Will smiled at the way Molly took his joke and ran with it, and he knew the mention of the wedding night was just tied into that, but he couldn't help thinking of what that might be like. He was probably getting ahead of himself, since they hadn't even slept together yet, and marriage, if it was something they ended up doing, was a long way off. Still, the mental images weren't unpleasant, if a little distracting.
The way she looked at him, Will wondered if she was thinking about similar things. They both knew they were joking, but it was clear they both liked each other very much already, had a connection that was impossible to deny. Looking at her face now, learning all these things about her and learning her more deeply, he felt like he could fall in love with her. He was hesitant to try to label things when they were soon new and intense, but he couldn't say the beginnings of that weren't already there, stirring in his heart.
She changed the angle of their hands then, threaded her fingers through his, and he could feel tension in her arm, like she was going to lean closer to him. He took a soft breath in anticipation, but then Molly sat back, a woman the next table over giving her a reproving look. He personally didn't care about her opinion of them, but he could tell it set Molly on edge, and Will felt irritation building inside him again. It was moments like this that he hated his empathy, because he felt Molly's embarrassment and disappointment inside him like it was his own. But, at the same time, his own feelings bled in, and he had to fight not to say something to the woman, not wanting to make a scene.
Instead, he squeezed Molly's hand in comfort and understanding. He hated being out in public like this, because people tended to always be so nosy and rude and inconsiderate. But he was here to be with Molly, to do this date thing the right way, so he took a breath and tried to calm himself.
"My life isn't nearly as exciting as yours," he told her with a soft smile, squeezing her hand again. "I was born and grew up in Louisiana. My mother left my father and I when I was really young, and my dad moved us around a lot. He worked on the ship yards as a mechanic mostly. I went to college in New Orleans and got a job with the police department and eventually became a homicide detective."
He took another breath, remembering that time of his life, how hard he'd worked back then to fit in and not get noticed. "I wasn't good in the field, bad under pressure, so I moved to Washington D.C. and went back to school to get a graduate degree in forensic science. Then I started working for the FBI, first in the crime lab and then eventually at Quantico, the FBI academy, as a teacher." She knew a lot of this already, but it was easier for him to go through it by rote, rather than landing on any particular details. "I did some field work again right before I came here. An agent asked me to consult on a serial murder case. They were having a hard time finding motive, and figured my 'gift' could help."
This was all very close to home for him still, a lot of things from the last few months cutting deep and holding on. Eventually, he'd have to tell Molly about Hannibal, but he had no idea how to even go about explaining that, who he was, what he'd done, the fact that he was here in Darrow. Just the idea of that made his anxiety flare inside him, and he looked down at the table top, at their joined hands, drawing strength from Molly's touch.
no subject
The way she looked at him, Will wondered if she was thinking about similar things. They both knew they were joking, but it was clear they both liked each other very much already, had a connection that was impossible to deny. Looking at her face now, learning all these things about her and learning her more deeply, he felt like he could fall in love with her. He was hesitant to try to label things when they were soon new and intense, but he couldn't say the beginnings of that weren't already there, stirring in his heart.
She changed the angle of their hands then, threaded her fingers through his, and he could feel tension in her arm, like she was going to lean closer to him. He took a soft breath in anticipation, but then Molly sat back, a woman the next table over giving her a reproving look. He personally didn't care about her opinion of them, but he could tell it set Molly on edge, and Will felt irritation building inside him again. It was moments like this that he hated his empathy, because he felt Molly's embarrassment and disappointment inside him like it was his own. But, at the same time, his own feelings bled in, and he had to fight not to say something to the woman, not wanting to make a scene.
Instead, he squeezed Molly's hand in comfort and understanding. He hated being out in public like this, because people tended to always be so nosy and rude and inconsiderate. But he was here to be with Molly, to do this date thing the right way, so he took a breath and tried to calm himself.
"My life isn't nearly as exciting as yours," he told her with a soft smile, squeezing her hand again. "I was born and grew up in Louisiana. My mother left my father and I when I was really young, and my dad moved us around a lot. He worked on the ship yards as a mechanic mostly. I went to college in New Orleans and got a job with the police department and eventually became a homicide detective."
He took another breath, remembering that time of his life, how hard he'd worked back then to fit in and not get noticed. "I wasn't good in the field, bad under pressure, so I moved to Washington D.C. and went back to school to get a graduate degree in forensic science. Then I started working for the FBI, first in the crime lab and then eventually at Quantico, the FBI academy, as a teacher." She knew a lot of this already, but it was easier for him to go through it by rote, rather than landing on any particular details. "I did some field work again right before I came here. An agent asked me to consult on a serial murder case. They were having a hard time finding motive, and figured my 'gift' could help."
This was all very close to home for him still, a lot of things from the last few months cutting deep and holding on. Eventually, he'd have to tell Molly about Hannibal, but he had no idea how to even go about explaining that, who he was, what he'd done, the fact that he was here in Darrow. Just the idea of that made his anxiety flare inside him, and he looked down at the table top, at their joined hands, drawing strength from Molly's touch.