obviously, I am... really into this story. If you ever feel moved to write more, you know I would be SO. THERE. But if you don't, it's still one of my favorites.

[Garnet]

@Z-4ce - Oh, that's a good idea! I will unashamedly ship Thrall and his human friends until I die, Agra who? :B Definitely adding this one to my to-write list

@evermissing - AHHH, your reviews make my day! Thank you so much, I love reading your insights, and it's always good knowing that people are pickin' up what I'm puttin' down, hurr. I was actually feeling bummed out about something unrelated today, came back to read this again, and it cheered me right up. Thank you so much!

These dumb characters never leave my brain, and I am willing to cheerfully stomp all over canon, so they may yet manifest in some other self-indulgent nonsense. Thank you!