Margot sits in the small but tastefully decorated waiting room of Dr. Lector's practice. She's been to a great many therapists in the months following her attempt on her brother's life and, while this is only her third appointment, she thinks he might just be the perfect therapist for her. Unlike all the others he hasn't showered her in little paper cards bearing the numbers to what they would call salvation and she would plainly call concession. Giving up. Forfeit and defeat.
But Margot isn't done with her brother yet and she won't be going to any women's abuse victim shelter anytime soon. He won't win this. She won't let him.
Dr. Lecter had seemed to understand that from the moment she stepped into his office that first time nearly three weeks ago. He hadn't once tried to convince her to give up the game and run with her tail tucked. In fact, he was nearly outright supportive of her... intentions, and determination to get Mason back for all the pain he had caused her now that their father was gone and she finally had the chance. Even if it meant enduring a whole lot more pain in the meantime.
He believed she could take it. He offered opinions and options she could actually consider. She is deeply appreciative of his support.
Though at the moment she's mostly just confused, glancing towards the door of his office every now and then with her brow furrowed. She'd arrived somewhat early for her appointment, as she was often want to do in a passive attempt to spend as much time as conceivably possible away from home and Masons grasping, cruel hands, and since she was early on a weekday the patient before her was still in with the Doctor.
Sneezing their brains out by the sound of things.
She jumps a bit as another particularly loud sneeze muffles its way through the solid oak door, blinking in mild amazement. Really it sounded as if whoever it was was going to sneeze their nose straight off. Margot wondered if it was the same person from last week that had an appointment before her, who had spent their entire appointment wailing about hell knew what.
She thought said patient must have a certain portly man whose name she didn't remember, but had seen in passing the day she'd come in for her very first appointment. He'd come out of the building as she went looking both lovelorn and as if the world was certainly ending and there was nothing he could do to save himself.
He'd greeted her, friendly, but with a sort of neediness that really put her off. She'd nodded, having been raised to mind her manners, but ultimately sought to make it abundantly clear that she had no desire to associate with him and had breezed right by him with some murmured excuse about not wanting to be late. She hoped he would get the message, though
he would certainly give it another go if they ever saw each other again. Men like that rarely gave up after just one rejection.
Margot huffs at herself as another loud sneeze manages to startle her and wonders offhandedly if that could be some side effect of cocaine. The pollen count outside couldn't be that bad today, and Dr. Lecter has a policy about not coming to your appointment if you were ill that he seems fairly adamant about. Though she supposed that chubby, needy thing might just be dumb enough to break one of Dr. Lecter's rules.
Margot checks her watch. Just fifteen more minutes until her appointment. From what little experience she has with the man she thinks it'll perhaps be another five or so until the current patient's time is up and they'll be sent out the private exit. Then Dr. Lecter would do whatever it is he does in those ten minutes between appointments and then he'd let her in precisely on time.
She sighs as another series of sneezes starts up. Hopefully whoever is in there will make it that long. She'd hate to have her appointment canceled because some troglodyte with a cold died of asphyxiation during theirs.
She's scrolling mindlessly on her phone when the door to Dr. Lecter's office finally opens and finds herself smiling as she rises to her feet.
"Margot, please come in," The Doctor says with his usual grace, gesturing her into the room and closing the door behind them as he moves for his chair, "Have a seat."
She does, smoothing her grey pencil skirt and wondering if it's her imagination or if Dr. Lecter seems as pleased to see her as she is to see him.
"Good evening," she says finally, crossing one knee over the other, in a way that sounds sing-song even to her own ears and must belay some of the simmering anger that festers under her skin at all times because Dr. Lecter non-smiles in that odd way of his and asks serenely how she's been, if there's anything, in particular, she'd like to discuss during their session.
And boy is there.
The next twenty minutes are spent discussing her brother and his special brand of abuse and how she'd had to change the locks on her bedroom again to keep him out at night. She is careful not to directly say that she'd like to turn up in his room with a surprise of her own but oh it's sure is what she means and she knows that Dr. Lecter knows.
He nods along, allowing her to vent with minimal input and she wonders vaguely what business a man in Dr. Lecter's line of work has looking so very charmed by backhanded threats of violence. He takes time to soothe her, encouraging her while not directly saying that she should be calm and wait until the time is right, as she trails off, only just noticing that he isn't in his customary full suit complete with jacket and waistcoat.
He must notice her puzzled look because he looks down at himself as if expecting to see something there.
"Please forgive my lack of formal attire," He says a touch too smoothly, checking the hem of his pristine white button down, "My jacket was causing quite the reaction in my previous patient and I thought it prudent to put it away."
"Quite the reaction indeed," Margot replies softly, curiosity nowhere near satisfied, "I could hear them out in the waiting room."
"Did you? I suppose I'm not surprised. He is one for theatrics."
Margot raises her eyebrows at that. She's fairly certain that level of cattiness does not fall in the realm of professionalism, and she finds herself fighting not to mirror that non-smile of his, "How could a suit jacket result in such 'theatrics'?"
Dr. Lecter sighs oh so quietly, "I'm afraid I was in a bit of a hurry this morning and didn't notice the back was coated in dog fur. My mistake really."
Margot's eyebrows are suddenly in danger of fleeing into her hairline entirely, "Dog hair? Forgive me but you," she pauses, picking her words, "You don't strike me as a pet person."
"I'm not. A colleague of mine fell from his roof recently and has broken his ankles. A rather nasty fall. Honestly he's lucky it wasn't more serious," Dr. Lecter explains, somehow managing to look both fond and deeply put upon, "He is very much a pet person, and seeing as how he cannot take proper care of himself or his pack at the moment they are all staying with me until he heals."
Well then...
"His pack?"
Dr. Lecter's non-smile turns rather rueful, "He has seven dogs. All rescues he's picked up over the years."
Margot blinks, "You must like this colleague of yours a whole awful lot," She says, amused.
Colleague her ass.
If Dr. Lecter hears her silent call on is bullshit he says nothing of it, "I am quite fond of him, yes. And his dogs are all very well trained, they aren't so much trouble."
"How did they get at your jacket?"
"I'd left it on a chair in the living room."
Margot tilts her head, feeling she must very much look like a confused bird with all the emoting she's doing at this curious situation. Dr. Hannibal Lecter does not strike her as the type of man to leave his good suit jackets lying around on chairs for another man's dogs to defile with their fur. She wonders what may have been distracting him enough to cause such a mistake and why he hadn't just gotten a fresh jacket because surely he had many to choose from.
Dr. Lecter appears to be awaiting her next question but she is fairly certain she doesn't have one that he would easily answer. He usually doesn't let her get off track like this at all. She hums and turns to pull her bag over to her to dig in its contents.
"I think I have just the thing," She mumbles as she rifles through old receipts and mixed tubes of lip balm and mascara. She should really throw some of them out. She isn't sure how'd she'd accumulated so many of them in the first place, "Ah, here we are."
Margot produces a lint roller from her purse, the sort with the disposable sticky paper sheets. It's leopard print but she gets the feeling Dr. Lecter won't care too much if it means getting his jacket back in order. She peels off the first layer, stuffing the sheet down in her bag before offering the wand over.
"Here, you can have it. I have a dozen more at home and it sounds to me like you probably need it more at the moment, " She smirks at him, unable to keep the tease out of her tone.
Dr. Lecter leans and plucks it from her fingers, turning it in his hands as if to inspect it, "You have my thanks. I should see about picking up a few extra. I doubt this will last long given the current state of my sofa."
She smiles at that, "They're very handy for that sort of thing. I used to use them all the time when I had a cat."
He looks up at her, setting the lint roller aside for now, "Had?"
Her smile turns cold and she happily picks up on his lead, explaining the loss of her dear little friend and eluding to what she'd very much like to do to avenge them when she finally had to chance. Just one more item on the long list of cruelties delivered by her dear twin that she would see paid for.
The rest of her appointment carries on just like that, her thoughts and feelings flowing out. Expelled and leaving her calm and collected and feeling nearly ready to return home without the pressing need to do something rash that would fail and set her right back to where she'd started. Angry and trapped firmly under Mason's thumb with no one to talk to about it.
The timer on Dr. Lecter's desk chimes and they both rise fluidly, Margot having run out of steam almost precisely on time and left wondering how her physiatrist manages to accomplish that every time but feeling thankful all the same for his skill.
"I believe that's all we have time for this evening. Come, I'll show you out," He leads her toward the door on the other side of the office.
"Did I get a good grade?" She asks, emotionally exhausted and only partially kidding, filling the brief silence even though she knows she doesn't really need to.
Dr. Lecter inclines his head at her, "I've told you that isn't how therapy works," He scolds, tone gentle, "But I do believe you are making progress Margot. We are only just starting, don't give into frustration now."
He opens the door for her, excusing her from having to thinks of a reply to that but she stops short of their goodbyes when she sees someone is waiting in the little sitting room that leads out towards the back exit.
It's a woman, sitting there primly with what seems to be a black suit jacket draped across her shapely legs. Margot's mouth goes a bit dry as that cool blue stare lands on her and she finds herself temporarily trapped by the sight of flawless pale skin and nearly equally pale and artfully done blonde curls.
"Bedelia, This is a private exit for my patents," Dr. Lecter says, tone a bit chilled as if she should have known that already, though he seems to thaw when he spots the jacket she's brought for him.
"Yes I know," She replies, looking back at Margot with a single, perfectly plucked brow raised, "My apologies, but the waiting room was occupied by a man whom," She pauses, and her smile has something in it that makes Margot's stomach do a surprised and confused little flip, "Well. He said his name was Franklin and that he was a patient and he'd left his coat behind."
And likely a great many other things Bedelia was not at all interested, judging by the look on her face.
She finally turns her gaze to Dr. Lecter with something like a challenge on her lovely features. The man twists to look behind him back into the office, "So he has. I'll have to walk it out to him," He doesn't seem like he appreciates that.
Bedelia hums and gets to her feet, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the skirt of her burgundy day dress, "Yes, well, I brought you a fresh jacket," She appears to be teasing him now. Margot looks over her shoulder at him, still flustered with her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Really. She is much too old for this.
Dr. Lecter takes the jacket, appearing to have fully pardoned her use of the private exit already, "Forgive me. Bedaial this is Margot. Margot, Bedelia," He gestures between them respectively and Bedelia steps forward to offer a delicate, narrow hand.
Margot takes it and offers a smile that she hopes isn't as strained as it feels, "Pleased to meet you."
"The pleasures all mine," The woman nearly purrs and Margot makes a tiny squeaking sound in the back of her throat that ignites something one might call predatory in those sky blue eyes. Her grip is surprisingly firm, the edges of her perfectly buffed nails sharp but careful against the thin skin of Margot's wrist.
"Yes well," She clears her throat, "I should get going."
Bedelia nods and lets go of her hand gracefully, "Have a nice evening," she says by way of goodbye and Margot tries not to look like she's fleeing as she does exactly that, forgetting to say goodbye or to even look at Dr. Lecter as she goes.
Out in her car, Magot allows herself a few moments to silently remind herself that she is not in high school anymore and that had been truly ridiculous. All the same, she finds herself thanking whichever of Dr. Lecter's boyfriend's dogs had messed his jacket as she pulls out of the parking lot and heads home.