"And I'm right," Neph can hear the smile in her own voice, an answer to his. The familiar pattern of their banter, tease and countertease, lets her relax into the mattress. They could be in the kitchen, or in line at the grocery store, or leaving campus with a stack of case files, anything other than lying awake at 3am while she shakes her demons. If not for the fact that Hannibal rarely hands her a straight line like that, she could close her eyes and pretend. She blinks against his collar instead, breathing through the sharp spike of gratitude that he'd make a target of himself just to make her feel better.
There's no point telling him that Dream!Hannibal wanted her to look, to see what she'd done to him. Neph doesn't think the point of that was to punish, and it definitely doesn't mean she thinks Hannibal's unnecessarily cruel to her. If anything he lets her get away with way too much shit, a thrill she feels every time she swats his arm or steals a bite off his plate. She won't confuse that issue, won't plant that seed.
Her breathing's slowed to near-normal by now, all those biosignals cranked to 11 by her nightmare slowly returning to baseline. Dried and drying sweat itches along her hairline, the back of her neck, beneath the fingers curled around her shoulderblade. She's too exhausted to care. A shapeless noise escapes her when Hannibal shifts, but he only brings his hand over hers, trapping it close to his heartbeat. If she concentrates, she can pick out the miliseconds between the thud under her palm and the pulse in his thumb.
At first she thinks he means he's not going to let her dream keep him awake, which is a weird thing to say. Her sluggish brain catches up before she can say anything truly stupid, but it's followed by another rush of guilt. If she were really only worried about the Inquisitor, it wouldn't've been the church dream. It wouldn't've been the moment where she ruined everything. She wouldn't've Pushed herself to safety and left Hannibal there to die.
"I just..." she wavers, unaware that Hannibal's mentally committing himself to dismantling the world's third largest and most wealthy religion. There's a line between what he knows of her, and the things she's not yet dug from her chest, and it gets thinner every day. "I've never been real good at...at keeping people safe. Idon'tmeanyoucan'thandleyourself but if. If something happened because'a me--"
Her throat closes like a trap. Neph hugs Hannibal so tight he's probably gonna find an imprint of her hip on the outside of his thigh tomorrow. Her breathing falls out of rhythm, a hiccup that gusts across their joined hands. I'm not six years old. I'm not ignorant. I can control myself. I won't get trapped again. He's not Campbell. He wouldn't trap me.
Hannibal standing on the sidewalk outside the Walters, Will at their backs, saying I don't-- want you caged after being hedged in by other people for so long.
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There's no point telling him that Dream!Hannibal wanted her to look, to see what she'd done to him. Neph doesn't think the point of that was to punish, and it definitely doesn't mean she thinks Hannibal's unnecessarily cruel to her. If anything he lets her get away with way too much shit, a thrill she feels every time she swats his arm or steals a bite off his plate. She won't confuse that issue, won't plant that seed.
Her breathing's slowed to near-normal by now, all those biosignals cranked to 11 by her nightmare slowly returning to baseline. Dried and drying sweat itches along her hairline, the back of her neck, beneath the fingers curled around her shoulderblade. She's too exhausted to care. A shapeless noise escapes her when Hannibal shifts, but he only brings his hand over hers, trapping it close to his heartbeat. If she concentrates, she can pick out the miliseconds between the thud under her palm and the pulse in his thumb.
At first she thinks he means he's not going to let her dream keep him awake, which is a weird thing to say. Her sluggish brain catches up before she can say anything truly stupid, but it's followed by another rush of guilt. If she were really only worried about the Inquisitor, it wouldn't've been the church dream. It wouldn't've been the moment where she ruined everything. She wouldn't've Pushed herself to safety and left Hannibal there to die.
"I just..." she wavers, unaware that Hannibal's mentally committing himself to dismantling the world's third largest and most wealthy religion. There's a line between what he knows of her, and the things she's not yet dug from her chest, and it gets thinner every day. "I've never been real good at...at keeping people safe. Idon'tmeanyoucan'thandleyourself but if. If something happened because'a me--"
Her throat closes like a trap. Neph hugs Hannibal so tight he's probably gonna find an imprint of her hip on the outside of his thigh tomorrow. Her breathing falls out of rhythm, a hiccup that gusts across their joined hands. I'm not six years old. I'm not ignorant. I can control myself. I won't get trapped again. He's not Campbell. He wouldn't trap me.
Hannibal standing on the sidewalk outside the Walters, Will at their backs, saying I don't-- want you caged after being hedged in by other people for so long.
"I don't wanna lock you in either."