This...might've been a mistake. She's not even sure she got the words out right, nevermind that they were understood. It was easier, almost, with Lecter. He hadn't actually been there to see her confront Samson, and he already knew about her abilities and other jobs. There was less tapdancing, except for the part where she came back to herself and realized she'd run to his house in the first place, where he asked her if she wanted to stay.
They never did get around to negotiating what that might mean. Now they never will. He'd been classically evasive about it and she hadn't had the courage or the energy to ask what he was really offering. That might bother her more, if she hadn't ended up living with some version of him anyway.
This version is furious. As she stumbled her way through the events of that night, Hannibal went stiffer and stiffer at her side. His hand in hers might as well be a prosthetic, as cold and motionless as it's gone. Their shoulders bump as they walk, Neph sort of rattling between the two boys, and it's like skidding against a wall. Her heart beats high and fast in her throat, even knowing that anger's not directed at her. It could still take her arm off, when it inevitably goes. She watches him from the corner of her eye, the part of her brain that endlessly spins contingency plans kicks into gear. There must be some way to redirect that rage away from herself, away from--
Will tugs lightly at her hand, gripping tighter despite her clammy palm. Neph turns her face a few degrees back toward him, watching from three-quarters. If he's angry, it's harder to read. She can't help but be wary, she doesn't know what Angry Will looks like or how he's likely to snap, and here she is stuck between him and Hannibal, the ticking bomb. But he only says in a very reasonable tone, That's not on you.
Neph winces, very well aware she'd said something pretty similar to him a couple months ago. It's a lot easier to dish out than it is to take.
"I know," it takes real effort not to say it to the sidewalk, but she manages to lift her head. "I know it's him but I still--it's not just him. There's others, y'know? S'not like it's never happened before, I just always got outta the way in time." With both her hands caught up, she invents a new fiddling method; her thumb taps an arhythmic staccato against Will's knuckles. "If I'm gonna make it out there I gotta be smart and see this stuff and I hate--I hate that I have to and I hate that I didn't that time."
That one slip planted doubt in her, a weed with roots gone too deep to pull up in one neat clump. She's been more paranoid since, quicker to assume ill intent. It's died down a little in the past, what, ten months, but she was still at peak anxiety when Hannibal half-accused her trying to kiss him. No fucking wonder she blew up.
Is he remembering that, too? Is that why he leans down to hiss in her ear? Neph jumps a little, her doubletime footsteps veering toward Will while her chin jerks back in Hannibal's direction. She might've expected the same kind of feral, bared-teeth rage he'd displayed when he thought Will's dad was responsible for beating his face in, but this...isn't that. It's the burn of dry ice, the methodical scrape of a whetstone over a blade, skin parting silently under a keen edge. It's murderously stunning and Neph can only be blindly grateful that it's for her, not because of her. His stare fills her entire field of vision. She has to remind herself to blink.
"I know he was," she says again. Her shoulder jostles Will's, bulkier and softer through their mutual layers, but she twists her wrist to scrape her fingernails down the back of Hannibal's hand. She drifts back to the middle, pupils constricting a little as she forces herself to zoom out on the rest of Hannibal's face. "I...when it happened I was just really freaked out and...tired. 'Cuz I thought I couldn't watch my back every fucking second, y'know?"
Relief, relief, she saw murder in his eyes and her knees went weak with relief. Neph ducks her head and swings their hands - all their hands - a little. "It's better now."
no subject
They never did get around to negotiating what that might mean. Now they never will. He'd been classically evasive about it and she hadn't had the courage or the energy to ask what he was really offering. That might bother her more, if she hadn't ended up living with some version of him anyway.
This version is furious. As she stumbled her way through the events of that night, Hannibal went stiffer and stiffer at her side. His hand in hers might as well be a prosthetic, as cold and motionless as it's gone. Their shoulders bump as they walk, Neph sort of rattling between the two boys, and it's like skidding against a wall. Her heart beats high and fast in her throat, even knowing that anger's not directed at her. It could still take her arm off, when it inevitably goes. She watches him from the corner of her eye, the part of her brain that endlessly spins contingency plans kicks into gear. There must be some way to redirect that rage away from herself, away from--
Will tugs lightly at her hand, gripping tighter despite her clammy palm. Neph turns her face a few degrees back toward him, watching from three-quarters. If he's angry, it's harder to read. She can't help but be wary, she doesn't know what Angry Will looks like or how he's likely to snap, and here she is stuck between him and Hannibal, the ticking bomb. But he only says in a very reasonable tone, That's not on you.
Neph winces, very well aware she'd said something pretty similar to him a couple months ago. It's a lot easier to dish out than it is to take.
"I know," it takes real effort not to say it to the sidewalk, but she manages to lift her head. "I know it's him but I still--it's not just him. There's others, y'know? S'not like it's never happened before, I just always got outta the way in time." With both her hands caught up, she invents a new fiddling method; her thumb taps an arhythmic staccato against Will's knuckles. "If I'm gonna make it out there I gotta be smart and see this stuff and I hate--I hate that I have to and I hate that I didn't that time."
That one slip planted doubt in her, a weed with roots gone too deep to pull up in one neat clump. She's been more paranoid since, quicker to assume ill intent. It's died down a little in the past, what, ten months, but she was still at peak anxiety when Hannibal half-accused her trying to kiss him. No fucking wonder she blew up.
Is he remembering that, too? Is that why he leans down to hiss in her ear? Neph jumps a little, her doubletime footsteps veering toward Will while her chin jerks back in Hannibal's direction. She might've expected the same kind of feral, bared-teeth rage he'd displayed when he thought Will's dad was responsible for beating his face in, but this...isn't that. It's the burn of dry ice, the methodical scrape of a whetstone over a blade, skin parting silently under a keen edge. It's murderously stunning and Neph can only be blindly grateful that it's for her, not because of her. His stare fills her entire field of vision. She has to remind herself to blink.
"I know he was," she says again. Her shoulder jostles Will's, bulkier and softer through their mutual layers, but she twists her wrist to scrape her fingernails down the back of Hannibal's hand. She drifts back to the middle, pupils constricting a little as she forces herself to zoom out on the rest of Hannibal's face. "I...when it happened I was just really freaked out and...tired. 'Cuz I thought I couldn't watch my back every fucking second, y'know?"
Relief, relief, she saw murder in his eyes and her knees went weak with relief. Neph ducks her head and swings their hands - all their hands - a little. "It's better now."