Hi, loves! Thank you so much for all of your wonderful feedback! Every review I've gotten has made me grin; I can't tell you how much motivation it is to get such kind words about my shit writing. Anyway, here's the next chapter! Sorry for the delay, but I've been coping with some stuff and I just couldn't make myself publish what I had since I thought it was so awful. In this chapter, there's mentions of physical/emotional abuse and rape, so PLEASE be cautious while reading it. I didn't get crazy detailed with it like some do (you'll see what I mean) but it's still enough to paint a grotesque image in your mind. Just please be careful not to trigger yourself, bbys. Drop me a line as to what you think so far! LOVE YOU BUNCHES!
Chapter 7
Hannibal lay in bed, swathed in silk sheets, working through this latest development. Not often was he presented with a decision that stumped him, but this one was quite a task. His mind reeled with the possibilities surrounding Emma, but there was one thought that he just could not escape: he desired her. He did not desire her in merely a lustful manner, although of course he was enticed by her, but rather he desired her as an individual. Emma presented herself as a kind of galaxy; each point of light he investigated was another aspect of herself that captivated him, and the fact that she was draped in a cloud of mystery only intrigued him more.
He sighed, using both hands to push his tousled locks back from his face. While it was easy enough to admit that he wanted her, a whole other, more concerning, issue presented itself. How far would she go to keep his secrets, if she would at all? It was glaringly obvious that she was both talented enough to keep his confidences effortlessly if she so chose, and that she was an incredibly loyal individual. He would have to dissect her moral code before he ever considered divulging his secrets to her, although that would be a long way off yet.
He decided that, starting tomorrow, he would begin to subtly show his interest. This was only the initial step, and that served as a sort of comfort to him. He was intrigued by how she might react to the small, transitional touches he would start with; she very well might take them as increasing comfort in their friendship, which wasn't a bad thing whatsoever. The closer she perceived their friendship, the more emotionally open she would make herself. This would only aid him in his quest. Hannibal enjoyed games, and chess was his favorite. Each interaction with Emma would be the movement of a board piece with the end goal, him hiding behind no facades, being the checkmate. Oh this was a game he was most eager to play indeed.
Tucking his muscled arm behind his head, he closed his eyes with a subtle smirk. Let the game begin.
A rainbow of colored shirts cascaded behind Emma in a multi-clothed flurry as she threw them behind her out of her closet, looking for the right outfit. Ever since she had left Hannibal's office the previous night, that emotion in the pit of her stomach kept gnawing away at her. After a while, she recognized the feeling as stinging jealousy. She had fretted over it all night, and for some reason, this morning she was under the impression that the right outfit would fix everything. Emma scoffed at herself; she usually wasn't one to put so much stock in her clothing, but this feeling just wouldn't stop eating at her. So, deciding that she might as well cater to the strange urge, she had spent the last half hour digging through her modest closet looking for just the right combination of clothing.
If she were honest with herself, it was just as much for Dr. Lecter as it was for giving her an extra boost of confidence to get through the day's trials. She wrinkled her nose at the fact that she was being petty enough to try and out-dress Alana Bloom. Making a disgusted noise at herself, she shook her head as though to clear her mind like an Etch-A-Sketch of those shameful thoughts. It shouldn't matter to her in the least what Alana wore, let alone who Hannibal was attracted to. I'm his patient, for Christ's sake, she scolded herself. This is ridiculous. I can't be the cause of a tarnished reputation for him. I care too much. He's been nothing but kind and generous to me; am I going to repay that by trashing his life and making it hell? No I will not.
As her inner monologue ceased, Emma hesitated on an item of clothing she had pulled. Cocking her head slightly to the right, she studied the dress. It wasn't what she usually went for on weekdays, but she needed to put on her armor and war paint to be prepared for today. The bright, cerulean blue cotton garment she held would fit her snugly, and for a moment she wondered if it was entirely too much for the day. The neckline was relatively modest though, and it wasn't tight enough to be obscene despite her being rather blessed in the curve department. The hem came down to about an inch below her knee, so she deemed it appropriate enough. It was attention-grabbing without screaming desperation.
She slipped it on, pulling the dress firmly. Slipping on a pair of black heels, she went to the bathroom to check her outfit and do her hair and makeup. Scrutinizing the dress, she liked what she saw. It hugged her beautifully and would definitely grab attention while not appearing inherently licentious . Deciding to pull her long locks up into a pony tail, she grabbed an elastic and proceeded to gather her hair up to the desired point, using it to tie back the mass of curls. Her bangs waved gently, framing her face nicely while still having the ability to shield her eyes if deemed necessary.
Champagne colored eyeshadow colored her lids while black eyeliner framed her chocolate eyes beautifully. A touch of mascara and a natural gloss later, she was ready to head to Quantico. Walking to the front door, she made sure to grab her black wool coat to fight off the cold.
An hour and a half later, Emma was pulling up outside of FBI headquarters, parking her car in the designated lot. She hopped out of the car, walked along the narrow sidewalk, and trotted up the concrete steps leading to the glass front doors. Swinging the right one open, she dashed inside. She checked the clock on the wall opposite her: 8:55. Just enough time to find the interrogation room I'll be enjoying today.
She shrugged out of her coat, looped it over her forearms, and proceeded down the same hallway she had been privy to encountering the previous day. She passed by a group of agents, all of which gawked at her openly. Suddenly feeling rather self-conscious, Emma tilted her head down slightly so that her bangs fell over her right eye, shielding her somewhat from the stares. Quickening her pace, Emma turned down the next hallway and spotted Dr. Lecter and Agent Crawford at the far end. Emma automatically straightened her posture and walked with confidence. Never let them see you sweat, she reminded herself.
As the clicking of her heels resonated down the vast hall, both Hannibal and Jack turned to face the woman approaching them, each reacting differently to her appearance. While Jack's jaw dropped at the sight of her, Hannibal schooled his features into one of a warm greeting. However that didn't stop him from admiring her as she walked over to them. The gentle sway of her hips was rhythmic; he was confident he could play music using her movement as a metronome. And while Emma always looked put-together and attractive, today she exceeded any unrealized expectations he possessed. The cerulean fabric was both a flattering color and fit, and he commended her on the choice. He had never seen her hair in a ponytail, and this sleek alternative to her usual loose waves was striking. But beyond the physical she was hypnotizing as well. This morning she exuded self-assurance and poise, and he was quite certain that she wore the metaphorical mask for Jack's benefit rather than his own; in this case Jack was an aggressor in her mind and she would show no weakness. He knew that if it had just been he and she, she would trust him enough to showcase her true emotions.
Emma finally reached the two men and quirked artful lips up into a slight smile, head held high. "Gentlemen, it's a pleasure. I hope you're both well today?" she asked solicitously.
Jack, having pulled himself together, donned his agent persona. "Yes, quite well Emma, thank you. Let's get started, shall we?" He gestured to the door across from the group, going to hold it open for them.
Emma smiled to herself. Someone certainly isn't wasting any time, she thought wryly. She walked in front of Hannibal and was taken aback when she felt a hand rest gently on her lower back, guiding her through the door and to her seat, which he then helped her into. After he sat himself next to her on the left side of the table, she glanced up at him and smiled, slight questioning lighting her warm eyes. He returned the expression reassuringly.
Taking a seat on the opposite side heavily and with a loud expulsion of air, Jack addressed Emma. "Alright, let's get started. Yesterday you told me that you and the killer knew each other rather well. Care to elaborate?"
Emma took a deep breath, slowly letting it out with a glance at Hannibal. "Sean and I dated for a few years. I moved out here to get away from him; he was abusive and controlling, and I was scared. When he found out I was considering a job in Baltimore, he freaked. I came home one day to my place of residence broken into and a red line painted across my eyes in every picture I had on display. In the same red paint, 'Miss me?' was painted on the walls. The next day I was packing my belongings and making the move here."
Jack crossed his arms. "I see. How was he abusive toward you? Was it emotional, physical, what?"
"It was both," Emma said quietly. "He controlled what I wore, and if a man happened to look in my direction, Sean would tell me how much of a whore I was and how the men could practically smell it on me. I can't tell you how many times I was called a slut, bitch, cunt, etc.; you name it, he called me it. I wasn't allowed to have opinions, and the ones I expressed were always wrong. I was jeered at, treated as though I was inferior, humiliated, and was constantly accused of cheating. I wasn't allowed to have friends, and was expected to come home straight after work every day; he had even tried to convince me to quit my job at one point. That's just the gist of the emotional stuff."
Jack scratched his chin, looking her over. "And the physical?"
Emma shrank in her seat. She could feel the walls she had oh-so-carefully built around all of these hardships crumbling, and she tried to cling to them. She shook her head furiously. "No, I can't. The walls are crumbling, I can't."
Hannibal glanced at Jack before turning his gaze to Emma. He laid his hand on hers, gaining her attention. "Emma, it's alright to access these emotions. The key is to embrace them and let yourself feel them, but don't let them rule you. You are safe here; no one will harm you."
Emma scanned his eyes frantically, letting herself be soothed by his accented baritone and the calm in his maroon eyes. Taking a shaky breath, she nodded minutely. "Alright."
She transferred her gaze to Jack before staring at the metal table her hands rested upon. Hannibal kept his own on hers to act as an anchor; how he knew that was exactly what she craved right now perplexed her.
She proceeded to tell a gruesome tale of frequent beatings, very obviously glazing over the more intense ones for either her benefit or their own, Hannibal wasn't sure. He could tell she was on shaky ground mentally, and was about to ask if they could take a break so that she could gather herself when she surprised him by steeling herself abruptly and going into detail about the last horrifying beating she took.
"It was after the museum here in Baltimore had called me and offered me a position with them. I was so excited at the opportunity; it was the perfect chance to launch my career and to interact with the type of pieces I had longed for since my studies. I had run into the living room, calling out Sean's name. I found him sitting in the recliner watching some sport show, I don't know which one. Not that it's even important; I don't know why I mentioned it. Anyway, I told him about the call and how much I wanted to accept and move to Baltimore. He took that as me saying I was accepting, moving across the country, and that I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. In the back of my mind, I knew that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted the chance, finally, to escape. He stood slowly, dropping his voice as he asked me what I just said. Danger was always near at hand when he spoke softly to me. I backed up, holding my hands in front of me as I tried to reassure him that that wasn't the case, until he had me cornered."
Emma was trembling, holding back a flood of tears as she stared determinedly at her tightly clasped hands. "He beat me brutally. He punched me until I was on the ground, and then kicked me until I threw up. He brought out his pocket knife and cut me across my cheek; he said it was 'something to remember him by,'" Emma spat disgustedly. "He grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle that was on the side table and poured it over me before he smashed the bottle on my head. Told me that I wasn't anything without him, and that if I left, I would pay the price."
Tears started flowing freely down Emma's face; she was about to snap and Hannibal knew it. "As soon as it started, it stopped again. I thought he was finished, and that I could go tend to myself. I was wrong. I looked up at him, and saw a different, frenzied light in his eyes. He stroked my hair back from my face and told me how this look suited me; that the blood covering my face from my nose and the cut on my cheek and the bruising spreading over my body was erotic." Emma grew frighteningly still, voice dropping to a barely intelligible level. "Then he raped me."
At that, Hannibal stiffened, a rare rage darkening his visage. Emma started sobbing uncontrollably now, covering her face with her hands as the men looked on. Hannibal took Emma into his arms, wrapping them securely around her and encouraging her to bury her face into his chest. Jack looked on with a muted horrified expression, quickly gaining back his professional appearance. After clearing his throat, he muttered, "Maybe we should take a break."
Hannibal nodded curtly as Jack got up to leave the room, stroking the top of Emma's head as she wept. He spoke soothingly to her, reminding her that she was here with him and that she was not in harm's way. He murmured into her ear for some time before she finally had enough of a handle on herself to be able to pull away. Tilting her tear-stained face up at him and meeting his gaze through red, swollen eyes, she whispered, "Thank you, Hannibal. Thank you so much."
He placed his hand on hers, studying her. "How are you feeling?"
Emma let out a watery laugh, looking at him slightly incredulously. "How would you be feeling right now, dear Doctor?"
He chuckled humorlessly before indicating for her to answer his question. She sighed softly, replying, "I feel scared. More than scared. Petrified. I'm feeling all of those emotions so acutely, and with him having found me…" she trailed off before taking in a shaky breath, burying her face in her free hand. "I feel like he could be around any corner. I knew he was unstable and dangerous, but I never thought he would go around murdering women who looked like me, and then using their bodies to try and win me back. That last kill was practically poetry, for god's sake. It makes me think that it's a sign; if he can't have me, he'll kill me."
Hannibal tightened his grip on her hand minutely. "Jack and Will are the best there are. They'll have him in custody almost immediately now that they know his name and his motive. But mentally, are you feeling sound? Do you feel as though you've backtracked whatsoever?"
Emma smiled up at him, shaking her head no. "I just relieved some suppressed emotions and re-experienced some traumatic memories. All of my progress seems to have remained intact. If I'm honest, I think it had to do with your presence. You make me feel very secure."
Hannibal's eyes softened slightly. "I will protect you, Emma."
She studied him, reading his eyes. "I believe you, Hannibal. I'm honored. You strike me as the type to be relatively self-preserving, and that you don't take people under your protection lightheartedly. In all honesty, I fear for the people who cross you. I feel that you would be quite the formidable adversary."
Hannibal cocked his head slightly. "What gives you that impression?"
Emma shrugged. "Just a hunch I guess. You're the epitome of well-mannered and cultured, but sometimes when I look into your eyes I feel like you have a side to you that could be quite perilous to an individual who crosses you." She smiled as she said, "Everyone has a darker side. It doesn't faze me that you're more in tune with yours since I have no plans to upset or betray you."
Hannibal's mouth quirked up slightly at her statement; he continually seemed to underestimate her, and the constant revelations regarding her perceptions and strength of character were enjoyable. While many perceived him as a rather passive psychiatrist, he felt a sense of pleasure in the fact that Emma could pick up on the more lethal side to him and that she was unperturbed by it. Simultaneously, he knew it also meant he would have to redouble his efforts at maintaining the illusion he presented to everyone else to her as well. It would not do for her to come to conclusions before the time he designated as appropriate. While he did have an attraction and fondness for her, he would not hesitate to remove the threat if one presented itself. However, he loathed the very notion. "In that case I'm sure you are aware of the extent to which you can rely on me to keep you safe. I do not make friends lightly, Emma, and I treasure the ones I do have."
Emma nodded, smiling up at him with warm eyes. "I am incredibly grateful for the friendship you've shown me, Hannibal. You are truly a good friend to me. Not many men would encourage a distraught woman to cry into their expensive suit. I'm sorry for staining it," she said sheepishly. "If you give me the bill for the dry cleaning, I'll more than happily pay for it."
Hannibal dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. "Nonsense, I'm quite confident a few tear stains will not prove detrimental to this particular piece of clothing. If it can survive an errant wine drop, it can survive a few tears." His eyes scanned hers, pleased to note that the misery residing there had been moved to the back burner, replaced with her usual pleasant warmth. Before he could say anything more, the door abruptly swung open again, with Crawford's intimidating form filling the entryway.
"We have all we require at the present time, Ms. Chamberlin. You and Dr. Lecter are free to go. If I come up with any other questions, I'll give you a call." He stepped back out of the doorframe, indicating the two should rise and he would escort them out.
Emma stood quickly, brushing the last of the tears from the corners of her slightly reddened eyes, straightening her dress, and plastering what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face. She started toward the open door, Hannibal a half-step behind her with the same hand ghosting over her toned lower back that had been previously. With a polite nod to the FBI agent on Hannibal's part, he and Emma walked leisurely down the hall to the front doors of the headquarters.
A gust of cool air hit her as they descended the few cement steps that led to the sidewalk, making her shiver lightly. She shrugged her coat on, pulling it tight around her petite frame, hunching in on herself slightly as she lengthened her strides to keep up with Dr. Lecter. He glanced at her, stopping as he saw a hint of fear flash in her eyes as they reached the parking lot; it was very apparent she didn't want to be alone right now. Rapidly and efficiently, he recalled what exactly he had to accomplish today. He discreetly checked his watch, and seeing that it was only going on 11, came to the conclusion that he had the time necessary to dedicate to her before his appointment at 3.
She backtracked a few steps, stopping next to Hannibal and scanning his eyes with curiosity. "What is it?" She could tell he was concentrating, but on what puzzled her deeply.
He clasped his hands, the resemblance of a smile pulling at his regal mouth. "I was wondering if you would care to join me for lunch. I was planning on making a hearty soup since the weather is getting colder, and would very much appreciate the company."
Emma's eyes widened slightly at the invitation before her forehead wrinkled and her gaze turned downward. She worried her lip and glanced back up at him, plump pink flesh still caught between pearly white teeth.
"Are you sure I wouldn't be impeding on your afternoon, Hannibal? You've already been stuck with me so much over the past two days, and I can only imagine how tiresome I must be at times. Hell, I annoy myself so I can't fathom how you tolerate such a concentration of me in such a short time span."
Hannibal resisted a sigh; he knew there would be aftereffects of such an intense interrogation and he wasn't surprised to find her questioning her self-worth. Perhaps if he reassured her now, it would put a halt to other symptoms of her personality disorder from rearing their head. She usually had such a handle on them, and he was pleased with how much effort she had placed in rectifying her thinking overall. He stepped closer to her, grasping her shoulders lightly and running his thumbs soothingly over the sides of her arms. She quirked a shapely eyebrow questioningly, forehead still wrinkled with worry.
"Emma, let me assure you that if I did not enjoy your company or wish to spend more of my time with you, I would not have invited you to join me for lunch; instead, I would have escorted you to your vehicle, bid you farewell, and proceeded to dine alone. I do not surround myself with people I find tiresome or a nuisance, Emma, so please dismiss those thoughts from your head. I value your presence, and find you an extremely engaging individual. Do not question that." A different emotion lit his eyes now; Emma tried to decipher what it was, but the closest she could place it to be was a type of playfulness. "And to be quite frank, my afternoon would be mind-numbingly dreary if I did not have the pleasure of your company. Please do me the honor of saving me from rather a dull afternoon by gracing me with your delightful presence."
Emma gave an appreciative grin, while restraining the urge to roll her soulful eyes; she knew he was doing this for her benefit, so that she wouldn't be alone when she felt most vulnerable. She appreciated it more than she could ever express, and she found it sickeningly gentlemanly that he made it sound as though she would be doing him the favor instead of the other way around. She knew that he was aware that if he had phrased it a number of other ways, she would have politely refused and gone home no matter how desperately she wanted his company, simply for the fact that she didn't want to monopolize his time. He was clever, and she grateful.
"I'd love to join you for lunch, Hannibal. Soup sounds wonderful."
And with that statement, a knowing smile shared between the two companions, and a tightening once more of Emma's coat, they headed to their separate cars.