"Hannibal, do you remember when we discussed boundaries?" Bedelia du Maurier sat across from him, her legs crossed, and her foot fighting the urge to bob impatiently. She felt like a parent scolding a child.
"Of course," Hannibal nodded, "but the circumstances have changed entirely. The boundaries are different here."
"How so?"
Hannibal took a deep breath, casting a glance around the familiar space. He and Bedelia had engaged in many a discussion in these very chairs, and not all of them had been pleasant. He was sure this day would join the ranks of the unpleasant.
"Well," he began, "This instance has every possibility to be different. After learning from Abigail and Will, I understand how impressionable a mind such as hers can be. This is a professional endeavor to help a fellow human being."
"Let me stop you there," Bedelia shifted in her seat, "I understand that you may very well be trying, but your previous ventures into relationships such as this have turned sour in the end. Once again, you cannot pretend to function as an agent of friendship, or guidance, or whatever empathetic relationship you see this turning into. The simple truth is that this girl is a project."
"Perhaps," Hannibal sighed, "But in order to take up a project, you must have a sense of passion for whatever you are taking up. Correct?"
"True, but, in the end what is there to accomplish here? This is a fatal charity case Hannibal, and you know it. This is a prime case of capture bonding as well. It's been an animalistic survival tool for a million years. A passive psychological response to a new 'master'. You've turned this into a basic animal survival scenario." Bedelia du Maurier knew Hannibal Lecter better than anyone, perhaps even better than himself. She was always quite aware of his tendency to skirt the truth in conversation. He told many half-truths and flat out lies, and Bedelia could spot them in an instant. She knew of his God complex; he believed firmly that he could, essentially, play the puppet master with every relationship that he entered into. She also suspected that he took advantage of this in a dangerously obsessive way. Will Graham and Abigail Hobbs had been prime examples.
"If anything, I am helping her," Hannibal leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands in his lap. He cocked his head to the side, studying Bedelia as she recounted the details of Ophelia's case.
"Helping her by, what, proving her innocence? If that is your only goal, then have at it. But obviously there is more to the story. You're building a relationship."
"She is... gentle," Hannibal chose his words carefully, "Like a bird. A sparrow, if you will. Small, innocent."
"And in that way, quite breakable," Bedelia nodded, "But I do understand. In the wake of Abigail and Will I can understand your desire to overcompensate."
"Is that what I'm doing? Overcompensating?"
"In a way, yes. You seem to be acting quite out of character, Hannibal. You are the owl to her sparrow, in some ways. A predator. But in other ways, you could be a sort of nest. Protection. She obviously feels safe in your presence, and obviously believes in your intentions to help her. But is she too innocent?"
"I don't need you to psychoanalyze Ophelia," Hannibal's tone was unintentionally defensive, "I truly believe that I can help her. By guiding her, or simply letting her act as a free agent, I intend to do what I can to keep her from meeting whatever demise she may face." Images of Ophelia, mangled and bleeding, flashed through Hannibal's mind. He inhaled deeply, willing the thoughts to disappear. Part of him was drawn to them; the idea of Ophelia laid out before him, her life cradled in his hands, was seductively appealing. Conquering her was certainly an endeavor that he would normally relish undertaking. But as he faced Bedelia's scrutiny, he doubted his desires. He certainly did not want to harm her.
"So instead of becoming a nest or a bird of prey, you are turning into a Holden Caulfield type character?"
Hannibal considered the question, gazing past Bedelia's blonde head and out of the window behind her. The sky was a tumultuous mixture of grays and blacks. In the distance, a fork of lightning cut through, turning them for a glorious moment a fantastic shade of purple.
"Not so much," he finally answered, "I am not attempting to confine her, to be her 'catcher in the rye'. My intentions are less selfish."
"They are?" Bedelia's voice dripped with skepticism, "Neither of us are convinced of that, Hannibal."
He thought for a moment, "What are you implying, exactly?"
"Your quest for companionship, paired with the lack of any ability to maintain it is what I am referring to. I don't blame you for it, but I doubt you have the capacity to feel such companionship."
Hannibal was silent, "She is innocent."
"The most innocent person you have come into contact with in your lifetime, apparently," Bedelia looked at the clock over Hannibal's head. Their time was almost up.
"Which is why I must guide her."
"Which is why," she sighed, "you must tread lightly. Your meticulously constructed persona must stay firmly in place, no matter what you end up choosing." She knew enough of him to see the truth. She always had.