Abigail Hobbs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
climbingwalls) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
asgardmeridiem2014-05-13 02:46 am
climbingwalls) wrote in asgardmeridiem2014-05-13 02:46 am
Entry tags:
[closed] but you always look afraid
Who: Abigail Hobbs and Will Graham
What: Memory loss problems.
When: Late day 446
Where: Outside Ananael and then, we'll see
Rating: PG? Maybe PG13? Violence may come up.
The recent rash of memory loss hit Abigail hard and fast every time someone disappeared; remembering has come much slower, and much more unreliably. Today is no different. Even as she wakes up, there's some strange feeling that something's missing, things she can't put her finger on; just little things here and there.
She's already unsettled, jittery from the ghosts and the disappearances, and this pushes her over the edge into contacting Will. Strange as their relationship might be, he's the closest thing to a comforting presence she has in her life, and all this has jarred her enough to need whatever small comfort he can offer.
Early in the morning, she leaves a brief, anxious note for Will through the bracelets: If you're okay and the weird disappearing acts haven't gotten to you yet, can you meet me outside the shop today around six? We can get dinner or whatever you want. I could use the company if you don't mind.
And then the rest of the day goes by, with bits and pieces falling away from her as it goes on. It's not that she forgets Will; it would almost be easier if she did. She remembers that he's in Asgard; that, for some reason, they've spoken regularly. She remembers their first meeting, as much as she ever can remember it; she remembers the first real conversation they had together in the hospital. Going back home with him and Doctor Bloom and Doctor Lecter, and all that followed. She remembers, vague and fuzzy, him saying she was important, telling him he couldn't be her father; she remembers very vividly being scared of what he'd do if he found out what she'd really done.
She doesn't remember the most important parts: knowing he'd learned about Nicholas Boyle; knowing, or at least gathering from implications, that he knew about her father, and wasn't going to tell anyone; maybe most important of all, her last moment at home, her death at Hannibal's hand. If she did, she wouldn't be wishing like hell she was seeing Doctor Lecter instead, wondering why she'd ever have sought Will Graham out of her own volition.
But she remembers enough to know that she did, enough to know that he should be waiting out there for her.
She stops inside the door before leaving and takes a deep breath, and steps out with the hope that maybe he didn't show up after all.
What: Memory loss problems.
When: Late day 446
Where: Outside Ananael and then, we'll see
Rating: PG? Maybe PG13? Violence may come up.
The recent rash of memory loss hit Abigail hard and fast every time someone disappeared; remembering has come much slower, and much more unreliably. Today is no different. Even as she wakes up, there's some strange feeling that something's missing, things she can't put her finger on; just little things here and there.
She's already unsettled, jittery from the ghosts and the disappearances, and this pushes her over the edge into contacting Will. Strange as their relationship might be, he's the closest thing to a comforting presence she has in her life, and all this has jarred her enough to need whatever small comfort he can offer.
Early in the morning, she leaves a brief, anxious note for Will through the bracelets: If you're okay and the weird disappearing acts haven't gotten to you yet, can you meet me outside the shop today around six? We can get dinner or whatever you want. I could use the company if you don't mind.
And then the rest of the day goes by, with bits and pieces falling away from her as it goes on. It's not that she forgets Will; it would almost be easier if she did. She remembers that he's in Asgard; that, for some reason, they've spoken regularly. She remembers their first meeting, as much as she ever can remember it; she remembers the first real conversation they had together in the hospital. Going back home with him and Doctor Bloom and Doctor Lecter, and all that followed. She remembers, vague and fuzzy, him saying she was important, telling him he couldn't be her father; she remembers very vividly being scared of what he'd do if he found out what she'd really done.
She doesn't remember the most important parts: knowing he'd learned about Nicholas Boyle; knowing, or at least gathering from implications, that he knew about her father, and wasn't going to tell anyone; maybe most important of all, her last moment at home, her death at Hannibal's hand. If she did, she wouldn't be wishing like hell she was seeing Doctor Lecter instead, wondering why she'd ever have sought Will Graham out of her own volition.
But she remembers enough to know that she did, enough to know that he should be waiting out there for her.
She stops inside the door before leaving and takes a deep breath, and steps out with the hope that maybe he didn't show up after all.
no subject
So he hadn't used her name, and he had no intentions of ever showing her what he had used if it came up. In fact, if this tug and pull of memory ever ended, he would shred it. Burn it. No one would ever see it but him.
A little unshaven, his hair barely tamed, wearing a long-sleeved checkered shirt with pants pulled up a little higher than they need to be, he's just like he always was. Only this time, there's no tall doctor in an expensive suit next to him. There's no third (second?) father with him this time, just Will Graham trying his hardest to hold onto what he knows from home, what he knows from Abigail, and how to keep them apart when he needs to.
It's somewhat difficult when he finds himself incapable of remembering the names of the four dogs in his shared home at various parts of the day.
"Abigail."
He's close enough that he doesn't have to shout but far enough that she's not suddenly turning to find him right in her personal space. Not in her personal space with a knife ready to go to her throat or talking about the differences between fishing and hunting. He's just there.
The opposite of intimidating.
Trying to be. Without Lecter at his side, he should be somewhat of a welcome relief, he hopes, which means he's worried what she's forgotten and how that has to come into play. Will doesn't think he'll forget an ear in his sink as long as he lives.
no subject
He's there, though, and she knows she's the one who initiated this. So she puts on a smile, her arms wrapped around herself as she turns to face him.
"Hi." She doesn't know what else she should say; after a second, it occurs to her to add, awkwardly, "Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."