A/N: A bit of Bedelia introspection.
Spoilers: For 3x01 Antipasto.
Disclaimer: I'm in conscious control of my actions, none of which involves owning the rights to Hannibal.
Bedelia was lying in the bathtub of their posh Italian home. Eyes closed she listened to the slow drip of the faucet. One drop after another released its hold on the copper tap, plummeting towards the abyss, falling for an eternity before it hit the water, making perfect concentric circles. The nothingness in the room surrounding her stretched on, enhancing each and every sound. The drops grew louder ranging from bongo drums to cannonballs. And with the same vigour as when a cannonball hits water will drag its surroundings down with it, so did the steady and mesmerizing slow sound made by the dripping faucet. As if by a magnetic force she was pulled down grabbed by the unseen hands of a thousand sirens. Further and further down she went until she was fully immersed in water, which wasn't clear or cleansing, but dark and heavy. And as she sank it trapped her, merging above her like a fluid carpet, and engulfing her entire body in her new liquid prison.
There was no going back now. No way out anymore. All her sins and concealed truths piled up and weighed her down. Bobbles were the only thing that escaped. Clear and round and light in the otherwise dark environment. As she went down, they rose up. All the good that was left in her was being swallowed by the darkness. What would have happened had she chosen another profession? How different would her life have been without Hannibal in it? Did she even dare imagine it? With her last breath she broke the surface, panting she immerged from the water in the bathtub. There was still a smidge of fight left in her. She knew what he was; she just needed to get others to see it too. As of yet he hadn't broken her all down, at her core she was still her, his manipulations aside, she still believed she was in conscious control of her actions.
xXx
What have you gotten yourself into, Bedelia? That was his question to her. A pointed question she had to admit. This farce they were living, as man and wife, was a starting to take its toll on her. Their relationship wasn't one of mutual respect. Hannibal rarely saw other people as equals, only the select few held such a title. No, this was something else. Their association was strictly based on games and manipulation. His games and his rules. Behind every action and reaction there was an agenda.
She had done what she'd advised Crawford against. She had thought she was in control, when in reality she was only fooling herself.
As a subject Hannibal had been fascinating. But as her keeper he was dangerous. He might trust her enough to let her roam around freely in the beautiful old city, buying commodities and accessories for his food. But make no mistake, he still had her on a leash, however Invisible. Like a dog, he owned her. And like the blind her creed was to obediently follow.
He was always three steps ahead, though his approaches might seem impulsive, but that was far from the case, every move was carefully and thoroughly thought out and planned. No details were left to chance.
Had she only had more self-discipline back then she wouldn't have been so reckless. Taming the anger that sprang from fear and self-preservation was not an easy task, it required strength. Strength to resist the darkness. She had channelled it and harnessed the power into shear force. And then she had fallen. And she had fallen hard. Asking the devil for help. Her slate had been cleared but at the expense of her soul.
For too long she had had to hide, because of her actions, not let anyone see the real her, just like Hannibal. He was the rock she had built her new foundation on, but then purposefully he had let them see him, and by doing so he'd uprooted the base. She longed to be seen as well, for whom she really was, but he was the only one that saw her, so naturally she had to follow him. That was the price she had to pay.
She wasn't the psychiatrist anymore - passively observing her subject like a lion with a full stomach observes a flock of antelopes - she was participating. She had done her part, anticipated actions and watched in silence as they played out. Her expectations tainted by the actual horror of reality, and a rationalisation that came too late. What had she gotten herself into?
A/N: Is it wrong to find this show fascinating? I have an immense love for the slow-mo scenes in Hannibal, and that bathtub one + GA's acting inspired this.