The two boys are just tall enough - in different ways, Hannibal's 70% leg where Will's less of a stork - that Neph has to take a step and a half for each of theirs. It results in an awkward bobbing of their joined hands, but neither of them let go. Neither of them speak, either, though she's reasonably sure they're not doing it to torture her. They're not deliberately winding her up, waiting for her to snap...it just feels that way, a little bit.
The beginnings of a tension headache bloom at her temples and the nape of her neck. She's considering whether or not she can discretely pop her jaw when Will murmurs her name.
Neph's not the only one surprised, if the way Hannibal takes an extra-long step forward to look across her means anything (a small victory; he can't just doubletake right over the top of her head. Neither of them can.). Her head jerks toward Will automatically, gaze skittering across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Is she avoiding his eyes to be polite, or to protect herself? She...doesn't really know. The last time he dipped his feelers in her thoughts, he nearly babbled himself into an extra-bad concussion. Neph hastily faces forward, scans the street, kicks out at a wadded up piece of newsprint as it blows by. Will doesn't give any sign that he's upset she's avoiding eye contact, just lifts their hands a little in, what, acknowledgement?
He presses on. Neph feels Hannibal's breath against her shoulder, ruffling her hair, as he keeps his head turned to watch. She doesn't dare try to check his expression. Would it be approving, discouraging, or that blank 'now what' look he sometimes gets when he's content to let baffling events play out? Would it be that hungry, wanting look, the one she dreads and anticipates in equal measure? What had Will called it? A void? And what was it he'd said - implied - about her? That she doesn't ask him direct questions or give him the chance to share, doesn't want to share herself in return.
You don't have to talk about it.
I'll listen. A needle of shame pierces her throat, hitches her breathing. For a wild second there, she hadn't been sure if the 'something' he meant was the story with Sampson or the question of how she has any authority to kick someone out of Baltimore. Neph almost stumbles on her extra half-a-step, then does it again when he loops Hannibal in on his offer. If he were asking about the bigger picture, and not about what happened to her, wouldn't he assume Hannibal already knew? How...unfair of her, underestimating him like that. Will's the one who offered her a quick and quiet way out of the museum. He's earned the benefit of her doubt. She's just so--she's all twisted up around this, now, spinning phantoms from shadows.
Hannibal squeezes her hand in silent agreement. Neph can't help but notice that he let Will speak for him, just now, dictate terms and conditions. If that's what you wanted. Hannibal's getting better, but he's still more likely to press on an opening if it appears, and he doesn't leave easy outs. He goes along with this anyway, either swept along by Will or badly unsettled by her behavior. Neph squeezes back with both hands, blunt nails digging into the outside of Will's palm and between Hannibal's knuckles. Her fingers are plenty long, she's just proportionally that much smaller than either of them.
Funny, Samson's had been just as outsized. Morbid interest drove her to test the spread of her fingertips against the bruises he left on her chest and thigh, a span that came up short. She would never've imagined herself willingly bracketed like this, back then, but she hadn't given it a second thought when they'd all stood up to leave the courtyard hand in hand.
"It's not what you're thinking," Neph winces. In a way, that's the problem. It's never as bad as everyone's ready to suspect, so what actually happened seems less legit, somehow. Then she remembers just who she's talking to, and turns thoughtful eyes on Will. "I mean. Probably. I dunno what you picked up. Maybe it's, um, exactly what you're thinking."
It's as much a question as a caution, and maybe that's why she lets their eyes catch. Will's are dark, heavily lidded, but Neph doesn't think for a second that he's being casual about this. It's just not there in his voice.
They don't really talk about what he can do - I'm not gonna be a goddamn oracle for you - and normally she puts it out her mind. Maybe she shouldn't've said anything; if he knows, if he plucked it out of her head, surely he wouldn't make her say it out loud. But what if it's rattling around in his brain like a wrecking ball? She doesn't want that, not to share it or inflict it.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-01-25 07:45 am (UTC)The beginnings of a tension headache bloom at her temples and the nape of her neck. She's considering whether or not she can discretely pop her jaw when Will murmurs her name.
Neph's not the only one surprised, if the way Hannibal takes an extra-long step forward to look across her means anything (a small victory; he can't just doubletake right over the top of her head. Neither of them can.). Her head jerks toward Will automatically, gaze skittering across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Is she avoiding his eyes to be polite, or to protect herself? She...doesn't really know. The last time he dipped his feelers in her thoughts, he nearly babbled himself into an extra-bad concussion. Neph hastily faces forward, scans the street, kicks out at a wadded up piece of newsprint as it blows by. Will doesn't give any sign that he's upset she's avoiding eye contact, just lifts their hands a little in, what, acknowledgement?
He presses on. Neph feels Hannibal's breath against her shoulder, ruffling her hair, as he keeps his head turned to watch. She doesn't dare try to check his expression. Would it be approving, discouraging, or that blank 'now what' look he sometimes gets when he's content to let baffling events play out? Would it be that hungry, wanting look, the one she dreads and anticipates in equal measure? What had Will called it? A void? And what was it he'd said - implied - about her? That she doesn't ask him direct questions or give him the chance to share, doesn't want to share herself in return.
You don't have to talk about it.
I'll listen. A needle of shame pierces her throat, hitches her breathing. For a wild second there, she hadn't been sure if the 'something' he meant was the story with Sampson or the question of how she has any authority to kick someone out of Baltimore. Neph almost stumbles on her extra half-a-step, then does it again when he loops Hannibal in on his offer. If he were asking about the bigger picture, and not about what happened to her, wouldn't he assume Hannibal already knew? How...unfair of her, underestimating him like that. Will's the one who offered her a quick and quiet way out of the museum. He's earned the benefit of her doubt. She's just so--she's all twisted up around this, now, spinning phantoms from shadows.
Hannibal squeezes her hand in silent agreement. Neph can't help but notice that he let Will speak for him, just now, dictate terms and conditions. If that's what you wanted. Hannibal's getting better, but he's still more likely to press on an opening if it appears, and he doesn't leave easy outs. He goes along with this anyway, either swept along by Will or badly unsettled by her behavior. Neph squeezes back with both hands, blunt nails digging into the outside of Will's palm and between Hannibal's knuckles. Her fingers are plenty long, she's just proportionally that much smaller than either of them.
Funny, Samson's had been just as outsized. Morbid interest drove her to test the spread of her fingertips against the bruises he left on her chest and thigh, a span that came up short. She would never've imagined herself willingly bracketed like this, back then, but she hadn't given it a second thought when they'd all stood up to leave the courtyard hand in hand.
"It's not what you're thinking," Neph winces. In a way, that's the problem. It's never as bad as everyone's ready to suspect, so what actually happened seems less legit, somehow. Then she remembers just who she's talking to, and turns thoughtful eyes on Will. "I mean. Probably. I dunno what you picked up. Maybe it's, um, exactly what you're thinking."
It's as much a question as a caution, and maybe that's why she lets their eyes catch. Will's are dark, heavily lidded, but Neph doesn't think for a second that he's being casual about this. It's just not there in his voice.
They don't really talk about what he can do - I'm not gonna be a goddamn oracle for you - and normally she puts it out her mind. Maybe she shouldn't've said anything; if he knows, if he plucked it out of her head, surely he wouldn't make her say it out loud. But what if it's rattling around in his brain like a wrecking ball? She doesn't want that, not to share it or inflict it.