Title: Hold Me, Day 24 of 30 Days of Hannibloom
Fandom: Hannibal
Pairing: Hannibloom
Rating: r
WARNING: Trigger warning for talk of sexual abuse!
Author's notes: Thanks to mchanni for helping urge me to get over my writer's block.

When Alana's classes were over for the spring semester, she thought about teaching summer classes, but Hannibal had inspired her to see patients again. She reopened her practice, and what started as a trickle of patients became a steady flow as the summer progressed. Her practice was soon flourishing. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed seeing patients. True, many of her sessions were limited to twenty minute medication management sessions, but she was beginning to build up her therapeutic practice as well.

Psychiatrists shouldn't have favorite patients, but Alana did have one. Chloe was nine. She was a gangly little girl with cropped blonde hair and a thumb constantly in her mouth. When Alana first met her, Chloe had pulled her thumb from her mouth and asked her mother for "wipes." Alana tilted her head at the girl's mother, who pulled out disinfectant wipes from her purse, opening the package and handing Chloe one. Chloe diligently wiped down the wooden arms of Alana's comfy patient chair, then handed the wipe back to her mother. Then she sat on the chair, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs, as if she were afraid to touch the armrests she had just cleaned.

Chloe had severe anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder. Alana started by prescribing her Sertraline, then began intensive therapy with the young girl, seeing her twice a week. Alana worked with Chloe on her compulsions, trying to help desensitize her to aversive stimuli that made her want to wash compulsively. But Alana also sensed that there was something deeper going on with Chloe. The little girl was shy, and Alana worked hard to try to get her to open up. She often pulled out games to play with the girl. "Will I get punished if I lose?" Chloe had asked Alana tentatively when Alana had first pulled out her therapeutically modified version of Clue. Alana had assured her that she wouldn't, but the question had haunted her. Who punished Chloe when she lost games? And how?

During today's session, she set up Safety Island, a learning game. "Chloe, who do you like to play games with?" she asked as she sat in her chair after setting up the game.

Chloe responded, "You, Dr. Bloom."

Alana smiled. The girl was so sweet. Again, she thought about having one of her own, and knew she would have to bring the topic up to Hannibal soon.

"Thank you, Chloe. Do you play games with anyone else?"

Chloe's thumb immediately travelled from the board to her mouth, as it did when she was anxious. "My uncle Martin," she mumbled around her thumb.

"Yes? Do you like playing with Uncle Martin?"

Chloe shook her head no. Alana thought she was getting somewhere. "Why not?"

"He says I'm a sore loser. He says I have to be taught how to lose grace…gracefully." She stumbled over the word, and one large teardrop fell from the little girl's eyes. Alana moved closer to Chloe. "How does he do that, Chloe?" Chloe dropped her eyes, not looking at Alana. "I'm not supposed to tell." She got up from her chair and rushed to Alana's side, then whispered in her ear.

What Chloe told Alana horrified her. As a psychiatrist, she was familiar with signs and symptoms of child abuse, and she'd suspected that Chloe was abused. She hadn't expected the extent of the abuse. It was the worst sexual abuse case she'd ever heard. Chloe was forced to do heinous sexual acts on her uncle when she lost the games they played. He told her he was teaching her not be a "sore loser" when he touched her.

Alana was shaken. After she completed the child abuse report that day, she drove home in a daze.

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Hannibal, who had all but moved in that summer, though he kept his house, was already in her kitchen cooking dinner. She inhaled the savory scents drifting through her house, and couldn't help but feel nauseous. She kept thinking of Chloe. She walked into her kitchen.

"Hello, Alana." Hannibal was dicing carrots on her cutting board. "Dinner will be ready in…" he looked up and saw her face, and abruptly stopped speaking. Was it so obvious, her distress? He lay down the knife and the carrot he was holding, and walked over to her, his strong arms coming to wrap around her trembling body.

"Tell me what's troubling you, darling," he commanded gently.

She sighed and rubbed her face against his red sweater, inhaling his comforting scent. She could feel the tenseness in her body floating away as he held her. She ignored his question and asked, "How long do we have until dinner?"

He responded, "The roast will be done in an hour. I still need to prepare the vegetables."

"Can we go upstairs and will you just…hold me?"

"I'll hold you for as long as you'd like." Hannibal unwrapped his arms from around her and grasped her hand in his, leading her away from the kitchen. She followed him up the stairs to her bedroom. He lay down on her queen sized bed and patted the space next to him. She smiled and let her hair down from its clip and removed her bra. Then she crawled into bed next to him. Alana snuggled up against Hannibal. She placed her hand over the front of his sweater, right on his chest over his heart. She could feel the steady beat of his heart under her palm and it calmed her. She tucked her other arm between them, and she could feel her own heartbeat matching his beat. She loved that they were so attuned to each other. He leaned his head down and kissed the top of her head, smelling the flowery scent of her shampoo. Then he started stroking her hair. She let out a little moan of simple pleasure. They lay just like that for awhile, him stroking her hair while she closed her eyes and felt the calming effect of his touch.

"Turn over," he commanded her. She obliged, turning away from him to lie on her stomach. She knew he was going to give her a back rub. He straddled her and helped her shimmy out of her shirt. He folded her shirt and placed it next to him on the bed, ever the gentleman. Then he placed his hands on her back. First, it was his fingertips, light and tickling against her spine. His fingers felt rough against her smooth skin, even though they weren't relatively that rough. She squirmed beneath him.

His fingers left her back and next she heard him pulling open the drawer to her bedside table. Then she felt his hands on her back again, now smoothed by warm lotion. He rubbed loving circles on her back, increasing his pressure as he went. She groaned beneath him and couldn't help but tease him by bucking her hips up, rubbing her behind against his crotch. She could feel him stir there, the start of an erection, but he leaned down over her and said, "Dinner first, dear. We'll leave that for dessert."

She smiled. He knew just what to say and do to distract and calm her. She felt better already. Then he spoke again.

"Was it something that happened in one of your sessions that upset you so?" he asked quietly.

She sighed. She hadn't planned on telling him, but she thought it might be cathartic. She could also depend on him to be discrete and keep her patient's information to himself.

"My patient, Chloe, the little girl. I finally cracked her today. She told me about the abuse. And Hannibal, God, it was horrendous. What he did to her," she mumbled against her pillow. His hands continued their ministrations on her back. She took multiple deep breaths, counting to five, then continued telling him about what Chloe had told her.

She could feel his tension growing, even as he kept up the steady pressure on her back. She could feel it in the way he held his body against her; he was like a wire pulled tight. Her account of the abuse was upsetting him.

"Who did it?"

He paused in his massaging, just the minutest of stops. She answered, "Her uncle."

He continued his massage until she felt loose and light beneath him. "Did telling me give you release?" he asked.

"It did. Thank you. And thank you for the massage." She turned over underneath him. He leaned down and placed a kiss at the top of her left breast. Then he kissed her lips.

"Dinner before dessert?" she whispered against his lips.

He pulled back. "It is time, yes. You rest up here, and I will call you when I am finished."

She nodded, lifting her hands above her head to stretch. He climbed off of her and proceeded down the stairs.

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While Alana rested, Hannibal opened her work bag before finishing dinner. He looked at her notes from today's session, and found the name of the little girl's uncle. Martin Vang. He committed the name to memory.

Hannibal Lecter's meat supply was growing short.