maskormenacelogs | [closed] I keep you safe

Entry tags:

[closed] I keep you safe

WHO: April Ludgate and Will Graham
WHERE: Their animal house in Heropa
WHEN: Late evening, 3/17
WHAT: Abigail is gone and Will reacts to this about as well as he reacts to most everything involving Abigail. April gets to witness it firsthand, oh the places we go.
WARNINGS: Hannibal season two spoilers? Cannibalism? Murder? Raccoon fury?

[Stuff. That's what Will Graham comes home with: a bunch of stuff.

Not the good kind of stuff. Not a pizza, not take-out, not tacos April didn't have to shoot out of her hands. Not the kind of stuff that gets tossed on the dinner table or counter or coffee table and is considered up for grabs, shareable. Not something that raccoons might end up pulling apart and dining on as well. This is neither bringing home dinner nor anything that the house at large gets to take as theirs. No. This relates to Will Graham and no one else, which is why he comes in and makes a beeline for the guest room to put it all away. A big box, smaller boxes, bags, what looks like a haphazard move in with whoever's supposed to be moving in just not around. But that's really just fine with Will, so used to cleaning up worse messes left behind while being a mess in and of itself.

And just like plenty of other times, he's quite obviously a mess himself. He's not sweating profusely or a moment away from a mild seizure, but the lack of communication that he's back, the way he goes about everything too quickly when there's really no need for it, the way he passes by without even sparing a second's glance at dog or raccoon, cat or hamster, anything living in this house? He's clearly not on his A game. Somewhere more around the C game—he's functioning, there is that much to be said. He's just furiously trying to ignore the gravity of the situation at hand, if Abigail Hobbs is never going to return, by taking everything that's hers and giving it a bigger place in this home. Because if he stops, for too long, sits still and considers where else she has to go that is not this strange world of superpowered individuals, his C game will look like his A game, and the last thing that April deserves to deal with is that, and all the horrors he's worked so hard to avoid ever since Abigail showed up in the hospital.

That continues, here and now, pulling her clothes out and setting them in the drawers, books in small stacks, an attempt at organization that isn't all that organized. It might be better for putting up the front that everything is just fine and dandy if he'd turned the light on when he entered, but that had also been ignored. He's just putting all her stuff up in the dim lighting that comes from the bedside lamp, there's totally nothing wrong going on here at all. Nope. Everything's fine.]

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[ It was St. Patrick's Day. In years past that would have meant April was at a bar. Tradition, in fact, had found her hitting the town with her currently romance-buddy in years past. After a weekend in Vegas last holiday and then an all out brawl this past weekend, however, April was okay with the stay at home version of the event. The raccoons looked way cuter in little green hats than any drunk college bro could, anyway. That Will hadn't come home yet hadn't stopped her from enjoying a green beer or two, and when she heard the door open she'd gone so far as to open two new ones with the intention of sharing-

Until he just walked straight by. With stuff. And then more stuff, and then...mm. This was not a good sign. They'd barely broken in the kitchen table for sex and now there was a roommate involved? One that, apparently, didn't even have the good graces to help move in. So maybe less a new roommate and more a kidnapping adventure? After a few more sips on her drink and an exchange of concerned looks with the raccoons, she decided there was only one way to find out.

April wandered over, one drink still in each hand, to lean against the doorway of the room Will was currently attacking with organization. Alone. In the semi-dark. While he was also exploring the benefits of some kind of a personal stress-mess look...Okay.

Instead of saying anything just yet, April opted to simply reach over and snap the lights on instead.]

[There is beer. The raccoons are living it up in adorable green hats, and Will Graham seems to be completely oblivious that it's happening. Which is a pretty big red flag, considering his affinity for alcohol, animals being cute, and April herself. A red flag he doesn't just set out to flap in the breeze, rather one he has made three times larger than it needs to be, curls around himself like a blanket, and then throws it right at her face. He's just not quite aware that he's done as much, so focused on Abigail Hobbs.

He becomes keenly aware of said red flag when the light snaps on, one eyebrow lifting and his lips twisting as he looks over. Confusion gives way to realization, Will holding a pair of socks that have been put together inside out, purposefully so. April's presence finally gets him to stop. Which leaves him standing there, stressed and messy, holding on a pair of socks that look like whoever connected them had no idea about how to do it or just didn't care enough to make them right. Very helpful to any case he could make for being fine, that.]

Why's the beer green?

[Today is no longer Saint Patrick's Day to Will. Or Tuesday. Today is Where The Hell Has Abigail Hobbs Gone I Don't Want To Think Of Where She Went If She Does Not Return And So Nothing Else Matters Day.]

Mm. How about, like, a trade.

[ She hesitates for a brief moment, nearly just stays in the doorway, not really sure what to do on this one. Just stepping back from the harder parts is easier, wait until he works it out himself then resume the fun part of the relationship after.

But, even if it makes her eye him slightly warily, that's not how people she actually likes get treated. Just pretending something isn't there and then blaming future consequences on other people is how she deals with acquaintances. Still, it's more a shuffle than a walk that she makes her way over to the bed to take a seat. Then, as an afterthought, places one of the beers on the nightstand.]

Tell me why there's socks first.

[Shuffling, and not because she's had a bit too much drink. He looks from her feet to the beer, and for a moment, it seems like Will is going to dig in his heels about whatever's eating at him and throw out some bullshit. A split second from going down the path of lies, coward running down it with his tail tucked between his legs. He ignores it, however tempting it may be, and opts to sit next to her on the bed, tail tucked between his legs and eyes focused on the socks in his hands. They get curled up over each other more when he realizes they were dangerously close to coming apart.]

They're Abigail's. She's...not around. [He turns, deferring to April's expertise with lifted eyebrows and bowed head.] I've been keeping your three months rule in mind.

[A mantra at the back of his mind, but surely it's different when the one missing is beloved and destined to die horribly instead of...well, most anything else.]

[ Oh. Sightly less of a surprise than Will deciding he liked wearing April's jackets enough to invest in an entire young woman's wardrobe for himself. She gave a small nod, not that she really thought he could see it, but the gesture gave her something to do. Made it harder to blurt out 'sometimes they come back and don't remember, or don't come back at all' because she knew he knew that and the rule was there for a reason. People left and came back all the time, often with even more stupid powers and terrible life choices to share.

But there was the matter of the clothes... and pillows. And the cat.]

How far into the count are we?

[Will will continue to pull out April's jackets when he feels like it (or picks one by accident and can't be bothered to be concerned), there is no wardrobe overhaul in any way. The question has him looking back to the socks, weighing them a moment in his hand, and tossing them gently back in the bag with the rest. She hasn't been gone long enough for him to truly go off the deep end, some might argue, but some don't know the full extent of Abigail's scars. How can he get into that now? Does April even want to hear it? It's fortunate that, despite it all, she's the one who has seen that gash on his gut almost daily.

"fortunate"]

Three days. [His tone is full of the I know, I know he leaves off, running one hand through his hair before dragging it down his face to prop his elbow on his knee, the forerunner motion for him to end up with his face in his hands.] Almost four now.

[But it sure as hell feels like three months, and Will is beginning to look about worn down as someone who's been tracing his surrogate daughter for three months.]

Mm...and Fred was snooping?

[ Because Abby moving in would be fine. She might need to learn to send the raccoons in first to see if it was safe to go into certain rooms, but it'd be fine. Surprise moving her in while she was gone for a few days, on the other hand, might mean a good deal of bribery when she got back. Money provided by Will, of course. April wasn't the one that went through her underwear over the weekend.

But Chilton taking her away time to see where the girl had hidden his wine and possibly her personal thoughts and secrets around the room was a possibility.]

[His brow furrows, squinting as he tries to figure out where the question stems from. The idea that Chilton might take it upon himself to upset Abigail's things had not ever once passed his mind, not when she first came here, not when she left for a week like before. If Chilton couldn't respect her privacy, Will hoped he could certainly expect repercussions if he dared to go over a line with Abigail. Having effectively taken care of his problem with Gideon, he'd expected it more than ever. He simply hadn't realized it until April cast a light on that particular shadowy place.]

No. [He shakes his head, emphatic without injecting it into his voice.] Just. Better to have all her stuff in one place. When [If, not that he can bring himself to say it.] she gets back. You know?

[He's gone a little overboard with grief. You know? You know.]

[ Technically, it had all been in one place before he moved it. Unless he was counting himself- and hell, maybe the dogs and raccoons and April, too- as part of Abby's stuff. But she wasn't going to bring up either of those facts just yet. Maybe later, when Abigail was back. Or a year from now (if Will was even still there) when the grieving was done and all the needed cleansing fires had taken place.

For now, though? Now she takes a long swallow of her beer before nodding. ]

Sure. You...want any help or something? Guys really don't know how to make a closet work.

[He watches her drink that beer, malaise beginning to set in as he's torn between wondering what April's taking away from all this and if he truly wants to know. There is temptation to reach out for the other she brought, if only to put up front that some semblance of his "normal" self was still hanging around. Will Graham, too stressed and worried and out of it to drink, wasn't a place he often got to, much less made that apparent. He can down a green beer, no problem.

Her offer makes him grateful he hadn't had anything in his mouth and is all he needs to change that, though he takes a second to look at it as though he hasn't seen a Saint Patty's drink in a good decade or more.]

I fixed the busted baseboard in this closet. [A mopey attempt at saying otherwise, despite all the evidence in her face to contradict it. One look at his plaid love affair would be enough for most to agree. And Will does agree with the assessment that he's not the best when it comes to clothing. Obviously.] What, you separate everything by day or...pattern or...purpose?

[Obviously.]

Don't hurt yourself.

[ She gives a small smile- mostly forced, but she has had far too many years of ignoring problems to just give in to immediately dealing with them now. But even if this had just been totally normal, if Abby was just at school and they were moving her in without the whole vanishing thing, she wouldn't try to explain clothing to Will like he was a normal person. That would just be cruel. And seeing as the abnormal parts were part of what she liked....

Well. She couldn't really do anything but smirk about it now.]

Just leave the clothes with me. You're already doomed for the 'why I touched your underwear' talk...which I'm recording. For history. But don't make it worse.

[ If nothing else, she'll have things arranged for 'should burn first' in case a proper mourning needs to be eased into. None of the stuff Abigail had worn on a day to day basis for the first round. Just the stuff that seemed to live in the closet without even getting worn or thrown away that everyone ended up with. She could figure those out.]

[Up go the eyebrows, dipping his head and taking a slow sip as though she means hurt himself drinking, not trying to understand the mysterious depths of arranging clothing in ways that aren't most plaid to least plaid. Because, if it was up to Will, that's exactly how things would be. With an assortment of April's jackets tossed in between to keep things fresh, naturally.

He's so glad he grabbed that beer now, downs more than usual to keep from making A Face at why I touched your underwear. He hadn't really considered it a problem. He was just moving her stuff, and that included...well, everything. It would look even stranger if he packed up all things Abigail Hobbs other than her undergarments, wouldn't it? And speaking of strange, he knows he's about to sound it, more than usual, lowers that beer slowly to brace himself.]

All right, but...they're all inside out. For a reason. I. [This didn't come across as totally awful when he just thought it, having to put it in words is proving difficult.] Didn't want to lose anything.

[He was going to save everything, in case she doesn't return. Right down to shed hair that might have gotten stuck in shirts, socks, jeans. Putting that out there as such, though, isn't coming to him right away, and he taps on the side of that glass nervously.]

[ Saving skin flakes in no way enters April's head. She's part of the law making arm of justice these days, not the CSI branch. But it clearly makes sense to him, so who is she to do anything except give a one shoulder shrug. And mentally reflect she hadn't known thongs had an inside out to get turned to.]

Okay...anything we need to send back to her guy friends?

[Skin flakes, shed hair, what literal scent of her is leftover, the usual when it comes to mourning. Nothing gets washed, ever. If she doesn't come back, all that fabric will have to rot, and Will would keep it even then.]

No. [What a repulsive thought, and a call for more of that beer to wash such a nasty taste away.] If any of it is actually theirs, fine, but otherwise. No.

[The devil takes care of his own, after all. Might as well keep every little part of them, too.]

[People mourn differently- or that's what April's heard over and over when she very rationally responded to people leaving by giving away all their non-incinerated items. If they didn't have the decency to stay with her, to her thinking, the next version of them didn't deserve to have things to come back to. But it had only been a few days, here. She probably was coming back and April did not want to see that poor girl inflicted with plaid everything if she had to shop for a new wardrobe. So the stuff could stay. Zero complaints in that area. Still...

This was a different kind of mourning. This hoarding stuff. If she didn't come back, this room was going to quickly become the not fun kind of creepy and April is 100% out of her depth on how to handle this kind of sadness. Except to just roll with it and nod at the 'not sending anything away' response and hope they didn't eventually have to build an Abby doll out of left over hair and hermetically seal it and everything else in the room for preservation.

But. Roll with it. Sure. She slouches over, aiming for her head to rest on his shoulder if he doesn't jerk away, and just looks at the bags of stuff on the floor.]

We don't gotta do this all tonight...right?

[Mourning it may be, Will's still capable of picking up on the extremely obvious cues thrown his way. And, despite how much it might seem like anyone who is not Will or Abigail could be considered an intruder in matters relating to two of them this intimately, he knows damn well how badly rejection and being pushed away can sting, even in small doses. April doesn't deserve that, ever, so her head on his shoulder? Done deal. He even leans his against hers, fond, quiet, fingers tapping against the glass in his head. That not-quite-laugh at her question is just as laced with affection. His hand goes around her waist, comfortably slumped next to her and not at all angling to get away. All immediate, sincere. April's more than welcome.]

No, we don't. [One leg stretches out, lazy, as sluggish as he currently feels, now that the hurricane that he's been all day has ended up stopped and started so many times.] Remember when I told you I threw up an ear?

[Because people totally forget weird statements like that all the time, don't they.

He knows that snagging all of her things and bringing them back mustn't look too great. Worrisome, too possessive, overly invested in Abigail, if he can't own her, he'll own what she left behind. But addressing it, as such, isn't quite something he'll ever be comfortable with. The only thing he can think to do instead is make the picture of why the two of them were so close without being "true" family as clear as possible while not stepping back from the underlying insanity. Since crimes had already been brought up, the first starting point to come to mind happened to be...well, that. Throwing up an ear, and surely April noticed that Abigail only had one of them. No matter how out of depth April might be, here and now, no matter how she might come from a world that seems to be less murderous, she's been in this strange world and the one before long enough that Will knows for a fact she's been around some pretty crazy shit. Crazy enough that talking about this isn't completely frightening.]

[ It's impossible for her to not tense a little at a comment like that. It isn't that she's suddenly wary of Will himself, wasn't like it had finally dawned on her that moving in with a man which kept a prison jumpsuit for lingerie might have some risk factor involved. It was just difficult to see a path this conversation could take that would end in them happily drinking green beer and teaching the raccoons to jig at any point that night. Which, really, she had mostly given up on the second he started waving around socks. But there had been just that tiny, improbable chance...

Nothing for it now. But April had spent a good deal of time very much not thinking about the messed up situation Will and Abby came from back home. It was so much better to just focus on the world as it was now. So the Abigail/Ear connection had been idly noticed, but the connection between the dots never really firmly drawn. Because what was the point of lingering on it? But now that he's specifically bringing it up, she just nods slowly against his shoulder, not moving an inch otherwise. ]

Mmhm.

[She can't see the frown her tensing prompts, but she can probably imagine it from his voice, the way his hand loosens around her. He doesn't let go, isn't going to pull away this time if he's not pushed, but Will knows how this all sounds. He remembers when they first discussed it, and the general feeling that he'd been somewhat deceitful, accepting an invitation to share the same living space briefly when he was set to go away for some serious crimes and hadn't been up front about it.]

That...was hers. Abigail's. [He is going to say her name, yes, maybe that will be enough to bring her back.] She's...one of the people I was. Incarcerated for murdering. I was released, didn't do it, you know that, but...we never found anything else from her. And. [He was dumb? He was dumb.] I thought she was. Gone. That wasn't the case. She got another scar on her neck just after I got the one on my stomach. That was the last time we saw each other, back in Baltimore.

[Despite how stop-start he is about this all, the wording might be enough to clue her in that this is something he's mulled over trying to tell her before. When he couldn't sleep, when business at the shop was slow, over breakfast. The father-daughter-but-not-actually-father-daughter relationship Abigail and Will had was something he'd never had to explain back home, was something he'd found to be defensive over rather than up front. But April had never pushed, and despite the first wisecracks about child-brides, she hadn't gone farther to imply anything inappropriate was happening.

So she gets the truth, finally, and what intoxication has come from said green beer has nothing to do with it. It only took over half a year.]

[ At this whole (somewhat rambling, but she new about that) explanation, April does pull fully away. Not to get off the bed or leave the room or even to chug her beer- which, just then, was tempting. But so she can turn slightly on the bed, bringing one leg up and bending it on the bed, to face him fully. Confusion doesn't even begin to cover it.

Framed by ear to the stomach? That just- that didn't happen to people. Ever. Secret clones and evil twins and alien invaders she could accept without a blink in this world. But there was something so...what? Precise about that kind of attack. And for it to happen in a world that didn't even have the decency to call their bad guys supervillains was just the fantastical icing on the confusion cake. She believed him. She just couldn't believe his life. Or the people in it. ]

Where was she?

[Will barely believed it himself, most days. The more had happened, the less believable it became. But the truth was stranger and more hideous than fiction, and he wouldn't ever have it in him to lie about this to April. Lie by adding something, not lie by...avoiding it. Keeping it buried a bit longer.

For a second, his hand tenses, afraid she's heard enough and is making her great exit. That's clearly not the case soon after and he relaxes his grip, pulls it back so he can mirror her position. A portrait of April Ludgate's exact posture and body language in a Will Graham wrapping, mimicry instead of mockery, natural instead of forced.]

In his basement. [The beer holds his eyes as he says it, followed by April's chin.] When people were over, anyway. [People like Will.] I'm sure she...got to come out of it when he knew nobody would be. Around.

[For how close they are, and how easily it would be to just shift his knee a fraction of an inch to nudge against hers, April might notice that Will's kept his distance, right now. They're sitting together but he's not initiating further physical contact. If he ends up sleeping in this room or on the couch for a few nights while she digests this talk, he won't protest.]

[April doesn't shift to close the gap, or pull back to widen it, or move in general. She had a fairly good idea where this was going- where anything from Baltimore ever went. Like the people there just existed in a slow orbit around one jerk, every action or choice pushed along by a guy the Porter couldn't even care enough about to keep around for more than a couple weeks. What the hell kind of man was that?

But there was no good in just deciding that must be what happened. This may be the only chance she gets to talk about this- really talk about it- until something else terrible happened. And while what happened back home still wasn't something she felt the urge to dig up with most days, when it came shuffling out of the grave and started rolling around her house it was better to just...do something. Talk about it, apparently. Even if she was groping along in the dark at a conversation of this magnitude.]

That doctor. That's the him?

[When the world is named after a jerk of enormous magnitude, everyone is going to orbit him. Baltimore sucks.

April's been around long enough to have seen some serious sucky crap of her own, he knows. She handled him like a damn expert whenever Abigail ended up kidnapped, displayed on the Network. If she wasn't leaving and wasn't shying away from the conversation, there wasn't a point in Will shying away, either. They could bury it later, deeper than any of the dogs in the house could bury anything in the yard.]

Same guy, yeah. [Theory that Baltimore existed in a slow orbit around one jerk: confirmed.] It was always him, even before I knew him personally. [Fingers tap that glass again, finally moving back up to April's, coming out of hiding.] This is why I said no on the train.

[Let him make that clearer than crystal, while they're talking over hidden truths.]

[ She blinks trying to put that last line together- and oh. Oh. Putting the place and time into context doesn't help to make her less confused, though. It must all make perfect sense to Will. From Abby to the Doctor Jerkface to making out in public. But the line isn't exactly clear for her and there's no reason to pretend otherwise. There's nothing wrong or weird or strange about that. Just the way it was.]

Because of Baltimore?

[His brow furrows, lips twisting into that hideous smile. He has to bite on the inside of his cheek to prevent an ill-timed, harsh back of laughter, because it's true, isn't it? Baltimore is always there, lingering in the shadows. Some of them just happen to be worse than others.]

They're not all that bad. [Finally, Will shifts, enough to brush a leg up against hers in much the same manner a dog seeking attention casually nudges up against a human.] He was here, then. Just...didn't know how possessive he could be until. Later.

[The casual contact isn't so casual anymore. Oh hell, there he goes, ruining anything casual, putting that beer back on the night stand while he not-at-all casually leans further, putting his head on her shoulder. Currently unworthy of the forehead bump. His I'm sorry is difficult to miss, even when the last half of the sorry gets muffled against her shirt. Let him bury himself there. He's sorry she has to see this, sorry he didn't tell her sooner, sorry that he'll be a bit of a wreck for a few days. At least all the bills from last month have been taken care of?]

[ Who even cares about bills and money? Outside of responsible, sane, adult type people, anyway. April's own drink hovers awkwardly in mid-air in her grip as he presses his forehead forward- and then, screw it. It's only food-colored alcohol. She puts it, sans coaster like a true non-adult, on the night stand right next to his drink. Then April uses both hands to grip Will by the shoulders as she shifts and falls fully onto her back on the mattress, now effectively self-imposed pinned under the possessed man from Baltimore.

Which just put her at all the better angle to run her hands up along sinew and muscle and neck ad into his hair, really. A much better occupation than stressing out over who murdered whom and who ate what and how that all related to public make-outs.]

Okay. You win scariest ex.

[It really is a much better occupation, one that Will falls into without issue or complaint, but Will worries momentarily that if his momentum in this whole mess stops for too long, he'll fall asleep. Literally! That's a fleeting worry because he's not a big guy, by any stretch of the imagination. He is lean enough that, if it did happen, and if April decided she wanted out without waking him up in the process, it wouldn't be incredibly difficult. She could also summon the furry horde to move him—it'll be fine.]

Does that mean you're gonna knock off talking about kidnapping each other and bringing blindfolds? [Muffled less once he moves his face out of the hiding spot that was her shirt. Good thing April has both of her ears, Will doesn't have to bother to not speak to her neck.] It's scary now?

[If she keeps playing with his hair, the only way Will is ever going to be scary is when someone gets a little too close to April. Or she points in their direction and tells him to take them out. As it stands (or, lays, technically), he's more grateful to have somebody to rely on, unwashed, and exhausted than he is anywhere near scary.

For now.]

[ She scoffs at the very idea of that. While Will might keep the insane as friends- enemies- people he spent time with- and probably fell in that category of mental health in a different way himself, he wasn't the scary part. Some of the people he included in her newly mentally named grouping of PHSTW was scary, but not the man. Not in April's judgement, anyway, and hers was really the only one that mattered. But considering the context of these confessions, of a murdered Abby kept for a year in a basement...she can't even mentally form a joke about kidnapping being fine so long as Hannibal wasn't invited. A small, involuntary, but likely very much felt by Will, shiver comes just a half second after that scoff as she tries.

Instead she unconsciously helps Will along his path towards possible nap time by just continuing her petting.]

Not you. Don't be dumb. But, mm. We shouldn't let people with weird first names in the house. Or just...not you adults. In general.

[She could so do that second one. Really, anything that brought Will's chances of getting re-stabbed or framed for filicide closer to zero, they could do.]

[Oh no. Will's blind descent into hurricane-like madness had been interrupted once by Chilton, had been soothed with some good cognac, but he'd mostly picked back up like the nightmare storm that lands, weakens, abruptly goes back into the water, strengthens itself, and returns to lay waste again. He'd been totally prepared to blaze on until he had everything of Abigail's put in place, but with April's fingers doing that thing in his hair, he's quickly going from Hurricane Will to the unnamed tropical depression that peters out before anyone on land can even be bothered to have a flicker of worry about boarding windows or stocking up on bottled water and food items that don't perish easily.

He's going to fall asleep on her at this rate. The muffled neck-speak starts to slur, even. Oh well, he'll make it up to her. Their six month anniversary is coming up soon, and he's had plans before the world went to shit.]

There's lots of weird first names around, but you can close the door on anybody you want. It's your house, too. [By which he means that weird is subjective, but as he's currently melting faster than a grilled cheese sandwich being prepared in a high voltage microwave, he can't bring himself to get into it on that level. Whatever April's shivering from, he can only guess, but if it was his not-so-slow collapse on her, he's sure she'd speak up about it. Or shift around, if his wasn't good enough to keep her comfortable.] We're having pizza for breakfast tomorrow, bytheway.

[That's what she gets for implying he's an adult. No protesting that she is also an adult, don't say that, that sounds terrible. Just a bleary, low, on the verge of losing consciousness confession that his idea of making this whole mess up to her, right away, isn't super adult, either. Pizza doesn't stop being a problem solver after freshman year at college, okay?]

I'll make a sign.

[ No Weird Adult Names, that is. Not Pizza Breakfast. Though that second one might help drive 'responsible' adults away, too. She could maybe do both. Or (more likely) forget about all of it in the next few hours as she very likely joins Will for a nap, because why wouldn't she? The world and everyone in it (or out of it, in the case of most of Baltimore) can wait. Everything not physically pinning her down at this exact moment could wait. For as long as Will wanted. ]

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[closed] I keep you safe

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