Chapter Text
A pot roast, sliced yet untouched and dusted with mold, utterly rancid. Bugs crawling in the once roasted potatoes. A grim family dinner with the two children, a boy and girl, face down on their plates with their father, all having gunshots through the back of their heads with the exception of the mother. Head also lying down on her plate but to the side, showing a bullet wound in her forehead. Resultant pools of brown dried blood read like inky shadows on the dining table with sprays of blood decorating the walls around them, blood spattered on the family portrait hanging on the wood paneled walls. Sitting at the head of the table is Jaimie, taking a deep breath, and closing her eyes.
Opening them to the family sitting motionlessly and staring at her. Each person at the table has a full plate in front of them except for Jaimie who as an empty place setting. "The table has been set for a family dinner. They weren't invited though so they took their seat at the empty plate. Their seat, their place sitting next to Mrs. Turner... They are the guest of honor." The young girl holds a fork in her hand with a piece of broccoli skewered on it, not eating it. "No one has taken a bite of their dinner except the children." She then turns and points to the little girl, "Unless you eat your growing foods, you won't get any dessert." The girl widens her eyes and quickly pops the broccoli in her mouth. "No one is bound but they all look frightened." Her fist flies and slams onto the table as she yells, "No one leaves the table. They brought their new family to this home invasion, controlling the Turners with threats of violence. Threats that have turned into actions." Three simultaneous gun shots ring out in the dining room. BAM. BAM. BAM. "The Turner family is killed all at the same time with the exception of Mrs. Turner, who dies last... This is their design." She closes her eyes now. Opening them to the Turner family back to being face down, lifeless on the table with Mrs. Turner's dead eyes staring at her. "They shoot Mrs. Turner, gun against her forehead. Looking her directly in the eye when they pull the trigger." Jaimie's eyes filled with tears as they look over the scene before her. A happy family murdered in their home home at their dinner table.
Jack watches Jaimie as she's sitting at the table, eyes closed with her arm stretched out with no gun in her hand. "What do you see?" She opens her eyes and lowers her arm, letting her weight sink into the chair more as her eyes are trained on the dead family before her. "I saw family values." Jack frowns and says, "Whose family values?" "I don't know..."
Will's pack of dogs sniff and wander about Jaimie's home until they suddenly all go still. Their tails motionless as they turn to the door to observe a presence pulling into the driveway. Driving up to the quaint little house is a midnight blue Bentley and as it parks, Hannibal steps out in a brown expensive pair of trousers along with a green cashmere polo sweater and matching brown plaid blazer. He walks up to her front porch, taking in the faint flowers painted on her shutters as well as the magenta geraniums overflowing in her window boxes. He walks to her front door holding a brown bag which he pulls a rope of linked sausages from. Hannibal lets himself in as he breaks off a couple sausages only to break them into smaller pieces which he feeds to the dogs. With the pack occupied, he stands in her living room, exploring it, as he sees old leather couches, decorated in soft pillows and several cozy throw blankets. She has two bookshelves beside her fireplace with one containing with books so stuffed together that they might pop out while her other is lined with several vinyl records of various genres and musicians to which he notices her affinity for classical music so he takes note of that. His eyes keep studying over her things as he walks into her kitchen now, seeing the various soft colors carry into this room as well. Her kitchen is small but has a homey feeling all around it as it smells of baked goods and flowers, noting the small wilting bouquet of wildflowers on her little table by a bowed window. In her fridge he looks and sees several vegetables but a lot of quick dinner meals, frowning at her lack of food she has to keep herself properly eating. One dog follows him though which Hannibal kneels down to see is named Winston, as labeled on his dog tag. He gives the dog a small pat before moving upstairs, seeing several photos of her and Will's youth along the walls in a gallery style. What catches his attention most is a small picture of a much younger Jaimie, her hair more fiery and untamed with a much younger Will, his hair falling into his round deep set blue eyes alongside a clean shaven face with glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The picture seems to be at a small community theater with Jaimie all dressed in a gaudy ballerina's outfit standing beside Will and an older man who looks a lot like Will so Hannibal could only guess it was Will's father. Hannibal arrives upstairs soon enough and finds his way to the guest room where Will is residing until further notice, here to make sure Jaimie is living well and safe which Hannibal will admit is a kind thing to do. The room is fairly clean with the dresser being organized neatly as several folded white shirts, socks, and boxers are laid in the top drawer. He moves his gaze to Will's fly tying gear arranged on a desk in the room. There is a rack of completed flies, a vice, lamp, magnifying glass, yarns, threads, feathers and finally hooks. He sits himself down at the station, admiring Will's handiwork of delicate lures for fishing. Moving his hands up, he ties off an incomplete salmon fly expertly using the tools laying on the desk, his surgeon's precision coming into play. Having finished, he admires the fly and hook only to press his thumb gently against the pointed barb, using enough pressure to draw a drop of blood which without lingering his act, sucks the blood from his thumb with the sound being that of a quick kiss. The last room he studies is Jaimie's bedroom which he finds a tad messy with clothes strewn across the floor and an ottoman at the end of her bed, making several notes in his head about this. He notices more books, some of which he owns himself, as well as drawings she did, lying on her desk and pinned to the wall. The drawings depict several people, places, and animals but one stood out to him. A beautifully drawn sketch of his office, himself seated at his desk. He smiles at the picture as if it were sketched by her own eyes. Before leaving her home he leaves a note on her fridge reading off as, "Jaimie, the dogs were behaving well and were fed. I hope to see you soon for a session -Dr. Lecter."
The bandages on Abigail's neck have been removed as she looks at the loose coverings in the mirror. She moves down the white gauze and wrappings to reveal angry scars adorning her small neck, running her fingers across them before frowning. Quickly covering them with a scarf before making her way out of her room to meet Alana downstairs for a casual therapy session. They walk outside in the gardens of the upscale psychiatric clinic with other patients and orderlies walking about as well. "I can hide what happened to me. All I need is a scarf to pass or a turtleneck, the right high collar." Abigail says as Alana frowns sympathetically. "Hiding what happened to you defeats the purpose of being here. Sharing will help normalize." "I'm not normal, not anymore." "What happened to you isn't normal." Abigail scoffs and folds her arms together as she says, "Some of these women aren't even sharing. They speak in little girl voices, telling everyone what was done to them and how they hurt without saying a word about it." "Certain traumas can arrest vocal development. Victims can sometimes broadcast victimhood involuntarily." "Not me" Abigail remarks as she adjusts her scarf. "That's not necessarily true, your victimhood has a high profile thanks to Freddie Lounds." Alana says but Abigail responds with, "I'm a celebrity victim. Someone here asked me if I kept my stained clothes. Like I was that girl who did oral with president Clinton." Alana stops walking which the younger sees and stops walking too. "How did that make you feel?" Abigail rolls her eyes and says, "Like I wanted to go home but I don't have a home anymore. Do I?" Alana puts a gentle hand on Abigail's arm and speaks with a soft tone, "You will and I'll help you find it." The two start walking again as they come up to a small fountain and sit down at it. "Would've been my mom's birthday yesterday. We were gonna climb Eagle Mountain to celebrate. Highest point in Minnesota, but it's not really that high and less than three hours to the summit. You can see Lake Superior from there." Alana smiles at her words and says, "We could go there and scatter your mother's ashes, if you'd like that?" Abigail smiles in return, her eyes tearing up a bit as she says quietly, "I would like that." "We can do that but first, I want you to give the support groups another chance." "Support groups are sucking the life out of me, I can't do it." Alana gives her a gentle look as she responds, "Isolating yourself can suck just as hard. You have to find someone to relate to in this experience."
Scribbling pen on paper fills the room along with the gentle musings of Frederic Chopin's Nocturne Op.9, No.2 filling the air as Hannibal scribbles in his patient notebook when he hears the quiet buzzer on his desk ring. He stands up confused as he moves to open the door, only to find Alana waiting. "Hi." He smirks and says cheekily, "Do you have an appointment?" "Do you have a beer?" Moments later, Alana clinks her beer bottle to Hannibal's wine glass as they sit on his gray chaise lounge. "Interesting day with Abigail I presume?" Hannibal asks as he takes a drink from his glass. "The grief work, the trauma intervention, it's all on course but I think she may be wrestling with a low-grade depression." She says as Hannibal eyes her large swig of her beer. "She?" He says which makes Alana shamefully smile in return, "Nothing wrong with a little self-medication, right Doctor?" She pauses for a moment before taking another large swig of her beer and says, "Professional neutrality be damned, it's hard to see such a bright, young girl go so adrift." "One can certainly lose perspective tucked away for weeks in an ivory tower. Perhaps it's time Abigail's released from clinical treatment." Hannibal says as Alana frowns slightly, "Released where? Back into the wild?" "Spending each day immersed in tragedy may be doing more harm than good. Abigail should be out in the world finding her footing, giving her the confidence to move forward from this." Alana's frown deepens as she counters, "Abigail is in no condition to tackle real-world issues like where she's going to live, what to do about school, hell, where her next meal is going to come from." "I'm not suggesting abandonment." Hannibal says in a more quiet tone as Alana sighs, "You and Jaimie both feel responsible but do you really think it's wise to insert yourselves in her life?" "I am qualified to help her." Hannibal remarks back which Alana smiles faintly at, "You're the sanest man I know." Smiling back at her, he says teasingly, "I would agree." Alana chuckles but it soon dies off, "You saved her life but it doesn't change the fact that Abigail's been through what she's been through." "I know, I was there along with Jaimie when she went through it." Alana takes a swig of her beer before responding, "I can't tell you what to do but if you insist on taking a personal interest in her welfare, then you'd better understand you can not walk away, no matter what the outcome is." "We break it, we buy it?" Hannibal comments but receives no laugh from her, "This is a girl who was very attached to her parents. Overly so, in fact. You stepping in as a surrogate would only be a crutch. Abigail needs to work things out for herself in a safe, clinical environment. That will give her the confidence to move forward." Seeing how his colleague isn't going to sway her choice in the matter, Hannibal bows his head to her, "I defer to the passion of my esteemed colleague." Hannibal cheers his glass to Alana's as he adds, "Passion's good, gets blood pumping." Smirking with appreciation at the flush in Alana's cheeks, Hannibal takes a long drink of his wine.
Back in the Turner's home in Bangor, Maine, in the dining room a little after 9 pm, Jack strides past the few local detectives who gather evidence with his team. Jimmy Price stands, photographing the dinner table as Brian Zeller is in a crouch, checking wound angles. Beverly Katz meanwhile collects fingerprints from a glass filled with Sunny-D. Looking at family photos, Jack finds Jaimie, "Karen and Roger Turner. Childhood sweethearts, owned a successful Real Estate business, pillars of the community with three children." "Three? Where's the other kid?" Jaimie asks as her eyes fall onto a small picture of Karen Turner playing with a child who wasn't seated at the death table. "A son, Jesse, disappeared last year. Last confirmed sighting had him boarding an RV at a rest area on route forty-seven. Possible runaway, probable abduction." "I think more of both is what happened." She remarks as she looks at Jack now as he says, "Hundreds of tips but not a single one held up past lunchtime. When misery rains she pours." "These pictures of family holidays, vacations, milestones... they never reveal the whole truth of the picture." Jack shrugs and says, "Who wants to fill their scrapbook with arguments and dirty laundry?" "Layers and layers of lies betrayed by a sad glint in a child's eyes." Jaimie comments as a flash emits from the camera as Jimmy jokes, "Norman Rockwell with a bullet." Jaimie chuckles slightly at his joke as Jack rolls his eyes, "Any signs of forced entry?" He says, staying on the case at hand. "The perimeter is clean of scoring and rupture. No broken windows or torn screens. It's all sealed up tight." Beverly says. "Probably rang the doorbell." Jaimie remarks as Beverly smirks and continues on, "I've got bullet holes on the upper sections of the wall and ceiling." "Pull the slugs for ballistics." "If they aren't frangible, it shouldn't be a problem." "Those elevated termination points match what I see on these bodies-" Zeller starts to say as he moves towards the table, pointing out what he means, "-Angled cranial impacts, coupled with acute exit wounds and conical spray, the shooter was firing from low to high, probably crouched." "Or maybe they were Hobbits." Jimmy comments, making Jaimie snicker until it strikes a chord of epiphany in Jaimie, moving back to look at the family photographs. "How long since Jesse was abducted again?" "Just over a year, why?"
Later in the day at the morgue downstairs at the BAU, Jaimie and the others stand before the corpses of the dead Turner family, laying on slabs for inspection, covered in sheets as Zeller who in gloves, apron, and visor mask says, "I'm glad we didn't have guns in my house. I would've shot my sister to get them out of the bathroom." All the while inspecting and performing autopsies, Beverly remarks, "I liked having a big family." "My parents gave me a gift, a twin. Who wouldn't want two of me?" Jimmy adds as Zeller looks over at Jaimie and says, "Must've been an experience growing up with Will Graham." "Why do you say that?" She says confused as Zeller shrugs, "You came out good while Will, not so much." An odd remark but Beverly swoops in to take the sting away by saying, "I was the oldest, so all the friction rolled down hill." Jack who stands next to Jaimie comments, "The attention and responsibilities given to the firstborn children prime them for future success." "Here I am, living the dream." Beverly adds. "I believe any favoring of another sibling could disrupt the eldest's ability to handle stress." Jaimie teases a bit as Beverly humors her with, "My baby sister got away with murder, had 'em all fooled." Jaimie laughs as Jimmy adds, "I thought middle were the problems?" Zeller shakes his head no playfully as he comments, "No, the middle is the sweet spot." Jack, who had been studying the crime scene photos, looks over each of the bodies and says, "All of the victims have defensive wounds. Except Mrs. Turner." He hands Jaimie the crime scene photos as she remarks, "She seems accepting, forgiving even in this photo." Confused Jack asks ploddingly, "What kind of victim forgives her killer at the moment of her death?" Realizing now that her theory from earlier is correct she says quietly, "A mother."
"Tell me about your mother." Hannibal says as night falls at his office, sitting across from him is Jaimie who chuckles a little bit. "Wow I've never heard that one before. Low hanging fruit?" He also laughs quietly and remarks, "A fruit that I suspect is on a high branch, difficult to reach." "So's my mother. I don't remember her." There it is, finally he gets to probe her on this amnesia Alana mentioned before. Listening intently, Hannibal says with his eyes full of intrigue, "An interesting place to start." "Let's start with you, tell me about your mother. Quid pro quo." Hannibal smirks at her use of Latin, a fan of the language himself so he humors her. "Both of my parents died when I was very young. The proverbial orphan until I was adopted by my Uncle Robertas when I was sixteen." She offers him an empathetic frown, understanding Hannibal a little more clearly now than before- or so she thinks. "You have orphan in common with Abigail Hobbs, something no one should have in common. I'm sorry." Hannibal waves her apology away and smiles. "It's alright dear, you didn't know. But I think we'll discover you and I have a great deal in common with Abigail. She's already demonstrated an aptitude for the psychological." He then adds with a cheeky smirk, "Quid pro quo." Jaimie unwilling to return the volley, which disappoints Hannibal, instead says, "Family is so foreign to me, like an ill-tasting berry. It's hard to connect to the concept." "You created a family for yourself." "In a way yes, and thank you for feeding the dogs while myself and Will were away." Hannibal nods a 'you're welcome' but then adds, "I was referring to Abigail." Jaimie looks away at that as Hannibal lets that sink in with her before continuing on to say, "Tell me about the Turner family. Were they affluent? Well to do?" "They were yes, lived like they were made of money." "Did your family have money dear?" Jaimie shakes her head no. "No uh, I don't know but living with Will and his father, we were poor. I followed them around to boat yards in Biloxi and Greenville to lake boats on Erie." Hannibal nods, making a mental note on her words before saying, "Always the new girl at school? Always the stranger?" She chuckles slightly and nods a 'yes'. "I'm guessing a harbor of half-buried grudges against the rich?" Hannibal smirks as Jaimie laughs a bit louder now at the banter between them. "Aren't we all?" Hannibal likes that she's laughing, knowing he's getting closer, little by little, to his end goal with her. "Your favorite food must be fish then, if living with a fisherman has anything to do with it." She quickly shakes her head no with a small giggle, "Very funny Dr. Lecter." 'I like her giggle', he thinks to himself before getting back to the matter at hand. "What grudge was Mrs. Turner's killer harboring against her?" "I think it’s motherhood." Hannibal tilts his head slightly and remarks, "No not motherhood, a perversion of it."
A big veiny hand places a platter of blood sausage onto the center of the immaculate dining table, the hand belonging to Hannibal as he dishes a generous portion of sausage onto Jack Crawford's plate while Jack fills his lungs in the tantalizing aroma. "A modified Boudin Noir from Ali-Bab's Gastronomie Pratique." Jack looks up curiously and says, "Ali-Bab?" "An engineer who, after losing his sense of appetite, spent the remainder of his life cooking for his brother. He developed a theory that great cultures meet their ends solely as a result of their cuisines becoming too decadent." Jack chuckles and comments, "You'll meet your end if my wife catches you fattening up my liver." "Perfect for foie gras." Hannibal pauses and then says as he sits across from Jack with his own plate, "You promised to deliver your wife to my dinner table." "We've got to polish up our act. Can't have you diagnosing our marital problems in one fell swoop." He chuckles and skewers a piece of meat onto his fork and asks, "What am I about to put in my mouth?" "Rabbit.." "Should've hopped faster." Jack jokes as Hannibal laughs with him, "Yes, he should have." A man running hysterically in the woods plays over in Hannibal's mind as he then says, "But fortunately for us, he did not." Taking a bite, Jack savors the rich taste of the blood sausage before going on to say, "Our friend Jaimie seemed haunted today, more than usual. Thought maybe it was the nature of the case, a murdered family." Hannibal shrugs as he swallows what was in his mouth before saying, "I doubt the age and relationship of the victims she's investigating would affect her professionalism." "Then what would?" "We don't know what nightmares lie coiled beneath dear Jaimie's pillow." "We don't? You should." Hannibal is quiet for a moment, thinking of how to play this to his advantage, "The first small bond to a killer itches and sting like a leech, that may be a distraction." "Maybe it's not such a small bond. Children killing other children, not an unfamiliar notion for Jaimie." Hannibal looks up now with a slight frown. "You still suspect Abigail Hobbs in her father's crimes, don't you?" "Doesn't matter what I suspect, it matters what I can prove. Ms. Hobbs has been absolved of any crime. So the nightmare under Jaimie's pillow may be that she was wrong about her." Hannibal takes hold of the glass of wine next to his plate and takes a long drink, "A more innocuous theory Jack." Jack frowns with a, "Please." "Children transport us to our childhoods. Jaimie may feel the tug of life before the FBI, before you. To simpler times in boat yards with her surrogate father and Will or even a tug to know what she had before it was stripped away from her memories. That life is an anchor streamed behind her in heavy weather. She needs an anchor Jack."
A pair of boy's sneakers that have well-worn soles, a duct-taped rip in the canvas, and a doodle on the rubber toe cap. Inspecting said shoes are Beverly, Jimmy, and Zeller down in the forensics lab at Quantico. Jimmy dusts for prints at a nearby table with everything from video game controllers to a flush handle from a toilet, currently dusting a pop can collected from the evidence crate while Beverly keeps her investigations on the sneakers. "Got the blurred print of a nose off a pop can. Someone could use a Biore blackhead strip." Jimmy comments as Beverly says, "One pair of size six sneakers from the Turner house. Tread on left indicates uneven leg length." Jimmy looks over and says, "Is that unusual?" Working the morgue bay on the bodies of the Turner family, Zeller calls out, "Not in twelve-year-old. Growth plates are all out of whack. One foot's bigger than another, one leg is longer, so puberty is in full effect." "I'll say, lived in the Turner's house for a week after they were dead. Ordered pizza and Pay Per View Movies. p*rn. Lots of p*rn." Jimmy adds. "There's a strong bond of aggressive and sexual drives that occurs in sad*sts at an early age." Beverly says as Zeller jokes, "I didn't turn out to be a sad*st." Rolling her eyes, Beverly asks, "How did Jesse Turner turn out? No one has seen him in almost a year." "I've extrapolated present height and weight from abduction stats and even with the usual growth spurt between eleven and twelve, he'd be at most around four-and-a-half feet tall, maybe eighty pounds." Jimmy dusts a video game controller from an evidence box, pulling prints and scanning them into the computer with a giddy smile as he says, "God's gift to trace analysts. Gorgeous fingerprints all over these things. No matches, but they're gorgeous. Nothing forecasts violence like a first person shooter." "I isolated seven pairs of shoe prints, filtered out the Turner's, including Jesse's, so we're down to three unsubs. Sneakers are a size seven, a three-and-a-half, and a boy's eleven." Beverly announces as Zeller remarks, "The Lost Boys." Still at his computer, Jimmy studies the point comparison of the fingerprints he just fed to it as several dots of similarities light up across the print grid- a match. "Just found one of them."
In her lecture hall at the academy, Jaimie stands in front of her classroom full of trainees as she's mid-lecture, "Most of the time in sexual assaults, the bite mark has a livid spot in the center but in certain cases, they do not. Biting may be a fighting pattern as much as a sexual behavior in some killers-" "Class dismissed. Everybody out." Jack calls out as he appears, cutting Jaimie off and walks in with a bad mood written over his face and it grows at seeing the trainees not leaving yet. "What did I just say?" He yells which then quickly everyone gathers their books before making a hasty exit. Jaimie watching all of this frowns deeply, "Jack what the hell? I was in the middle of a class." "We found a match for a set of prints pulled from the Turner house. They belong to Connor Frist, a thirteen-year-old boy from Huntsville." About to argue, Jaimie stops herself as she looks confused know, "It's another kid?" "Another missing kid to be exact. Vanished ten months ago, case never solved." Jaimie leans against her desk and takes her glasses off to rub her eyes, "So we tell the kids parents, 'Good news Mr. and Mrs. Frist, your son's alive! Bad news, he's a suspect in four murders.' Something every parent wants to hear." "Four so far." Jack comments. "How many kids are in the Frist family?" "Three, same as the Turner. We're ready when you are ready and you're right now so let's go." Jaimie tilts her head and says, "We're ready? What do you mean?" "We have a Gulfstream standing by at Andrews Airforce Base, borrowed from Interior. The basic lab stuff will be on it so we can be there within the hour if we leave now." Jack says as she takes a deep breath knowing what this means, "You're expecting a crime scene, aren't you?"
'Have a holly, jolly Christmas.' Plays from a record player over speakers as an unreasonable decorated living room sits, lifeless. A large tree in the corner that's nearly covered by garland and ornaments, wrapping paper strewn along the floors and a misshaped burnt corpse that lies in the fireplace. Through the artificially frosted windows, there is a flurry of movement. Armed, dark-clad figures creeping in swiftly and silently, moving along the outside of the house. 'It's the best time of the year. I don't know if there'll be snow...' A gloved finger hits the pause button, silencing the misplaced holiday cheer. The gloved finger belonging to Jack, moves back to his side as his eyes survey the scene with Jaimie, Zeller, Jimmy, and Beverly at his side as FBI agents fan through the home, their weapons at the ready. Gathered around the tree lies Mr. and Mrs. Frist and two children in their pajamas and robes, partially concealed by the tattered and torn gift wraps. All of them are dead and by the looks of it, have for some time. Behind the tree though, the family dog trots out, carrying a chewed-off arm in its mouth who drops it at Jaimie's feet who in return looks horrified. Moving in to examine the crime scene, Zeller examines the partially eaten tissue of Mrs. Frist's throat and says, "At least the dog didn't starve."
Back in the morgue, Jaimie along with the others, examine the Frist family as each family member lies on their own slab, partially covered by a white sheets with Jack watching them work. "Mr. Frist and the children killed first while Mrs. Frist is saved for last. Same as the Turner's." Jack says as Jaimie adds, "Not exactly the same though, the boys didn't stay so something went wrong here." "Not a single present under the tree for Mrs. Frist. Who doesn't buy their mom a Christmas present?" Beverly says as Jaimie speaks up again with a sad look in her eyes, "They took her presents as if they were taking her motherhood." Jack nods but then points to the last slab and pulls back the sheet to reveal an incredibly burnt corpse, "Who was the additional corpse in the fireplace then?" Jaimie looks even more sad as her eyes fall upon the charred skull poking out now from under the sheet and says, "Connor Frist." Beside her, Zeller and Beverly examine just below Mrs. Frist's hairline to find a puckered entry wound that stands out against her smooth, pale skin. "An angled cranial impact means the shooter fired from low to high." Zeller says as Jack responds, "Shooting her once wasn't enough." Zeller, using his gloved hands, parts Mrs. Frist's hair above the entry wound, revealing dried matted blood. "The bullet deflected off the curvature of her skull and traveled beneath the scalp to its final resting spot at the base of her neck." "The hydrostatic shock of shell hitting skull would've caused brain damage, it wouldn't have killed her." Beverly adds as Jaimie walks forward, looking down at the body of Mrs. Frist and says quietly, "Her body would've gone into convulsions then which would have made Connor Frist panic. That boy had been prepared to shoot his own mother but not to watch her suffer." Zeller turns Mrs. Frist's head to reveal another entry wound decorating the side of her head that is visibly bigger. "They shot her again to put her out of her misery, but with a different gun." Zeller says Jimmy gets up close and says, "A large caliber gun that was to heavy for a kid to hold so someone else shot Connor's mom." "Connor couldn't put his panic back in the bottle, so he was shot too." Jack adds to which Jaimie speaks up, "Shot in anger. By a different gun, with a larger caliber. A gun that wasn't used at the Turner house where everything went as planed." Jack listens, trying to piece out what happened and says, "Connor Frist is murdered because he can't bring himself to finish off his mother, but afterwards he's treated with compassion and given a ceremonial send-off to the hereafter." "It's like whoever shot him, disowned him." Jaimie says grimly.
In the waiting room of Hannibal's office in downtown Baltimore, Jaimie sits patiently as she fiddles with a wrapped gift in her hands, decorated with a blue wrapping and colorful bow. She perks up though and puts the present back in her bag when she hears the door open, "Good evening, please come in." Hannibal says, appearing from the now open door in his usual three piece suit, this time in a darker brown shade and blue button up beneath. Jaimie grabs her bag only to gently toss it onto the chaise lounge as she enters his office. "Has Christmas come early? Or late?" Hannibal remarks as he notices the brightly colored present in her bag. Staring, Jaimie shakes off the comment and says, "It was meant for Abigail but I thought better of it." Hannibal takes a seat in his usual spot but Jaimie remains standing as she looks at his desk, picking up and playing with a letter opener he has which Hannibal says nothing to, letting her have free reign in here. "You bare gifts when you're angry?" He comments as Jaimie says, "Better gifts than teeth but I'm not angry." "You very clearly are mad about something but my curiosity has the better of me, what did you get her?" Jaimie sets the letter opener back to it's original spot and leans against his desk and says, "A charcoal set, brushes, and a kneaded eraser." Hannibal perks up at the gift and says, "Teaching her how to draw?" "I thought it would be something new to get her mind off of her trauma or to better help express what she's feeling." Hannibal nods at the thought that went into it and says cheekily, "Feeling maternal my dear?" "Aren't you feeling paternal?" She remarks back. "Yes but our good friend Dr. Bloom has advised against taking too personal an interest in Abigail's welfare. You break it, you buy it." Jaimie shakes her head, hiding the small smile that came from his phrasing and says, "Can't break what's already broken Doctor." "Can't you?" Hannibal then adds, "Tell me, why were you so angry a moment ago?" She sighs as she moves to sit at his desk which makes Hannibal smile a bit, seeing how comfortably she is in his space. "I was and truthfully still am angry about these boys. I'm angry because I know that when we find them that I can't help them. I can't give them back what they just took away without any regard for what comes after." "Family." Hannibal says and the word hangs in the air for a moment before she gives him a simple, but sad nod. "Freddie Lounds coined these young killers the Blood Brothers." "We call them the Lost Boys." Hannibal studies her before speaking, seeing how much this case in particular is affecting her mentally. "Abigail is lost too. Perhaps it is our responsibility, yours and mine, to help her find her way. Give her the gift Jaimie."
Sitting at a mom and pop's diner at a back booth are three boys, of close but varying ages, and an older woman who seems distant, distracted all with milkshakes in front of them but one boy doesn't touch his. The oldest boy looks at the woman and says, "Don't be sad about Connor mom." The woman frowns and says, "Connor didn't choose us. He tried but I guess I didn't do a very good job being his mother." "It's not your fault." The older boy speaks up again. "I couldn't make him understand. The family you're born into isn't really family. Those are just people you didn't choose. You have to make a family, that's what we're doing. We're making our family." The boys listen to her as the kid who hasn't yet touched his milkshake finds his courage to ask, "What happened to your family?" The older boy frowns and says, "We're her family." The older woman smiles a bit and says, "I had a brother like you boys have brothers. He showed me that the family you think is family is just a stepping stone to a real family." "You have to step on that stone." The older boy says as the woman continues, "And then you have to step over it. Like C.J. did and Jesse, but Connor, he couldn't take the leap." Noticing the other boy hasn't touched his drink she adds, "You okay sweetie?" "He's fine." "C.J." The woman says, putting the older boy in his place, looks back to the other one and smiles brightly at him, "You should be excited to go back home, even if it is to say goodbye. We're your family now Christopher and you can only have one family."
Back in Jaimie's lecture hall, she sits at her desk with her laptop blaring with two amber alert photos side by side. One of them is Jesse Turner, the other of Connor Frist. Walking in though, is Beverly but she doesn't notice as Jaimie's full attention is on studying the two boys' photos. Beverly, seeing this smirks and says, "Ever heard of Willard Wigan? He's this artist who does micro sculptures, like putting the Obamas in the eye of a needle. He's so focused that he can work between the beats of his heart. I guess archers do that too, right?" "Hm?" Is all Beverly gets from Jaimie. "What're you looking at?" She says and turns to see what is capturing Jaimie's attention only for her to then acknowledge her presence. She flinches a bit in surprise but quickly adjusts her computer to show her the screen. "Sorry uh-" She gets out before rubbing her tired eyes and continues, "I noticed that these kids are both fairly small and underweight for their ages." Beverly looks and nods, "You think there is a connection?" Jaimie sits back in her chair as she says, "I'm thinking possible ADHD diagnoses for both boys. Ritalin, Focalin, and any medication containing methylphenidate since that affects appetite and slows long-term growth in kids." "Another thing about Willard Wigan is that he had a lonely childhood. He used his tiny sculptures as an escape." Jaimie pauses to look up at her confused, "Who is Willard Wigan?" Beverly chuckles before saying, "Jimmy got a hit from the ballistics matching program he's been running on the two family murders and the bullet that put Mrs. Frist out of her misery, matches three used in a murder in Fort Smith, Arkansas a year ago. A mother of a thirteen-year-old boy shot to death with her own gun." Jaime's eyes widen as she asks, "Thirteen- year-old milk carton material?"
An amber alert photo appears on a laptop screen in Jack's office of a dark-haired, thin, thirteen-year-old boy named C.J. Lincoln. "This boy disappeared six months before his mother's murder and hasn't been heard from since." Jack says as he speaks to his team who stand around his laptop, studying it. Beside the amber alert on the screen is a juvenile rap sheet of C.J. to which Jaimie says, "He has none of the characteristics of a sociopath or sad*st." "No shoplifting, no malicious destruction of property, no assault or battery. He was kind to animals for god's sake." Jack frowns as Jaimie adds, "But judging by the gun, we're looking at Peter Pan to our Lost Boys." "It requires a sophisticated level of manipulation to convince boys to kill their families in cold blood." "Kindness to animals doesn't suggest that kind of sophistication." Jimmy comments. "He's older, been out in the world. Could've picked up a few tricks."
C.J. Lincoln watches the woman he refers to as mom, with Christopher as they stopped by a convenience store on their way to the destination. Christopher seems distant and numb as the woman fumbles through her purse whilst standing at the check-out counter. Chris, turns to see C.J. watching him from near by, with a cold and deadly stare that cuts right through him, who in return freezes in place. The woman now looking up from her purse and her eyes widen, "Oh! Honey!" She quickly clutches napkins off the counter next the to the hotdog warmer, cleaning up the urine from the floor that is leaking from Chris's pants. She apologizes profusely to the store clerk as she turns back to Chris, feeling his forehead and putting her cheek to his, checking his temperature. "Are you feeling okay? You have a fever? You don't feel warm." The clerk hands her a plastic bag to throw away the urine soaked napkins which she takes and quickly disposes of, "Thank you. Oh, I'm so embarrassed." She then looks back to Chris and says, "But you shouldn't be embarrassed. This happens with little bladders." Chris doesn't talk but his eyes drift back to where C.J. was standing, no longer seeing him there as another chill of utter fear runs down his back.
"I don't think I'm allowed to leave after I climbed the wall." Abigail says as she slips her coat on, looking at Hannibal who seems to be studying her from the doorway. "I've made arrangements. You could say I'm one of your guardians." "One of?" "Consider Jaimie another one, along with Dr. Bloom I suppose." Abigail pulls her hair out from under her jacket and adjusts it slightly, "where are we going?" "Home, my home to be exact. I thought you might enjoy it if I cooked for you. I'll have you back before your bedtime." Hannibal says and moves over to help her get situated, even helping her put on her scarf. "Can I spend the night? I don't like sleeping here, I have bad dreams." "You have to sleep in your own bed." "This isn't my bed." Pausing with slight disappointment at her not understanding the joke continues with, "Tell me about your bad dreams." "I had one where Marissa is sending me pictures. Like crime scene photos but of Nicholas Boyle, gutted." "How you left him." "Even though she's dead, I'm afraid Marissa's gonna tell everyone I killed him and they'll think I'm just like my dad." Abigail then pauses with an embarrassed blush on her cheeks and adds, "Sorry. I can't really talk about this in group." Hannibal waves her apology away and says, "There are people here who open their mouths and every sin against them can come tumbling out. You don't have that luxury Abigail." The girl starts to move for the door with Hannibal at her side as she says, "I just have to get used to lying." "You must only lie about one thing and when you're with me, you don't have to lie about anything." Abigail smiles in response but goes on to say, "In the dream, I wonder how I'd live with myself knowing what I did." "And when you're awake?" Hannibal asks and stops them at the door, studying her with a sense of paternal pride. "And when I'm awake, I know I can live with myself. I know I will just get used to what I did." She then adds, "Does that make me a sociopath?" "No. It makes you a survivor." He then opens the door for her as they leave the clinic.
The sounds of a mushroom tea brewing in it's kettle, chopping of various ingredients, and potatoes cut into half-inch cubes sizzling in a pan along with unpeeled garlic gloves and thyme, fill the air. Hannibal no longer in his dark grey blazer, exchanged it for a white apron that is tied around his waist, making his red dress shirt and vest pop. He grinds fresh meat to which he then also tosses into the pan as Abigail looks on from nearby. "It's important to know when it's time to turn the page. Have you thought about applying to schools?" He asks to which Abigail gives him a forced smile, "My dad killed girls at all the schools I applied too." Taking that in, he comments, "Perhaps that can wait then." "I want to work for the FBI." Cracking a warm grin, he looks up at Abigail and says, "I would certainly feel safer if you were in the hallowed halls of the FBI, protecting my interest." "They wouldn't let me though, would they? Because of what my dad did." Abigail says, frowning at the thought. "Only if they believe that is in your nature too." "Nature versus nurture." Hannibal smirks at her phrasing and adds, "we don't invent our natures, Abigail. They're issued to us with out lungs and pancreas and everything else, can't fight it." Abigail listens to his words and her lips point down once more, "I don't know what my nature is." "You are not your father's daughter, not anymore at least." She's quiet for a minute before looking up at him to ask, "What would've happened to my dad if you guys didn't kill him?" "We live in a primitive time. Neither savage nor wise so he'd be exactly where is is now." He then says, "Be grateful for your scars Abigail." The teenager scoffs, "Grateful." "Our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real. Anchors us. We all need to be anchored." Abigail goes quiet on him with his wording so Hannibal offers this, "What if it weren't so painful anymore to think of him?" She looks up and says, "My dad?" "Have you ever taken psilocybin?" Hannibal asks as he puts a lid over the pan he was cooking on and moves to take the whistling kettle off the burner and pours a cup of tea. "Mushrooms? That's what's in the tea?" Nodding, he continues on to say, "There are those psychiatrists who believe altered states could be used to access traumatic memories." "I have all the access to traumatic memories I need. Unlimited access actually." "Which is why we need to supplement them with positive associations. No more bad dreams, Abigail." The girl frowns with confusion and tilts her head, "You want me to do drugs?" "I want you to do this drug with my supervision. Where it's safe." He stirs two lumps of sugar into the tea and holds it out to her, "Do you trust me?"
Twisted into a map at Bangor, Maine is a push pin. The case board that hangs in Jack's office has pinned photos of each Lost Boy that they've identified so far, also including the timeline of their abductions and the dates of the murders they each participated in with pins at each location. "Bangor, Maine. Stamford, Connecticut and most recently, Reston, Virginia." Jack announces as his team hovers around the board. "That places each of the murders approximately five hundred miles from the one before it." Jimmy says as Zeller remarks, "You're trying to attach a geographical pattern to murders that took weeks apart." Jaimie moves up closer to the board, adding, "Our Lost Boys are minors, middle children from picket white fenced affluent families." "They're not traveling by Greyhound." Beverly notes as Jack circles an area on the map, saying, "They're moving southbound, we're looking somewhere on the border of Georgia and North Carolina." Exasperated from all this information, Zeller says, "There's hundreds of towns in this area. Off every freeway ramp." "Got a better idea Z?" Zeller shrugs and jokes, "Throw darts." He then mimics his words as Jack turns his gaze towards Jaimie who almost seems to wilt like a tired flower under it. She moves her eyes back onto the map and says, "Maybe it isn't a geographical thing and more a psychological thing." "What kind of kid would do this?" Jack says as Jaimie adds, "And what kinda kid would follow a kid who did this?" Beverly nods and speaks up, "The shepherd and his flock." "When a sheep ran away, the shepherd used to break its leg from running away again. It forced the sheep to rely on the shepherd. Cruel to be kind." Jaimie hears his words and pauses a moment before adding, "Animals remember the voice of a trusted and familiar person but they also remember people who inflict abuse on them." "There's no indication these kids came from abusive families." Jack says, dissuading the idea but Jaimie now realizing, sadly says, "Capture-bonding." They look up at her as Jimmy lets out a confused, "What?" "It's a passive, psychological response to a new master. It's an essential survival tool that has been in use for a million years. You bond with your captor, you survive. You don't bond with your captor, it's over for you." Jack looks at Jaimie now, seeing her thinking process and quickly turns to Beverly, "Get files on every missing boy within two hundred miles of North Carolina."
Her vision shifts and distorts slowly but then more aggressively as time moves by, appearing to demolecularize her hand as she moves it away from her only to then hear the sound of delicate expensive china smashing on the ground. Hannibal looks up to see a high, disoriented Abigail as she drops the teacup to the ground. He quickly moves over and starts to pick up the shards of china on the ground, making sure Abigail doesn't step on them. "Dr. Bloom said this was okay?" "Not at all, we often have a difference of opinion." "Another secret for us then." She says before moving to lounge on the small leather chair he has in the corner of his sleek and ostentatious kitchen. Collecting each shard in his hands, he sets them aside on a counter as he says, "You and I will have many secrets." He then adds, "Infusing psilocybin into the bloodstream before psychotherapy can elicit a positive, even spiritual experience for patients." "But I'm not your patient, I'm Dr. Bloom's patient." Hannibal smiles and moves over to her where she sits and crouches down to meet her eye level. "No, you're my guest." Pausing, Hannibal continues, "Psychological trauma is an affliction of the powerless. I want to give you your power back." He watches as her eyes shift about the room as she starts freaking out in her high, "I don't feel good." He moves his hands up to hold and caress her face as he sys in a gentle tone, "That feeling will pass. Allow it to wash over you, through you. Let me be your guide, Abigail." After a couple minutes she finally calms down enough for him to leave her side and remain cooking. Her eyes follow the food Hannibal's preparing and the orange juice that pours into a glass from a juicer. "You're making breakfast for dinner?" She asks, confused. "Not just any breakfast. High Life eggs. A chef in Spain called Muro claims he invented it in the nineteenth century." Hannibal says all the while throwing an egg into the air and catching it on the edge of his knife, cracking it and holding it in place as the contents drool out onto a slice of brioche with a hole already in the pan. Beside it, sausage sizzles and crackles as he continues on to say, "The taste is not only biochemical, it's also psychological, evoking memories of places and experiences." Abigail looks at the food in the pan and frowns faintly. "Eggs and sausage was the last meal I was having with my parents." "I know. It's also the first meal you're having with me."
Down in the examination room of the BAU later at night stands Jaimie, Beverly, and Alana at a conference table with many discarded file folders of missing or abducted kids. Above on a cork board, arrayed in view, are fourteen pictures of a range of different faces. "If we're looking for our next Trilby, are we assuming C.J. Lincoln is in the Svengali role?" Alana asks and goes on to add, "Without the interference of a leader, these kids would never consider violent action." "A fuse yet to be lit." Beverly notes as she skims through a stack of files. "A buried darkness. An ink spot on their soul. It takes a catalyst to bring that to the surface." Jaimie paces near them, her face riddled with thoughts she's not letting out as she says, "Our Trilby's a boy is an outsider in his own family, seeing himself as a paradox in a so called normal family. He'd be good at a vocation, something inventive or mechanical." Her hands keep leafing through files as she discards the ones that don't fit her profile. "Will would've been a perfect candidate." Alana notes quietly and Jaimie nods, "He would have." Quickly moving on from Alana's words, Jaimie adds, "He'd have hobbies that require hand-eye coordination, that are off the beaten path, that link up to what his father does for a living. Something that consumes him so as to keep him engaged." "The devil makes work for idle hands kind of thing." Beverly speaks up as she keeps skimming through files, tossing ones aside until she holds up a photo. "Here's one. Family moved from Biloxi, to Charleston to Fayetteville in the last three years. He won Junior High awards for his work on pretty sophisticated computer circuitry." Jaimie walks over and gently takes the photo from her and reads off the name, "Chris O'Halloran." "Why do you think these kids are susceptible to C.J. Lincoln?" Alana asks as Jaimie answers, "Because their interests or ages set them apart but, he may have a brother.... a brother without a brother maybe." "Brothers looking for a mother." Alana says offhandedly but Jaimie's head shoots up like a bullet before she rushes off to Jack's office.
As Jaimie rushes into his office, Jack looks up from his computer confused and is about to say something but Jaimie blurts out, "It's not just C.J. Lincoln. There's an adult with some formative sway, a woman. A mother figure who's looking to form a family." Jack processes her words before finally saying, "Family can have a contagion effect on the alienated. You adopt the same attitudes, the same behaviors." "Whoever this woman is, she wants these children to burst with love for her and she needs to get their families out of the picture to do that by any means necessary and in her mind, that's killing them." Jack sits back in his chair, rubbing his face as he repeats everything so far, "So she abducts them, convinces no one can love them like she does, and then makes absolutely sure of it by killing their families." Jaimie then hands him the file on Chris O'Halloran which he takes and quickly looks through as Jaimie then tells him, "A security camera from a convenience store in Alexandria, Virginia captured surveillances footage of Chris this morning with an unidentified woman." "Where's this kid's family?" "Fayetteville, North Carolina."
Standing on the doorstep of his family home, Chris O'Halloran paces nervously as he hears footsteps approaching the door after he rang the doorbell. Opening the door is Chris's own mother who gasps at the sight of him. "Christopher?" She says in shock as her arms fly around the young boy, holding him tight in her arms as if she's afraid that when she lets go, he'll disappear again. "Oh my god, Chris!" She cries out before she moves back enough to look at him but seeing the dead eyed look in his eyes sounds alarm bells in her head. The alarms in her head were right as C.J. appeared from the darkness, making Chris move out of her arms to hold the gun the older boy shoves into his hands, "Your turn Chris."
The sun soon sets in Fayetteville, North Carolina as a florist delivery van quietly pulls up in front of the big suburban home. Emerging from the sliding door is Jack Crawford as his armed agents and swat members swarm toward the house. Within moments, a swat guy with an air-ram, blasts open the door with Jack leading the team from behind the front guard of swat. Everyone moves through the house armed and at the ready as they sweep through the house, splitting off to cover various rooms in balletic movement. Jack, bringing up the rear now, carefully steps toward the back of the house only to find the family was in the middle of a barbecue dinner but he sees the real scene. "FBI, Drop the weapon!" He yells out as he raises his gun up to C.J. who in return is pointing a gun at Mr. O'Halloran who has his hands raised up defensively along with his wife and other two children. The smell of burgers and hot dogs burning on the grill fills Jack's nose as swat bursts into the yard behind him. C.J. tenses his finger on the trigger only for a loud, BAM! And in a split second, C.J. is shot in the head as his finger tenses enough to shoot at Mr. O'Halloran but misses, taking off a portion of his ear instead of the man's life. C.J.'s body face-plants on the grill as now the smell of burnt human flesh being seared hits everyone's nostrils. During all of this, little Chris bolts as swat members raise their guns to fire but Jaimie takes off after the boy as she yells, "I got him!" She sprints in pursuit of the boy along with several swat members behind her as out of the corner of her eyes, she sees EMTs rush to the father. "Chris, stop!" Jaimie calls out as Chris then pulls up short and turns around raising a gun that's far too heavy and big for him at Jaimie. Jaimie raises an arm to halt the swat team behind her and yells, "Don't shoot!" She then looks at the boy and says, "You don't have to worry about C.J anymore, it's okay. You're home now so please, put the gun down Christopher. You're safe now." Jaimie says gently as she watches the young boy shuffle on his feet with his eyes welling up with tears. "Shoot her Christopher." A woman's voice emerges from the shadows as the woman from the surveillance camera photos appears from the shadows, holding a gun in her hand that she points at the back of Christopher's spine. "Shoot her for me." She says to the boy but then looks up to Jaimie, "Drop your gun. Do it for my boy." Jaimie frowns as she keeps her gun pointed at her now and says, "You must be his new mother right?" "I am and I love him, but I will do what I have to for my family." Jaimie frowns at the woman's words and says in a fit of rage, "You kidnapped these boys. You took them from their loving homes and forced them to kill their own families. Your 'son', C.J., is lying dead with his face being sheared off by a grill while you killed your other 'son' by burning him as if to honor him." The woman studies Jaimie, not appreciating her disrespect to her motherhood. "I'm honoring them like their own mother's wouldn't. They're not invisible anymore, I can see them. I see who they are and I love them." Jaimie takes a deep breath as she then replies, "Then be Christopher's mother now. Protect him, don't murder him." "The most loving mothers commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we are, a subtle kind of murder." Jaimie then lets her gun fall to the ground as she raises her hands up to show she means no harm. "Shoot her Christopher, just like I showed you." The woman says as Chris's traumatized gaze pierces through Jaimie's heart. "Christopher please, put the gun down." Jaimie pleads as her mind recalls something from a long time ago, something she didn't even know she had back in her mind...
"Please put the gun down!" A woman's voice calls out from above her warm, protective arms that are wrapped around Jaimie, shielding her from a man in a dark-clad outfit holding a gun at them. "Tell me where the safe is or the kid dies!" The man screams as in his arms isn't just a gun but a ginger haired boy around the age of nine, with the gun pressed against his head. Jaimie's eyes dart around to see the room is bathed in firelight from a roaring fireplace at the side of her as the room is decorated in crown moldings and wood paneling all around with art pieces from Romanticism and Baroque eras. "I already told you I don't know! Only my husband knows!" The woman yells back but this was not the answer the man was looking for as he presses the gun more roughly against the boys head and says, "Then get your husband here or he's going to come home and find his pregnant wife and children dead on the ground!" Jaimie can feel the woman hold her tighter to her body but feels something else, two other younger children beside her all with ginger hair and sobbing as they cling to this woman, crying out, "Momma I'm scared!" It's then when Jaimie's eyes land on a mirror nearby, reflecting back to her is none other than her nine-year-old self. Her ginger coiled hair and her face full of freckles but what she notices more is the scar on her forehead isn't there where it always is. The woman holding onto her protectively is a beautiful woman but has features Jaimie considers her own. When she finally turns back to the man with the gun she hears- BAM!
The shot is so immediate and unexpected that Jaimie snaps out of her daze to look around at herself to see where the bullet hit her but only a moment later she realizes she hasn't been shot at all. Looking up she watches the woman holding onto Chris spin backwards as a cloud of arterial spray erupts from her shoulder as she was hit by the bullet. Jaimie's eyes turn to where the shot came from to see Beverly with her gun outstretched and smoke issuing from the barrel as she went around the long way of the house to get the shot. Seeing the woman down on the ground, she rushes over to Chris and wraps her arms around him protectively, slipping the gun out of his hands as she does this. Beverly moves in from her spot and gives Jaimie a nod before going over to the woman lying on the ground, bleeding out. She stands up and almost motherly, guides Chris away from this over to the tactical van disguised as a florist delivery van. She sits him down in the backseat and buckles him up before sitting beside him. Sitting in the front seat is Jack who the boy doesn't look up at. "Can I go home now?" Chris asks meekly as Jack gives him a sad look. "No. You might not get to go home for a long time..." Jack then adds, "You came here to kill your family. That's all anybody knows. That's all anyone may ever believe." The boy sniffles, making Jaimie put a comforting arm around him. "I wasn't going to do it." "You're going to talk to a lot of people who will try to understand exactly what you were going to do." "Am I going to jail?" Chris asks as some tears fall down his cheeks which Jaimie wipes away with her sleeve. "I don't think you have the capacity to plan and execute murder. The civilized thing to do with you would be counseling and rehabilitation, not prison." "She told me they weren't my family, that we had to make our own family." Chris says as he starts to cry quietly but then asks him, "Do you have a family?" "I don't have any children, no." "Then you don't know what it's like." Chris says and wipes away some of his own tears as Jaimie sits beside him, comforting him gently. "I wish to god you hadn't gone with that woman, but you did. All of that can't just be suddenly undone, but in time, if you trust me, we can start undoing what we can." Jack says gentler. "Can I talk to my mom? My real mom?" Chris sniffles out as Jack replies, "In a little while, but right now I need you to talk to me."
Hannibal was getting the table all set for dinner as Abigail sat dazed out of her mind in a chair when he heard someone urgently knocking on his door. He wasn't expecting Alana till later but to him, now would do. "Stay right here, I'll be right back." He tells the girl who just gives him a nod back. He makes his way through his home to his foyer only to open the door of his Edwardian manor to a rain soaked Jaimie. "Jaimie? What are-" "I know I'm here unannounced and I know that is so rude to do but I couldn't be at home alone with myself after today and I thought maybe if I came and saw you considering you're my psychiatrist that you'd be able to help me calm down and maybe help explain what I saw and I'm freaking out, I am truly sorry again for coming here so unexpectedly and-" Jaimie rambles out anxiously, cutting him off. Hannibal stands at his front door surprised but pleased deep down that she came to him first before anyone else. That and his plan will work out better and more to his liking now. "Jaimie." Hannibal says in a raised voice to stop her ramblings before saying softer, "Please, come in my dear. You'll catch a cold if you keep standing in the rain." He then steps aside and lets her in, taking her damp coat from her and putting it away in a closet nearby. "I'm sorry." She says quietly which Hannibal smiles at faintly, "Don't apologize for coming to me." He then adds, "Come with me, I just set the table for dinner." He leads her to his kitchen which he clocks her eyes shifting around his home, studying it with a bit of nervousness, as if his lavish and outlandish furnishing and decorations make her feel undeserving of being here. Stepping into his kitchen, she can see into his dining room to glance at Abigail. "What is Abigail doing here? Shouldn't she be at the hospital?" Jaimie asks, concerned to which Hannibal smiles and pulls her aside away from the opening of the dining room. "I brought her here as a little break is all. I thought she'd enjoy a nice home cooked meal since the last one she consumed was the day her father slashed her throat." Jaimie leans against his kitchen island, the cold stainless steel counter leaving a chill down her spine. "Did Alana give the okay on this?" Hannibal smirks and leans against the counter beside her, "No she did not but, what's a little secret between friends?" "Friends?" She tilts her head at his words making his grin grow. "Well you aren't exactly my patient since you aren't paying for my service, we just have talks so I'd say with the talks we have had that it led to some form of friendship." He then adds, "Do you not agree?" "I suppose you are right but I can't but cheer at free counseling." Jaimie teases, giggling at her own joke which in return makes him laugh, "Consider it a friendly discount." A moment passes as she then looks around his kitchen only to see the remnants of the mushroom tea, left on a back burner of his stove. "Dr. Lecter, why is there a hallucinatory tea in your kettle?" She questions which Hannibal decides to tell her the truth. "For an unorthodox hand in therapy." "What do you mean?" "A few psychiatrists believe that an altered state can provide access to traumatic memories." Jaimie moves closer to the kettle, studying it as she then says, "Does it work?" "Usually yes but again, it is rather unorthodox and not used in day to day practices." "Abigail is high in your dining room isn't she?" She chuckles which Hannibal didn't expect but he laughs along with her, "Yes but, it appears to be working so far." "Do you always have this drug on hand or a little stash of it? I don't see you as the kind of man who goes looking at street corners for the stuff." Jaimie teases to which Hannibal grins, "I know how to forage it, so I don't need to be looking on street corners in the shady underbelly of the Baltimore." She examines it a moment longer before saying in a more serious tone, "Would you be willing to try it with me?" "No." She looks up at him and frowns a bit, "Why not?" "Because, you already don't have access to past memories. This drug won't help the amnesia you have, it would only do more harm to you then none." "Then why is Abigail high?" Hannibal sighs and puts a hand on her shoulder, "Because Abigail is different than you in trauma. This would be helpful to her but not for you. I would deem it unprofessional to administer this to you and I'd never forgive myself." Jaimie looks back to the tea and sighs, "Alright." Then in a humorous tone she adds, "And don't worry, I won't arrest you for providing drugs to a minor or possession of psilocybin." He smirks and offers his arm to her to take, "Thank you agent Ferguson, but now let me escort you to my dining table." Jaimie snorts, giving in and takes his arm. He walks her over to the table where she sees gourmet breakfast foods laid out on his table along with Abigail drinking from a teacup. The teen looks up and smiles, "Hi Agent Ferguson." "Hello Abigail." Jaimie's eyes fall to a third place setting at the table and tilts her head curiously, "You were expecting me?" "In the interest of honesty, we were expecting Dr. Bloom but, she hasn't realized our dear Abigail isn't in her hospital room." he then continues, "But I assure you, that you might better less angry company than Alana. Please sit down." Hannibal says and as she does, Hannibal pushes her chair in for her before sitting down himself. "Are you hungry? Hannibal made breakfast for dinner." Jaimie chuckles softly and looks out at all the food and says, "I could eat." Hannibal plates both the girls foods but when he goes to put a blood sausage on her plate, Jaimie doesn't stop him, not wanting to be impolite. But when they started eating he did notice she stayed clear of the meats. "I hope everything is to your liking." Hannibal comments as he pours her a glass of orange juice. "Oh yes, everything is delicious but um.." she pauses and then adds, "I don't eat meat." Not expecting this, he is actually fairly surprised. "Well please excuse me then." He says and puts the blood sausage back on its original platter as Abigail giggles. "No no, it's okay you didn't know. Don't apologize." Jaimie says softly which he smiles at. He then plates her only the non meat items which he could tell she appreciated. Abigail on the other hand, in her altered state, just smiles at them with excited eyes. "Abigail, What is it? What do you see?" Hannibal asks as the girl's vision starts to blur and lose focus on them. When her eyes come back into focus, she no longer sees either Jaimie and Hannibal, but her own parents. "I see family." The girl says with a loopy smile. Hannibal smiles at her admission and looks to Jaimie who seems more thoughtful and uncertain of how to feel about Abigail's words but offers her an almost maternal smile.
"As someone who makes such a big deal about common courtesy, I'm a little taken aback, slash a lot taken aback, that you would check out my patient, MY PATIENT, out of the hospital without my permission. I'm not a professional scold but don't ever put me in this position ever again." Alana scolds Hannibal as the hospital called her about Abigail. They were standing in his kitchen as Jaimie was helping get Abigail ready to leave with Alana. "I'm sorry." Hannibal says as Alana glares at him, replying with, "Rude, Hannibal. Shockingly rude." "You have every right to be upset with me. I overstepped my bounds." "Where is she?" Hannibal sighs a bit and says, "In the living room with Jaimie." "With Jaimie? Why is Jaimie here?" "She came here on her own without knowing Abigail was here, but the rest isn't your information as she came on patient doctor business." Alana groans and runs her hands through her hair as she starts to leave the room but Hannibal stops her by saying, "Alana, you were right." "Often am, be more specific." "She wasn't ready to leave the hospital. She experienced a bit of anxiety so I gave her a sedative." Alana hearing this, contorts her face to confusion and worry. "A sedative? What did you give her?" Hannibal chuckles at her worry and says, "Only half a valium but she may be a little hazy." He leads her to Abigail who is being helped with her coat by Jaimie. "Hi Dr. Bloom." "Hello Abigail, you okay?" Abigail smiles all loopy and says, "I'm great, Hannibal made brinner." Alana scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as Jaimie says, "Breakfast for dinner, brinner." Alana nods wearily as she moves closer to see just how hazy Abigail is. "That half a valium really got her, huh?" Jaimie remarks as Abigail looks dazedly around Hannibal's green living room. "It certainly did." She then looks to Jaimie and says, "How are you doing since last I saw you? What's Will up too?" "I've been better, but Hannibal's helping me with that. Will is actually down in Louisiana right now with his dad, health scare I believe. I'd be there too if I didn't work for Jack." Alana frowns and offers her a kind smile, "I'm sorry about that. Is your dad doing okay?" Jaimie smiles faintly and says, "John's doing better and not to correct you but he's not my dad. Didn't have the money to adopt nor the time to raise me." Pausing Jaimie says, "Sorry, you didn't need to know that last part." "I do now and I'm happy I know. I'm your friend, friends know things like that." "Damn, I'm racking up a number of psychiatrist friends." Jaimie jokes as they two women laugh. "Go ahead and take Abigail back, I'll keep scolding Dr. Lecter for you."
"Wine?" Hannibal asks as now it's just the two of them in his living room. Jaimie just looks around, truly feeling poor in every room she enters, shakes her head, "No, I still have to drive home but thank you. Don't hesitate on my account though." "I won't then" He smirks and pours himself a glass and takes a nice sniff of it, holding the glass over his nose before moving it away which Jaimie clocks. "Not to be rude, but aren't you supposed to keep the win under your nose?" Hannibal chuckles and sits down on his gray leather loveseat in front of his avant garde fireplace that roars with glowing embers. "Typically yes you do but, my nose is a little on the sensitive side." Her brow quirks up as she tilts her head curiously, "How so? If you don't mind my asking." "I do not mind at all." Hannibal begins to say, "My nose is so keen I was able to catch one of my teacher's stomach cancer before he did." Jaimie grins and chuckles, "You liar. How do you even smell something like that?" "Like how I can tell your perfume's top notes from here." Now she laughs and says, "Prove it." Hannibal closes his eyes with a little smirk and sniffs the air, "Top notes are Jasmine Sambac, Cedarwood, and Frankincense." Jaimie stands there stunned and replies, "Base notes?" He laughs and says, "Violet Leaf, Orris Root, and Turkish Rose Oil." He then adds, "It is a very lovely scent I must say." She is utterly flabbergasted and smiles. "How far away would I have to be for you to not smell me? Is there any smell that you don't like? Does all the smells ever hurt your nose?" She asks curiously and sits down beside him, looking at him so intrigued making him chuckle and say, "Maybe a mile away. I don't like any cheap scents like an aftershave that has a ship on the bottle. And sometimes yes it can, but it is rare." Jaimie smiles and looks absolutely enthralled with all of this information but blushes a bit, "I'm sorry for asking so many personal questions, it was rude of me." "It's alright. I wouldn't have answered if I did not want too." He offers her a smile and a little cheers motion with his wine glass before taking a sip. "I overheard Alana and yours conversation." He starts to say, "I didn't know that you weren't adopted by Will's father, I had assumed. I should've known given your surnames are vastly different" Jaimie's smile feigns a bit as she sits farther back into the loveseat. "It was too expensive and it would have been too difficult as we were always on the move even if our home base was New Orleans. For the surname thing, I chose one that felt right even if I did feel like I was apart of their small family." "New Orleans? I didn't know you were from there, let alone Will was." Jaimie smiles faintly and says, "I don't know if I actually am from Louisiana but, Will was born there, he just knocked the accent out. Kids would bully him for it when we moved more up north." "What about yours?" Jaimie shrugs with a little snort and says, "I never had one or well John said I did, Will's dad. Said I sounded like Oliver Twist when he first found me." "Oliver Twist? So you were English." Hannibal then hangs on the word 'found'. "You said he found you. Where did he find you?" "Found me along some coast, under a pier with ratty hair and a nasty cut on my head." Jaimie explains hesitantly parts her bangs to reveal a pale white scar near her auburn hairline which Hannibal frowns at empathetically. "I remembered something today." "What did you remember?" She's quiet for a moment, trying to recall everything. "I remembered being held by a woman who I am assuming was my mother. She looked like me or well, somewhat like me just more beautiful. She was shielding me and two other children from a man in black clothing who was hiding his face with a mask, maybe a ski mask, but he held another child at gun point. He kept screaming about a safe..." Her face contorts with focus as she tries to recall more but can't. Feeling a warm hand on hers though pulls her out of her focus to look at Hannibal who looks genuinely concerned for her. "Don't try and force more memories right now, it will do more harm than good. Be grateful for the one you did recall, even if it was traumatic." He says gently and squeezes her hand in his. She doesn't say anything but gives him a nod and a weak smile. "I should get home to the dogs, maybe even prepare for another one if Will finds a mutt on the side of the road." Jaimie says quickly and stands up which Hannibal stands up with her, no longer holding her hand. He escorts her to the door, puts her coat on for her and gives her a gentle look. "Drive safe and if you start remembering anything else, call me. If I don't pick up, come to my home and bang on the door till I do." Hannibal tells her which makes her chuckle weakly. "I will. Thank you for helping me Dr. Lecter." "Please, it's my job to help. No need to thank me." "If I recall it actually isn't, I'm not your patient... friend." She teases a bit which he smirks at. "Have a goodnight." Jaimie says before leaving out the door, giving him a cute little wave goodbye which he happily returns. Hannibal watches her drive away from his tall windows as he thinks about what happened to her as a child. Clearly a home invasion gone wrong but he can't help but... relate to it. Feeling his cold calculating heart get a bit warmer and more intrigued with her each time they meet.
Reading his book in bed, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, sits Jack. The wallpaper in the room is a nice gray and lilac with sperse floral prints on it, his bed white with gray satin comforters and pillows. After a moment of being by himself, the door to his on-suite bathroom opens to reveal a beautiful woman in her late forties. She finishes rubbing lotion on her dark colored arms as her hair, curly and brown, lays over her shoulder in a small braid. She moves over to the bed, gently slipping under the covers and resting her head on the pillow. "Hello." Jack says as she replies, "Hello." It's quiet for a moment before Jack speaks up. "Is it too late for us to have kids?" The woman pauses her movements in the bed in her attempt to get more comfortable as she considers his question but ultimately sighs and curls up onto her side, her back facing him as she replies, "It is for me." With that, she shuts off her light on her night stand, leaving Jack on his side of the bed in little light before he sighs and turns off his own.
Pulling up to her little home, Jaimie greets all the dogs before letting them outside to do their business. Laughing and then groaning when she sees one of the dogs, the border-collie named Max, jump into the river that cuts through the side of her yard. When she rounds up all the dogs inside, she makes sure to grab a towel to dry off Max before letting him go to sleep by the fireplace. She makes her way upstairs to get ready for bed when she gets a call on her landline. Quick to grab it, she answers, "Hello?" "Hey Jaimie, it's Will." She smiles upon hearing his voice and sits down on her bed with the phone against her ear. "Hey, how's John doing?" "He's doing better. Not allowed to be on his boat for a couple weeks but I'm sure his heart will thank him. How are the dogs? How was that case?" She sighs a bit, "Well I am grateful that old man isn't on a boat for a while. I think he was going a bit stir-crazy. As for the case, it was horrific as usual. Lot of children dying this time around as well as one of them getting half of their face seared off when his body fell onto a lit grill." She rambles out and then adds, "Dogs are good, Max got a little adventurous in the river though tonight." Jaimie could hear Will's frown of worry over the phone as he says, "Are you okay?" "I'm better now. Made a late night desperation stop at Hannibal's and he actually helped a lot. Even ate dinner with him and Abigail, got a surprise visit from Alana who wasn't happy about Hannibal taking the girl from the hospital without her knowing and then learnt about his crazy keen sense of smell." "Sounds romantic-" He then pauses and says, "He took Abigail out of the hospital without asking Alana?" "She is fine Will, she got a little anxious so he gave her half a Valium and it calmed her right down to the point where she looked blazed out of her mind." Jaimie says and laughs as she continues Hannibal's little white lie about the Valium, keeping her promise. "Well then at least Abigail had fun." "Kid had breakfast for dinner and it tasted amazing." "Yeah? Hannibal had to have noticed this time you didn't eat any meat right?" Jaimie snorts and replies, "Oh he did this time yeah and then apologized for not knowing I don't eat meat. It was really sweet actually." "Sounds like fun night. I've been stuck with my dad who keeps complaining about not being on a boat." Will says with a tired groan as Jaimie teases him, "Like father like son." "Alright that ended the call for me, goodnight." Jaimie laughs when she hears the line go dead and finally goes off to get ready for bed. When she does slip under the covers, she hears the dogs crying from outside her door which she eventually gets up and lets them in. She falls asleep that night, covered in dogs and dog hair.
