Will stares up at the ceiling, his eyes out of focus, his hands limply at his sides. He's dimly aware of Hannibal beside him, perched carefully on the chair arm hands loosely clasped over his knees. The psychiatrist seems content to stay in companionable silence for the moment, allowing Will to collect himself.
"I am finding it difficult," Will states, breaking the silence finally, "to differentiate dream from reality, at the moment."
"What do you mean, Will?" Hannibal looks down at him, his maroon eyes half-lidded, the light hitting them at the right angle to show off the odd red tint.
"I have been seeing things that I'm not sure aren't real." He pauses his brows knitting together in a frown, "There are gaps in my memory, full hours of time just gone." As he speaks the heavy, solid sound of hooves announce the presence of the imposing black stag that haunts him. It's dark coat a mass of feathers, it's horns reaching high and proud. It walks slowly across the room passed will, entering and leaving his line of sight, as if it has every right to be there. Will refuses to follow it with his eyes.
"How are you finding work?" Hannibal doesn't need to ask if Jack is pushing him too hard, he knows the answer.
"It's like I am adding to a library in my mind." Will allows his focus to shift around the room, though his attention is resolutely on Hannibal. "All I need to do is, pick up a book and I am someone else."
"By someone else you mean a killer." Hannibal regards him with silent patience. Will exhales slowly, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment, avoiding staring at the black fleshed monster that stands just at the door to the room. Its eyes are focused on him alone, in perfect silence, still as death.
"How does that make you feel, Will?" Will feels like laughing at the question, but it only comes out as one of his pain filled smirks and a huff of breath.
"Are you asking as my therapist or as my friend?" He rolls his head back against the back of the chair to stair at the ceiling. He doesn't want to look at the monster, it can't approach him here, not with Hannibal present.
"Would my answer change yours?" Hannibal's voice is quiet, but genuinely curious.
"If you were asking as my therapist I would tell you that I feel it is an essential part of my work, to know the minds of the people I hunt. I would tell you that I feel a great sense of obligation and accomplishment in being able to guess the next move." Will takes in a breath, his shoulders dropping as he exhales. "If you asked me as a friend I would tell you that I feel as if I am fading away, getting lost between the pages."
He could almost let himself sink into unconsciousness right now, tired as he is. Hannibal's office feels safe, with the presence of the psychiatrist it feels invulnerable. Like a calm in the middle of a storm.
The smaller man jumps slightly as the back of Hannibal's cool palm presses gently against the skin of his forehead, hauling his attention back to the conversation at hand.
"How are your headaches?"
Will can't help but close his eyes again, seeking familiarity in the psychiatrists touch. It is like a balm to his fevered mind.
"Persistent." He almost groans when the contact is broken. A diabolical ache throbs along his skull almost on cue, he is sweating heavily already. Hannibal shifts from his seat, and moves in front of will, placing two items on the coffee table between them. A needle and a metronome.
"There's something I would like to try to help ease your dreams." Hannibal begins, not waiting for the question. "It is an unorthodox treatment, but I believe you will benefit from it greatly." There is something familiar about Hannibal's words but Will can't grasp the memory, and then it seems unimportant. His psychiatrist watches him with interest, dark eyes scanning his face for any subtle change in expression.
"You want to hypnotize me?" Will offers a bemused smile. Hannibal returns it, his eyes flashing with some hidden victory.
Before Hannibal can reply, Will has shifted forward in his seat, the lost stormy eyes capturing and holding calm maroon with determination and unwavering acceptance.
"I trust you, Hannibal."
The cannibal smiles.
