I hope everyone is enjoying so far. Sorry, I've been vacationing so there has been a lag in my posting. I'm working on updating some of my other stories, but this is already written ahead and easy to post! So full speed ahead. :3


He showed me out of the room without another word, where a young man took the initiative to lead me down the maze of hallways to the nearest exit. He showed me to my car and gave me my keys. I thanked him and listened intently to the directions he was giving me on how to get back to the highway. He left me to it then, heading toward a different building than the one we had just left. I dug through my trunk for different clothes. I'd need to stop somewhere for gas anyway. I sat for a long while doing little more than quivering and staring at the buildings around me. I felt so small and insignificant, and that settled into my bones like the cold of a North Dakota winter. I sighed and rubbed my sore eyes, willing myself to move. I pulled a slouch knit hat down over my ears and pulled off the lot. The highway was easy enough to get to. I made a quick stop to change and put gas in my car before heading on. I felt much better being in my own clothes – a soft v-neck tee, my favorite skinny jeans, and black high tops. I turned up my music, struggling with my thoughts as I drove. I didn't pay attention to what was playing. The bass and the rhythm pulsating through my body were comforting enough without focus on the words. I hardly remembered the drive the hospital [something I supposed was probably not actually very good at all]. I sat clutching the steering wheel for the duration of several songs. My eyelids were feeling heavy again. I was starting to feel like I wasn't all there. I rubbed my eyes. If I could erase this day from my memory I'd highly consider it.

I turned up the volume on my radio, took a deep breath and screamed at the top of my lungs until my voice gave out. I hid my face in my hands, trying to catch my breath. I leaned back against my seat, gasping for air. My chest was aching, tears involuntarily springing to my eyes. I swore loudly to myself, reaching my arms up over my head to place my palms on the ceiling. I couldn't even think of who to call with a situation like this. I suppose it was going to come sooner or later, so it was probably best that it came now before I was in a hospital full of people that would interrogate me and make it worse. My hands were starting to go numb and my head was spinning. I opened my eyes again and jumped. I hadn't heard the sound of tapping on my window over the sound of Linkin Park. I fumbled for the volume control, dragging my free hand down my face. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus as I rolled my window down. Dr. Lecter was leaning on the frame of my car, a slight crease of concern on his usually expressionless face. How he had known I was here, let alone what kind of car I drove, was beyond me. These were thoughts that didn't really stick much at the moment. I just shook my head and leaned my back against the seat again, pushing my palms harder into my eyes, my fingers tingling in time with my pulse. I felt like I was going to pass out. He opened my door and leaned across me to turn my car off, taking the keys out of the ignition to place them in one of the cup holders. He carefully pushed my hands away and held my face in his hands. I saw his lips moving, but I couldn't hear what he was saying over the rushing in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut for a few seconds and tried to pay attention.

"Keeran, can you hear me?" he repeated calmly.

I pressed my hands to my chest. My heart was beating so hard I thought it might burst. I gave one quick nod.

"You are having an anxiety attack," he continued. "I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?" I nodded once more. "Look at me." I reluctantly opened my eyes. His gaze was steady and collected, though still as intense as ever. I looked to his lips instead. I recalled his hands on my face and forced my attention there. They were warm, his grip firm. The feeling was somewhat soothing, grounding. "What you are feeling is completely normal. You witnessed a terrible crime today against a family you have known since adolescence. This sense of immediate danger, it will pass. Remind yourself: you are safe. What I need for you to do is try to take deep breaths – in through your nose and out through your mouth."

I complied with his request to the best of my ability. My head still felt like it was about to float right off my shoulders. My mind blanked for half a second, jolting back to life with a gasp. My whole body jerked involuntarily. I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts, reaching up to touch my face. I found instead that Dr. Lecter was still holding my face in his hands. He offered me a small smile.

"Feeling better?" he asked. Now was hardly the time for teasing, but I appreciated the humor. I nodded slowly. I opened my mouth to ask what had happened, but he was quicker. "You fainted," he continued. "Only for a few seconds, but that's all the jump starting your brain needed."

He released me from his grip and held a hand out to help me stand. I shoved my keys into my pocket and grabbed my olive green jacket out of the back seat before taking said hand. The ground swayed beneath my feet. I caught myself on my car, instinctively squeezing his fingers. He waited patiently for me to gain my footing and my senses. I took a deep breath and shut the door, carefully releasing his hand.

"Thank you," I said quietly while I wriggled my arms into the sleeves of my coat. I focused on my feet as I took small steps toward the door. He took my left arm, linking it with his right, and held it firmly. The motion steadied my shaky steps. I blushed and nodded a second round of thanks. "Are you a psychiatrist?"

He gave me another mildly curious look. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged. "I just wondered… You introduced yourself as Dr. Lecter and you kind of talk like one, so… just curious is all."

He smiled faintly. "You are very perceptive."

I shrugged. "I guess so. I just pay attention…"

I was grateful he didn't point out the obvious - did I know what a psychiatrist sounded like because I had seen one? The answer being yes, I appreciated being spared the indignity of being asked why (though he didn't seem like the type). I stared at the white linoleum beneath my feet as he led me down the halls to the nearest elevator. It was something other than the warmth of his body to focus on, so I was grateful for a distraction. I didn't get a lot of close physical contact from people – particularly not attractive older gentlemen [or gentlemen at all, really]. Getting so much all at once whether in a romantic sense or not was more than enough to overwhelm my senses. My palms were starting to sweat, though that may partially be attributed to my nervousness. I watched him push the button for floor 6 and closed my eyes for a few seconds. I was starting to shake again.

"How is she?" I whispered.

There was a long pause. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. It hadn't occurred to me that Abigail might not have made it. Where else would he be taking me if she hadn't? Seeing that he had alarmed me, he quickly replied.

"She is alive," Dr. Lecter said carefully. I sensed a "but" coming. He glanced down at the floor, almost in shame, before meeting my gaze. "Abigail is in a coma... Indefinitely."

The elevator dinged loudly and the doors slid open. I breathed out heavily and gave a dry laugh. At least she was alive. It could have easily been a very different story. They'd had to intubate. There was gauze dressing wrapped around her neck, hiding the mended wound to the side of her throat. In the hospital lighting especially she looked sickly pale. I shouldn't have been surprised. She'd lost a lot of blood. She looked so fragile and weak, lying there all by herself. When I stepped forward, Dr. Lecter let me proceed alone. My eyebrows knit together as I stared down at her for a long while, listening to the calm rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor. I touched her hand, part of me half expecting her to stir. I sighed and pulled a chair over to make myself comfortable at her bedside. I wiped at the corners of my eyes and took a seat in the reclining chair. It wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than nothing. Once I had settled in, I took up her hand and finally allowed myself to relax. I stared up at the ceiling drowsily, listening to the sound of Dr. Lecter pulling up another chair on the opposite side of the bed. I propped my feet up the footrest and closed my eyes. Now that I knew she was safe [at least relatively so] I felt the weight of the day's events starting to cave in on me. Now seemed like as good a time as any to catch some sleep. I'd stay here with her as long as they'd let me.


I woke up gasping for air. I sat up straight, looking around in a daze. I was having a nightmare, but now that I was awake it was fading fast. The last thing I remembered clearly was standing in the middle of a field screaming as it rained blood. My right hand fluttered across my body, patting my clothes to make sure I was dry. I sighed and dragged my hand down my face, collapsing against the back of my chair. It was darker outside than when I had arrived. I wondered how long I'd been out.

"You sleep with your eyes open. Did you know?"

I jumped at the sound of Dr. Lecter's voice. I hadn't noticed him still seated in his chair. He was watching me with the same calm, smooth expression. It annoyed me that I could never tell what he was thinking. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, letting out a quiet squeak.

"Yeah, I've been told I do on occasion," I muttered. "Sorry… I know it's kinda creepy. It comes and goes."

I got up and turned away to stretch some more so he wouldn't see me blushing, though he seemed utterly unfazed by my peculiar sleeping habits. I held my face in my hands and paced a few steps back and forth for a minute. I was still exhausted. It didn't feel like I had regained any sort of energy from my time asleep. I turned back to face Dr. Lecter, covering my mouth to my yawn. He was still watching me – quite openly, as a matter of fact. It was a little disengaging. Most people tried to hide it when they were inspecting someone. I wondered if he had grown up somewhere else [somewhere people didn't find this unusual?] or if perhaps it was just one of his quirks. It made me feel self-conscious. I looked down at my hands, suddenly interested in my fingernails.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked calmly.

"It is almost eleven o'clock," he replied after a brief pause, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I looked up at him sharply. He had looked away from his watch and was gazing back at me once more.

"Eleven o'clock? Oh my God, my grandma is gonna have a heart attack I meant to call her. Jesus…." I spun in a circle for a second trying to find my phone. I shook my head, laughing to myself. "You didn't bring anything in. Get it together… I need a phone book. I need to find a hotel. Christ I hope they're still checking people in if they don't have reservations. It would be silly drive all the way home just to come back tomorrow…" He had stood, presumably to bid me goodnight. I smiled tensely, shuffling with an awkward gait to the foot of the bed. "Sorry, didn't mean to… I was just trying to work things out aloud. Thank you for all of your help, Dr. Lecter. Also for... staying here with Abigail. I appreciate it and I think she would too."

He gave me the most genuine smile I had seen on his face yet. I wasn't sure yet what I found so charming about him. Right now I was doing my best not to stare too long at either his lips or into his eyes. I knew without a doubt that just one second and he would notice. It was a struggle.

"Please, call me Hannibal," he said, walking to meet me at the corner. "Are you going to be all right driving? Forgive me, but you seem a bit…" I glanced back up at him, arching an eyebrow. "… worn thin. I'd be more than happy to drive you."

I chewed my lip thoughtfully, looking down at my hands as I wrung them. I nodded hesitantly. My eyes were still burning, throbbing like my head was with my beating heart. I sighed and dragged my hands down my face one last time, wiping away all the worry [or at least trying to] before looking back up at him. I nodded again, this time more firmly.

"Okay," I muttered. "I just need a few minutes then to call around."

He nodded. "I don't mind. I only want to make sure you get home safely."

I smiled tensely, suspecting there may have been motives other than that behind it. I didn't linger on the thought. "Thank you…"

I asked one of the nurses for a phonebook and sat around making a few phone calls before deciding on a place. The Super 8 was decently priced and still checking people in, so it sounded like we were headed there. I handed him my key and crossed my arms over my chest. He led the way back to the elevators. I fought against the urge to let myself fall back asleep standing there under the fluorescent lights. I slipped into the passenger seat, something I hadn't done for a while. My music started playing when he started the engine. I turned it down, looking to him for permission.

"Do you mind the radio? I can keep it turned down."

He shook his head. "Not at all. It is your car, after all."

I smiled faintly and tilted the seat back a little, trying to force myself to relax. I listened to Circus Contraption quietly pumping out soft, whimsical tunes. I shook myself awake, realizing I hadn't told him where to go.

"Sorry," I muttered, looking down at my phone. "Ummm… Do you know where Stemmers Run Road is or should I get directions?"

"I can get you there," he replied simply.

I nodded, shifting my gaze out my window. We rode in silence for several minutes while I watched the street pass by, biting the end of my thumb in thought. He had to know more about what was going on than I did. The real question was would he tell me? Jack Crawford hadn't been very forthcoming. Dr. Lecter hadn't done much to prove he could offer much insight. Still, I had a thousand and one questions banging around inside my skull and my gut told me he would be at least willing to hear me out. As we sat at a stoplight, I glanced over at him. As soon as he noticed, he looked over to meet my gaze. I opened my mouth to say something, then growled and shut it again. I wasn't sure where to begin. I rubbed my temples, feeling frustrated.

"Light's green," I said quietly.

He pulled away, attention back on the road. I turned in my seat to face him fully, leaning my back against the door. He looked like he was still waiting for me to say whatever it was I had to say.

"I have a question," I started off cautiously.

"I may have an answer," he replied coyly. "We won't know until you ask."

I pursed my lips at the amused grin that flickered across his face. He didn't show emotion often, but when he did I had thusly noted it was often at someone else's expense. He was charismatic and he was a flatterer, so I doubted many people took much notice. The charming accent probably helped work a bit of magic as well. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and bit the end of my tongue for a few seconds before I spoke.

"I don't know if you're allowed to tell me. No one at the FBI really said anything about it and quite frankly I didn't really want to ask under the circumstances of my visit but… why were they coming for Mr. Hobbs?"

I heard him take a deep breath and exhale slowly. His grip on the steering wheel tightened momentarily before he relaxed, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing out. "How closely do you follow the news?"

I shrugged. "I mean I don't religiously watch it with my morning coffee, but I catch bits and pieces, find snippets on my sister's blog. Why?"

"Have you been following the Shrike case at all?"

I nodded slowly, my eyes going wide. I sat up straight, slapping my hand on the dashboard. "You're kidding me? Mr. Hobbs was…? No… What…?"

"That's what the FBI believe. That's what the evidence suggests."

My hands flew up to cover my mouth. Granted I didn't know a whole lot about the case, but I knew enough to know that it was pretty horrific [much more horrific than I cared to imagine a man whose house I had spent so much time in was capable of]. I suddenly wondered how long he had been at work. I was beginning to question every piece of meat he had ever cooked for me at every barbeque that summer. I slumped in my seat, falling into stunned silence. Mr. Hobbs was a serial killer. I repeated it to myself several times over, trying to absorb the idea. I nodded, staring down at my hands again as I played with my fingernails. I guess that just went to show that you never knew whom you could trust.