Nobody, but nobody, has ever seen Hannibal Lecter burst out of a bathroom, hair dripping, wearing nothing but a towel. Before today Neph would've bet real money nobody ever would. Faced with this new reality, she can only stare. Her mouth twitches into a smile, small and tired but disgustingly fond.
She's gonna live forever. There's no way she's dying until she figures out how to use this material to mess with him.
"Hi," she croaks. Her throat may as well be lined with gravel, but it's a sound. "You did it."
He set them up somewhere safe. He got her through Burnout. They're not locked up in a lab or held without bail on murder and arson charges. Under those circumstances, this is the most beautiful motel room she's ever seen. Hannibal comes around her side of the bed and catches her hand, looming over her as he takes her vitals in stoic doctor fashion. It'd be a real convincing act if he didn't grip her fingers so hard, if there weren't a bead of water threatening to drip from the end of his nose.
Neph watches it, fascinated, her shoulders sliding back down those hard-won inches as her head falls back. He doesn't look like he had his nose broken recently. There might be a little crimp there that wasn't before? A bump of newly healed bone in the arch? Her fingers twitch with the urge to reach up trace the line of his nose to find out, but she hasn't got the strength yet. Besides, Hannibal's shower-amplified body heat seeps right through her dry skin and between the small bones of her wrist and hand. She'd forgotten how achingly cold the aftermath of Burnout could be, how it transforms her chest into a dead hearth.
"Sorry," a yawn splits her jaw, leaves her blinking, "How long wuzzi out?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-08-19 07:24 am (UTC)She's gonna live forever. There's no way she's dying until she figures out how to use this material to mess with him.
"Hi," she croaks. Her throat may as well be lined with gravel, but it's a sound. "You did it."
He set them up somewhere safe. He got her through Burnout. They're not locked up in a lab or held without bail on murder and arson charges. Under those circumstances, this is the most beautiful motel room she's ever seen. Hannibal comes around her side of the bed and catches her hand, looming over her as he takes her vitals in stoic doctor fashion. It'd be a real convincing act if he didn't grip her fingers so hard, if there weren't a bead of water threatening to drip from the end of his nose.
Neph watches it, fascinated, her shoulders sliding back down those hard-won inches as her head falls back. He doesn't look like he had his nose broken recently. There might be a little crimp there that wasn't before? A bump of newly healed bone in the arch? Her fingers twitch with the urge to reach up trace the line of his nose to find out, but she hasn't got the strength yet. Besides, Hannibal's shower-amplified body heat seeps right through her dry skin and between the small bones of her wrist and hand. She'd forgotten how achingly cold the aftermath of Burnout could be, how it transforms her chest into a dead hearth.
"Sorry," a yawn splits her jaw, leaves her blinking, "How long wuzzi out?"