A/N: This was originally published on on April 20, 2013, and was my first fanfic for the fandom. Because of this, there's a lot of moments that I find EXTREMELY cringe-worthy, so I've decided to re-write snippets of the story. So even though most of it will stay the same, there are plenty of elements that will be different (and hopefully better).

In this story, Abigail is seventeen/underaged, but she turns eighteen during a later chapter. I've also explored a squicky fan theory regarding Garrett Jacob Hobbs, so be forewarned that there's a lot of dark, sensitive subject matter in this fic.

CH 1: Blinding

Will Graham jerked awake, gasping for breath as he fumbled for the lamp on his nightstand. A bloom of yellow light flooded the room and an unwelcome, all too familiar ache flared up between his legs.

Abigail Hobbs…she was…

"God damn it!"

Panicking, Will threw back his covers and shot upright. It was all happening too fast. Much, much too fast. For the past 48 hours he'd been in limbo, wondering how such an innocent, innocuous meeting had gone so awry.

First Abigail had asked him to stay with her. Since her life had been in danger mere hours before, it hadn't seemed like such a bad idea at the time. The nurses were inadequate, she'd said, and she needed the companionship of someone who understood her… Of someone who understood her father.

Despite the pain eating away at his insides, Will had agreed. Perhaps a little too quickly, now that he thought about it, but Dr. Lecter had been right when he'd suggested Will felt responsible. He was responsible, and that responsibility had cost him dearly.

He could still see the earnest, imploring look in her eyes…the gentle movement of her lips as she spoke the poisonous truth. She was different, and she knew he was different, too.

And then…

Will shuddered.

She'd asked for a hug – a normal, respectable reaction for those in need of moral support, but the act had been twisted to the point of perversion. When Abigail entered his arms, she'd turned her face and brushed those warm, satin lips against the curve of his neck. His blood had boiled. He'd grasped at the fabric of her shirt, twisting it between his hands and desperately trying to avoid any further contact.

Had she done it on purpose? Was she toying with his fragile state of mind? Or, more than likely, was it just an accident made by a grieving girl?

Girl… She was just a girl, wasn't she? Abigail couldn't be more than eighteen, if that, yet he'd still gone home, gotten a cold shower, and then crawled into bed with a hand curled between his legs. When he finally came, he was filled with self-loathing instead of sweet relief.

What had made him feel this way? He wasn't normally like this… He wasn't.

It was all Abigail Hobbs' fault.

Will snorted. Had he been thinking like perps for so long that he was actually starting to agree with them? His unprecedented attraction was no fault of Abigail's. Try as he might to deflect the blame, he knew he was the one in the wrong. That poor, innocent girl could never be held accountable for his sick, twisted thought process, and the more he dwelt on it, the more it scared him. Was he going mad? Was his guilt warping his reality? Was it making him desire things he never had or would have before?

Slapping the side of his face, Will checked the clock on his bed stand. 5:24 a.m…he might as well get up and head in to Dr. Lecter's office. If anyone could get him to snap out of his stupor, it was Lecter.

With this thought improving his spirits, Will rose from his bed and groped for the shirt on the back of his chair.

Though his face was freshly washed and he now wore clean clothes, Will couldn't erase the worn, haggard look from his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and his carelessly whiskered cheeks furthered the appearance of madness. If anyone noticed, they failed to say so. Will managed to tear down the hallway undetected, his head bowed to further the impression of being anti-social. He wasn't in the mood for talking – he couldn't talk. Not without being reminded of his earlier sins.

Everything reminded him of what a monster he was.

Taking a deep breath, Will ducked into Lecter's office with the intention of emotional purging – of giving his confession to the metaphorical priest – but instead found himself privy to his worst possible nightmare.

There, standing with her back to him was the ever-tormented Abigail Hobbs. Though she was talking to Lecter, the words did not register in Will's ears; only the sounds as the doctor slowly raised his eyes to regard him.

"Abigail, we have a guest," he announced, his cold, shark-like gaze now training on the girl. "I trust he has come to see you."

"Uhhh…you, actually," Will desperately backpedaled. "But if this is a bad time, I could just come back and-"

"Nonsense. Join us, if you please."

Will felt trapped. When Abigail's deep blue eyes cut toward him, he sucked a breath and unsteadily stepped back.

'I know who you're reaching for – I know,' Eldon Stammet's words tauntingly echoed in his head. 'Abigail Hobbs – you would have found her in a field, where she was finally able to reach back.'

Mouth dry, Will turned and headed back toward the door. No one made a sound. As he increased the speed of his stride, he couldn't help but wonder if they knew what he was thinking. Were they disgusted? Did they loathe him as much as he loathed himself?

Anxiously turning a corner, Will lurched over a trash can and dry-heaved violently. Despite the lack of expulsion, he could still taste bile. He shakily wiped his mouth and closed his eyes.

"Will?"

Startled, he abruptly pin-wheeled around, trembling as he beheld the absolute last person he wanted to see. He swallowed. "Um…yes?"

"You're acting kind of funny. Speaking as a person who's also been acting kind of funny, I figured I'd see if you were alright." Abigail's large eyes regarded him then, her hands folding as she studied his face. Aside from the open-mouthed stare he was giving her, she couldn't discern what was troubling him.

"Are you still upset about what happened?"

Since that could cover many a number of things, Will paused, then gave a stiff little nod.

Abigail mirrored his nod. "Yeah…me, too," she whispered. "I've started having nightmares…bad ones." Biting her lip, her face grew desperate as she asked, "How do you do it, Will? When you're alone with your thoughts, how do you think about all of this without going crazy?"

Will jerked back as if he'd been slapped. He was surprised by the relative calm in which he responded, "I don't."

"You…you don't?" Abigail's expression was filled with heart-breaking defeat. Fumbling for what she wished to say next, a lump formed in her throat as she blurted, "You could help me… I-I mean, we could help each other. Please, Will, I don't know who else to turn to… Nobody else understands."

"Try Dr. Lecter. Call me crazy, but I've heard he's a licensed professional." Trying to ignore the hurt look in her eyes, Will spun on his heel and went stalking toward the exit. He almost expected Abigail to pursue him, but fortunately she did not. With any luck, she'd take the hint and never seek comfort from him again, fore he was too afraid of what having her close would do to him...of what he'd do to her.