versusnurture | nineteen ♢ video

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nineteen ♢ video

[When the feed comes on, the first thing there is is a wall and half of a desk. Those people on board who've been inside will know it as Abigail's room. There's a small blood smear on the edge of the desk, another dark spot on the corner of the lens.]

[She doesn't turn it towards herself, but the camera does move towards the desk, is set down at the edge of it. Two hands appear in the frame, blood-caked, palm-up. There's blood under her nails, too, drier blood that's oxidized to a deep, almost black color.]

[She doesn't say anything. But after a moment, there's a strangled noise, and she knocks the camera off the desk. The briefest flash of dark hair and a pale face; then it hits the floor and shuts off.]

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[He hears her cry, and exhales a less than completely steady breath. He presses a hand briefly over his mouth, drops it, shifts in all those small ways that, for him, scream of something less than ease. Less than comfort. Less than control.

He has been out of control for so long that if he wasn't so careful, he thinks he might shake. But he is being careful.]

I will not leave you, Abigail.

[It's a small change, slight but important. He will leave, one day. But it will be after, or with her.]

I'm here.

[Her shaking stills, or at least slows. She watches him curiously, almost clinically, as he covers his mouth, as he moves. He looks sad. He looks so sad.]

[Why is he so sad? She's the one who . . .]

[A hiccup in the back of her throat; then she's still again.]

I don't know what to do.

[A pained confession, but one she thinks he's heard before. So often she doesn't know what to do. So often she needs guidance. For a while she didn't think she wanted it, but now she doesn't know how to do without it.]

I have all these memories coming back. I remember people . . . I remember you.

[She remembers being afraid. She's still afraid now, but it's distant fear, somehow, like it's buried under several layers of earth. Instead of wanting to run, she wants to reach for him--feels like she can't not.]

Did you get hurt?

In a manner of speaking.

[He remembers broken bones, in the vague way he remembers everything that happened, when the Barge turned into a funhouse. He remembers shattered knee caps and forearms, but then it was healed even as Dillon all but erased him.

He pushes his fury away, locks the drawer in his mind.]

It's perfectly natural for you to be confused by these memories. Tell me what you do remember.

[Direction. Something to do. Report.]

[Direction. Something to do. She snaps to--not attention, because she isn't a soldier and she never has been, but to alertness, yes, a sudden jolt better than caffeine. He needs information. She has information.]

I was in the house. ['The house,' not 'your house'. Their house.] I killed Alana, like you told me to. [Her voice barely trembles.] I came to the kitchen, like you told me to. Will was there. He had--

[Here she hesitates, because how to say what he did? A bad thing. He did a bad thing. He hurt them all.]

He turned his back on you. He hurt. [You. Us.] And you were angry.

You cut my throat. [She will bleed out a hundred thousand times for him. But something nags at her. She doesn't want to be dead. She doesn't want--]

Should I go back further?

[Killed Alana. He doesn't react yet, stills himself completely instead. Alana is dead.

He wonders - he wonders. What Will turned his back on. Why. How far it goes - did they abort their mutual understanding of honesty? Trust? Hannibal rests his weight on his elbow, lifts his hand and rubs his thumb against his forefinger, almost snapping.]

Yes.

[His voice is distant in his own ears. Distant, but steady. Calm. He needs to know.]

Tell me all you remember.

[He wonders if Alana will return. Will she hear this story, too?]

[It occurs to her, for the first time, that she is telling him something he doesn't already know. That realization makes her voice slow, like syrup freezing, become some other substance altogether. Does that mean he is not the man who promised to protect her? Does it mean he's not the one who killed her?]

[Is the thought reassuring or terrifying? Better the devil you know, after all--she doesn't want to be breakfast.]

[No matter who he is, he's told her what to do. Go back further. She can do it. She can do it and think, both at the same time.]

Before that, you hid me. You hid me to keep me safe. You said I had to do what you said or they'd find me, because Will knew. You said you were bringing Will to our side--my side--our side. You said you had a plan. You told me . . . some of the plan.

[She has no illusions that she knew all of it.]

I was in lots of different places. First somewhere where there were no car sounds, the middle of nowhere, you wouldn't tell me where, it was very dark and very quiet but you came, sometimes, to see me, to tell me what was happening. And after that, the basement--and after that, different places.

You were going to have a dinner party. [A dinner party.] For Jack Crawford. Will was going to help you--hurt him or kill him, I don't know. And I was helping, too. You said you wanted my help.

[She licks her lips, not out of fear, but remembering.]

You said we were all . . . going away.

[An escape. A family. It drifts in front of him, less cool and factual than it might have been had it come before all the nonsense the Joker brought to the ship. It's still controllable, though. That is what matters. That is what weighs more.

He folds his hands together, eyes traveling her face. She is new. She is someone else. She is a gift.

He can use this.]

Have you told Will any of this?

[A sigh. She has done wrong, she thinks; she knows what's coming.]

Some. Not all.

I didn't know--I didn't think you were here. [This is her apology. This is all she'll give, but for obedience.]

I'm here.

[He says it calmly, watches to see if she will take it as comfort or threat. He cut her throat, mimicked her father's last act, and Hannibal wants to know everything about why. But he doubts those are answers she can give him.]

Have you told Ben?

Yes.

It's -

[She told him all of it. Everything. Even things he wouldn't have been able to find out from the file.]

It's really hard to lie to him. [Because she trusts him. Because she loves him.]

He is your warden.

[He has power over her life, and she has gravitated toward those who do even as she tries to draw away from them. Hannibal does not find Ben difficult to lie to. He finds him polite and straightforward and more bothersome than not. But he is her warden, and that necessitates consideration.]

Do you still want to go away, Abigail? The three of us?

[There is an intake of breath. A shiver.]

Yes. More than anything.

[Because Will can keep her safe in one way, Hannibal in another. This is vital. The three of them, their constellation, is vital. They must be together.]

[He realizes that he wants this too, this sensation of near equality; of family. Of cooperative protection, something, he imagines, that feels a lot like love.

Will is going to take this away from him. Will is going to destroy something that he considers--

Precious.

He breathes in silence for long moments. Breathes in future betrayal, his and Will's and Abigail's role as a pawn. Only a pawn. That is a shame.]

Then we will find a way.

You promise?

[There is a please in there. A please, please, please don't leave me. It sits alongside the fear in a cage in her heart, and she isn't ready to let either of them go.]

[He imagines her face, when he says no. He imagines how it might crush her, and what strength she might find in the dregs of her own desires. He imagines her following his shadow, waiting for a promise she knows will not come.

It's a sad story. He doesn't much care for it.]

I promise.

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nineteen ♢ video

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