Merry Christmas y'all, here's a little one shot that I wrote today, my present to you ;) xxx
'So what was so desperate that it couldn't wait until Friday, Will?' Hannibal sits on his chair, one leg resting on the other, an arm under his chin, with the usual detached curiosity that invites you to share every sin, no matter how small. His voice is thick, from drink or sleep I'm not sure, his accent heavy. Despite the time of year, Hannibal's office is the same; still minimalistic, professional, giving as much away about Hannibal as Hannibal himself did.
I realise that I've been staring at Hannibal for some time and look away, towards the corner of the room, where books upon books line the shelves. I get up from my chair and walk over to that corner, brushing my fingers along those books, the smell of paper giving me a momentary reprieve from the coppery smell that I haven't been able to shake all day. I can feel Hannibal's eyes on me but I keep my head down, giving the books my full attention. They're mostly in languages that I have no grasp on, but I read covers anyway, the alien words distracting me from the panic that's been building for hours.
It's funny, until today I could never have imagined a situation in which I no longer cared about what Hannibal was thinking. Of course, I knew that he would be analysing my every move, trying to calculate my motives and actions, trying to gauge my emotional state, but in this moment, it just didn't matter as much as it probably should've. Say what you want about his methods, but Hannibal knew not to push me into answering. It was obvious from the state I'd been in on the phone that this wasn't a social visit, and so he let me go about my 'reading', trying to find the words I needed.
After quite some time in heavy silence, I turn back around and make my way back over to the chair, taking a seat and remaining in silence for a few seconds before I finally speak.
'She's dead.'
Silence.
'Go on.'
'About an hour ago, stabbed repeatedly-'
'Will...'
I ignore his tone and go on. '-In the chest. Blood everywhere, I can still smell it, it's everywhere-'
'Will you're in my office, there's no bl-'
'-I can smell it, it's on my hands, it's under my fingernails-'
'Will!' Hannibal makes his way over to me and crouches in front of my chair, the sudden unexpected movement causing me to finally stop talking. 'Will, did you kill her?'
Not who's dead? No panic is his voice, no judgement, just a simple question.
'I... I don't know.'
We sit in silence for a while, snow falling outside the window.
'Merry Christmas.'
