I don't own Hannibal or anything by Thomas Harris. Soon, I'll add the television show to my collection though, because it will help me fan-out. This story takes place before the first season of Hannibal. It's basically a back story which I plan to continue and merge into the plot of the first season, eventually going further if I get a good response.

Thanks

Savor

She used to sleep on her back; peaceful. Dreams that used to consist of a future are long gone. Now the dreams come as darkness, crawling up her bedroom walls like black vine, constricting around her and squeezing out all the breath she could ever breathe. On her back she feels vulnerable, although she knows that one is vulnerable in their sleep. Her doctorate in psychology allows for self-analysis and she doesn't like what she knows is true. It's never nice to turn the spotlight on yourself, but it was indeed necessary. The vulnerability isn't the cause of her nightmares for lack of better word, there is an underlying terror that sits jagged on her neck, oozing into her veins and into her mind to plague her through the night and sleeps curled; so undignified, so unladylike. Her mother would surely be displeased and attribute this flaw to her lack of a husband or child. She almost had a child once, but like her mother, he was gone. He was gone as well, but that was of her own doing. She pushed him away, and yet she wanted him by her side. How could he still be interested in a woman who couldn't even bear to leave her house because of fear? When had she become so self-conscious and defeating? These thoughts sped through her head like rushing water.

"You needn't be afraid, Bedelia; certainly not while you are trying to sleep." Her voice is cool and composed when she responds to his simple statement, so unlike the fetal position she was sporting just minutes ago when her hands were clutching the thick fabric of her comforter, drenching the sheets with her own sweat. She can feel is eyes on her flesh, making it tingle and burn like oil in a saucepan. She hates it when he looks at her like this, when he is trying to love her but instead he condescends. He is sitting up next to her now, and he ragged breathing has settled

"I am not afraid, Hannibal. Do not psychoanalyze me." She pauses, knowing that she cannot lie to him; that they know each other beneath the human-suits they wear each day. She sighs and runs a shaking hand through her long blonde hair, now tousled and messy. "That was rude of me." Immediately she feels a chill on her neck and rushes to cover it, even in the darkness. He cannot see. No one can see, not even herself. It is a reminder of what was and what will never be. As she moves her hand, he catches it, bringing it back to her lap. He will not let her go through this any longer.

"We cannot keep hiding from each other."

"We can't." She agreed, her hand tightening briefly around his. This contact was not rare for them, but never casual. Every touch meant something; it was never trivial. " But what about everyone else?" She asks into the darkness. He lays down into the bed and she follows, knowing that he is looking at her but not able to see his face. She can tell that he is looking at her earnestly this time, and his words are not condescending, but soothing.

"They will only know half-truths."

She was able to sleep soundly for the rest of the night.

She attempted a sigh that instead came out in huffs as she struggled to breathe; tried to get the feeling of hands from around her neck. He wasn't here to console her. She wondered if he missed her but her head shook from the naive thought. In another life, someone had told her that loneliness was a choice. They never said that desolation crept up on you regardless. As she dialed the numbers on the phone perched her bedside table she trembled, before stilling herself. Would he answer?Could she blame him if he didn't? Scolding herself, she moved the receiver to her ear and waited as it continued to ring. She wasn't some 15 year old girl calling to see if the boy from her math class would like to go out to the movies; she hated feeling like this. She stepped back into her human suit, a mask of composure when his voice answered with a simple 'hello.'

"I apologize for the late-night call. I've thought about your offer…" She paused listening to his breathe on the other line, remembering a time when she could feel it in her hair. When had she gotten this desperate? What had she become? Her voice was cold like ice, and she needed to keep it that way. She hoped he wouldn't call her by her first name, while hoping he would at the same time. Talk about cognitive dissonance. Should she really be practicing? Could she even accept these meetings? It was highly unethical. Quickly she made up her mind, sliding back into her assertive persona for the first time in months."Sessions will begin on Thursdays, as you suggested in your availability report."

"Excellent. Goodnight…Dr. Du Maurier."

Loneliness was indeed a choice.