Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Too much. It's all too much.

Abigail Hobbs sits rocking on her bed, legs pulled up with her forehead resting on her knees. She can feel the walls pressing in around her, lined with accusations. Her breathing is labored, verging on hyperventilating.

Air. I need air.

Abigail uncurls herself and climbs down from the bed, searching for her boots with shaking fingers. After she pulls them on she grabs her coat and slips into the hallway.

This time of night it is deserted with patrols only making rounds every hour or so. Even so, she is careful to keep her back to the wall and stay in the shadows, though, if she is honest with herself, Abigail needs the support to stay on her feet. She feels as if the long dark hallway is going to snap shut and swallow her up.

She bites down on her lip, trying to ground herself, and breaks skin. She can taste blood, and the salty tang focuses her mind. The pain and the iron are real, holding her in the moment.

Abigail moves faster now, making her way into the attached greenhouse. They always forget to lock it, and the windows are easy to slip out of.

Soon she is out on the grounds heading for her favorite Ash tree. It has low hanging branches, easy to grab ahold of and hoist oneself up. From there she can reach the wall. The only problem is the drop from the wall to the ground. She's done it before, but it always frightens her.

Abigail perches on top of the wall bracing herself when she sees the yard lights come on behind her.

They know I'm missing.

She immediately launches herself off the wall and lands hard, falling forward and scraping the palms of her hands when she catches herself.

Abigail doesn't let the pain stop her; she jumps to her feet and scurries into the woods, trying to get as far away as possible. Once in the woods she expects to breathe easier as is usually the case.

Unfortunately, tonight it isn't working.

Once the commotion at the hospital is far behind her, and the silence surrounds her, Abigail becomes even more panicked.

He's here… watching me… hunting me.

A branch cracks to her left and she jumps, her heart pounding deafeningly in her ears.

Abigail does the only thing she can think of, she runs, heading for the one place she knows she'll be safe

Time passes in a blur of fear and adrenaline, and she isn't sure how long it takes, but eventually Abigail finds herself standing in front of a large brick home, pounding on the door.

She sees a light switch on inside, and hears footsteps. Soon the front door opens and Abigail's chest finally loosens, if only a little.


"Please," she begs, "Dr. Lecter, he's coming for me. They're coming for me."

Hannibal Lecter looks down at a frightened, disheveled, Abigail Hobbs and feels his normal cool mask slip. His face hardens as he studies the front yard behind her, searching for pursuers. When he finds none, Hannibal puts an arm around Abigail's shoulders and leads her into the house.

In the light of the entryway he can see she is injured and a flare of protectiveness surges within him. Her palms a badly scraped, and the right knee of her jeans are ripped and he can tell she has a pretty bad cut from the amount of blood.

"Come with me," he says calmly, immediately taking control of the situation.

He leads a still frantic Abigail to the second story of his home, heading for the master bath where he keeps his first aid kit.

Abigail allows him to lead her, her breathing evening out the longer she is in his presence. She feels a small twinge of guilt for waking him, that fact evident by his clothing. He's wearing black silk pajama pants and a matching robe tied at the waist.

The master bathroom is huge. On the far side there is an old porcelain claw foot tub, and a modern shower. Decorated in black and silver the bathroom feels both sterile, yet welcoming. The sink is built into an overlarge countertop vanity and this is where Dr. Lecter leads her, pulling out a stool for her to sit on.

He fetches his first aid kit and sinks to look at Abigail's hands and knee.

"Your knee is the more serious concern, it will need a couple stitches," he tells her. "I have the tools here, or if you like I can return you to the hospital."

She shakes her head furiously.

"No, please… can you do it?"

Hannibal nods once and opens his kit.

"I will need access to the wound. I can cut the leg off of your pants —" he starts, but Abigail cuts him off by standing up.

"I'll need them later," she says unbuttoning her jeans.

He watches her, keeping his expression clinical, as she shimmies out of her pants and then removes her coat. He tries not to notice dark patch of curls beneath her white cotton panties.

Abigail sits back down on stool and tilts her head back. She closes her eyes and tries to focus on inhaling and exhaling.

Hannibal studies her, curious about her behavior, and the way she seems to be slowly coming down from her fear-driven adrenaline high. Her behavior suggests that she finds him to be a source of comfort and protection.

Curious, he thinks as he crouches between her legs and begins working on her knee.

He sprays it with a local anesthetic and threads his needle.

"This is going to hurt," he warns.

"That's okay… at least the pain is real," Abigail whispers.

His precise surgeon's fingers make short work of the injury; she only needs four stitches. When he ties off the last one, Hannibal spreads an antibiotic over the wound and covers it with a thick bandage.

"Tell me what happened," he finally says, his voice a command, not a request. "Why did you leave the hospital?"

He takes one of her hands in his and carefully begins cleaning the dirt from her scrapes.

"I couldn't breathe," Abigail says, tilting her head down so she can watch him.

His hands, so much larger than hers, are so careful and gentle as he tends to her. His fingers are practically caressing hers as he cleans her.

She licks her lips and continues talking, not needing him to urge her on.

"The building was suffocating me," she explains, "so I snuck out to get some fresh air. I was already on top of the wall when I heard them start the search for me. I landed badly when I jumped."

Hannibal dabs her clean hand dry with a fluffy towel and turns his attention to her other palm.

"You said "They're coming for me", what did you mean?" he asks. "Were you referring to the hospital staff?"


"Who was after you, Abigail?"

"My— my father… and the girls he killed."

His fingers pause for a split second, her words catching him off guard, a very rare feat.

"Abigail, your father cannot hurt you. He is dead."

"He may be dead, but he isn't gone, and neither are the girls."

Hannibal finishes cleaning her scrape and then places his hand on her uninjured knee.

"Explain to me what you mean," he says, looking up into her overlarge blue eyes.

"He— they're with me. Almost all of the time. It's like I can feel them watching me, blaming me… calling for me. I know it's just my mind playing tricks, but I don't know how to block them out," her voice cracks. "Usually if I can get outside and make it to the woods, the fresh air washes them away, but tonight it felt like they were in the woods with me. Like they were hunting me."

"Does this only happen when you are alone?"

"No," she insists, shaking her head. "Sometimes they are there when Dr. Bloom comes around, and a lot of the time they are there when Will visits."

"Can you feel them watching you now?" Hannibal asks, tracing her kneecap with his thumb.

"No… they never come to me when I'm with you."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Maybe… because… you make me feel safe," she says quietly, placing her hand over his on her knee. "I know that you'll protect me, and it keeps the monsters at bay."

I am the monster, Abigail. If the others are being kept away it is only because they sense a stronger predator.

"You must learn to face your monsters, Abigail. I will protect you when I can, but I can't always be there, and you can't always run here."

Seeing the earnest look on his face as he says he will protect her causes something to flip within Abigail.

"But I'm here now," she whispers, and leans down to kiss him.

Ever since she woke up in the hospital, she's felt a magnetic pull towards Dr. Lecter. She even vaguely remembers him holding her hand when she was drifting in and out of consciousness, though, that may have been a dream.

The one thing that matters to Abigail right now is the fact that she only feels safe when she is around him. With everyone else she is in constant fear of being exposed, yet with him, he already knows everything and he hasn't judged her or turned her away.

Please don't turn me away now, she begs silently.

Her lips are soft, frantic, and a bit clumsy against his, but Hannibal still feels himself responding.

"Abigail," he murmurs, pulling away. "We can't."

She puts her hands on his shoulders and grips the fabric of his robe tightly.

"We can," she insists. "Please," she kisses him again, "please. Just help me keep them away. Give me something to remind me I am alive and they can't touch me."

Abigail looks at him imploringly, chewing her bottom lip, ignoring the sting as she reopens the cut she made earlier.

Hannibal doesn't say anything. He knows he shouldn't do this, that he should take her back to the hospital… but his sensitive nose can smell her arousal. The scent of her need for him wakes the sleeping beast in his stomach and he tries so hard not to reach out and claim her.

As if she can sense the war between his body and mind, Abigail again tries to kiss him. Her lips moving slower this time, her tongue slowly tracing his bottom lip. Hannibal's mouth parts of it's own accord and his tongue reaches to meet hers.

When he tastes the blood on her lip all hope of turning her away is gone. He won't be satisfied until he's tasted every inch of her.

My Abigail.

There is no question about it now. He will claim her and then she will be his.


She has no clue what she is enlisting for.

"I need you, please. I'm yours, all yours," she pants as he twists his hand in her hair and kisses along her jawline.

Perhaps she does know, he thinks as he stands and scoops her into his strong arms.

He cradles her against his chest and Abigail can feel her heart racing again, but this time from anticipation instead of fear.

Hannibal carries her into the adjoining room, his bedroom, and places her in the center of his bed.

It's a king sized mattress with a plush navy comforter and black leather headboard mounted to the wall. As with the rest of his house, the décor in his room screams gothic, yet modern. The lights are dim playing off of the blood red walls, giving the room an eerie glow.

Abigail stares up at him, his large figure looming over her, and her breath catches in her throat. His face, normally so masklike, has grown darker, almost feral, in his lust. She's been wanting this for a while, to be as close as possible to him. Dr. Lecter's power has been calling to her and now she's finally getting what she wants.


His eyes glint red, only a reflection, she reassures herself, and Abigail swallows, her throat becoming suddenly very dry.

Hannibal feels the corner of his mouth quirk as the wary look crosses her face. She looks so small, sitting there on his bed, with her legs drawn up to her chest.

Like a helpless lamb, just waiting to be devoured.

Eyes still on Abigail, he unties his robe and places it, carefully folded, on the bench at the end of his bed.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she studies his firm chest.

Hannibal removes his silk pajama bottoms next and places them with the same care on top of his robe. He pauses then, letting Abigail drink in his now nude form. Her eyes linger and widen when she sees his protruding and already hardened cock.

The smell of her arousal grows, and he knows that if he were to reach down and run a finger along the crotch of her panties he would find them sopping wet.

"Abigail," he says, voice low and commanding, "I want to see you."

Coming slightly to her senses, Abigail realizes she still has her shirt, scarf, and underwear on. Quickly, her fingers fumbling, she unbuttons her shirt and removes it, then just as fast slips her panties off. Her hand hesitates near her scarf, feeling very self-conscious about her scar, but one arched eyebrow from Dr. Lecter spurs her into action and the scarf joins her other clothing on the floor.

She shakes her head forward, arranging her long auburn hair to hide her neck.

Hannibal studies every inch of her, learning every freckle, crease, and curve. She is still quite young, but her body has started developing into the mature form of a woman. Her breasts, while small, are perky and almost perfectly symmetrical. Her hips swell hinting at her still emerging form, and her alabaster complexion lends to the belief that she is a work of art carved from the finest marble.

He climbs on the bed and kneels behind her, pulling her so her back is pressed to his chest. Hannibal runs his hands from her shoulders down her arms, finding that unlike the statue she resembles, she is soft, supple, and completely yielding under his touch.

Abigail can't suppress the light sigh that graces her lips as his hands roam her body. The hands she's dreamt and thought of in the night while her own fingers ventured to bring her pleasure. Dr. Lecter brings one of those hands up to sweep her hair aside, granting him access to her neck.

She freezes, thinking of the ugly gash now visible to him.

"Abigail," he breathes into her ear, his finger trailing along her scar. "Do not be ashamed of this, or try to hide it."

"It's so ugly," she says, clenching her eyes shut.

"No," he insists, "it is beautiful. It is a reminder that you are a fighter and a survivor… that you have faced the worst and lived. Do not be ashamed. Wear it as a badge of honor."

She feels his lips ghost along her neck, peppering the scar with kisses.

When he doesn't withdraw in revulsion, Abigail feels herself relax and lean further into him. She can feel his hardness pressing into her back and can't stop from rubbing against it.

Hannibal growls and grabs her neck with one hand. His hold is firm, but not so firm that she can't breath. He nips at her ear, and reaches his other hand down to taunt her. He roughly grazes her nipple, earning a sharp gasp, and then teases one finger, feather light, up the cleft between her labia. He stops just short of her clitoris and feels her hips buck, trying to urge him on.

"Tell me what you want, Abigail."

"I want you."

"Be more specific," he says, before licking the shell of her ear.

"I want you to— to touch me. I want to— feel your fingers… inside of me," she finishes, feeling mortified.

Hannibal smirks into her hair and grazes his finger up over her clit, before dipping two fingers inside of her.

She's so wet.

Abigail moans loudly, and he can feel it reverberate through her back and into his chest.

His fingers move expertly in and out, bringing her close to completion and stopping just short.

Abigail groans when he stops his ministrations and pulls away from her, but doesn't have time for any other protest because Dr. Lecter immediately has her on her back and is hovering over her.

His eyes are even wilder than before and she feels a small spark of panic as he leans down to kiss her chest. His lips suck and tug at her nipple as his tongue laps against her skin. He kisses downward nipping and marking her along the way. The tiny stabs of pain from his teeth are laced with enough pleasure to keep from being uncomfortable.

Hannibal pauses as he reaches her small nest of curls, inhaling deeply, savoring her mouthwatering smell.

"I want to taste you, Abigail."

"Yes, please," she squirms. "I want you to taste me."

Then he is devouring her. His tongue doing things Abigail didn't know a tongue could do. Plunging and teasing and twisting and… oh, god.

She is so close, just there on the very edge ready to fall over and he stops. Abigail cries out in frustration and props herself up on her elbows to glare down at him. He is watching her, a small smile on his face, his lips just centimeters away from her core. She can feel every exhale of his breath against her.

"Tell me," he commands.

"Fuck me," she begs. "Please, Hannibal… fuck me."

Hannibal needs no more encouragement. The pleading look on her face urges the beast within him on, and he moves up on the bed, pressing his straining cock against her entrance.

She nods at him eagerly and Hannibal plunges in, grunting as her warmth surrounds him. She is so tight, straining to accommodate him.

Abigail gasps as he fills her. He is so much larger than the boys she's had from school… the ones with stupid fumbling hands, and no rhythm.

Dr. Lecter has rhythm; he easily slips into it as he pushes in and out. He takes her hard and fast, each thrust making her cry out.

Hannibal looks down into Abigail's wide eyes, reveling in the need he sees there. He reaches one hand between them, his thumb finding her clitoris, and begins tracing small steady circles.

Abigail's hands shoot out to grab hold of his shoulders, her nails biting into him, marking him.

Her mouth forms a tiny 'o' and her gasps start to come quicker. She digs her nails harder into his back and Hannibal can feel her walls clenching around him. He gives three more powerful thrusts and spills himself inside her, then collapses.

Abigail fights to slow her breathing from under his heavy form. His face is turned towards her ear and every time he exhales, the breath sends another shiver through her still trembling body.

Eventually, Hannibal finds the strength to roll off of Abigail, and lies on the bed next to her. He turns to look at her, wondering if she regrets their actions, but finds her already watching him, smiling apprehensively.

He reaches out and pulls her to him, finding the way she forms to him oddly enjoyable. Abigail's head rests on his chest and he lazily strokes her hair.

"Where are your monsters now?" he asks.

"Hiding," she says, yawning. "They are afraid of you."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" Abigail questions.

"Are you afraid of me?"

She pauses for so long he isn't sure she'll answer, but when she does, her words surprise him.

"I think I should be, or that you think I should be, but no, I'm not afraid of you."

"I do think you should be," he replies, "but I don't want you to be afraid of me. I will protect you, Abigail, as best I can."

"Then I truly have n-nothing to fear," she yawns.

Hannibal is about to protest, but her suddenly even breathing tells him she's drifted off. He sighs lightly and places a kiss on her forehead.

I hope my best is good enough.

Author's Note: This is my first Hannibal fic. I'm relatively new to the fandom, and actually just watched the whole first season in two days last week. I was immediately struck by the chemistry of these two characters and couldn't get this story idea out of my head. Please let me know what you think! I'm considering a multi-chaptered Hannigail fic in the near future and would love the feedback.