Late afternoon, outside

[cook_the_rude]

Outside the back door to the general behind-the-scenes area which isn't far from the kitchen door and which Dr. Hannibal Lecter seems to have found by simply wandering away from the infirmary day room with his drip stand, there are a few chairs and a table which people seem to use to take breaks from whatever they had been doing there. A few waitrats are actually lounging around in the late afternoon sun and not paying any attention to Dr. Lecter; in fact, one of them has a little sign that declares WE'RE ON A BREAK!!!

Dr. Lecter sits in one of the chairs and looks up at the sky. He's wearing a paisley dressing gown over a soft green sweater, and a matching paisley shawl is covering the low-hanging thing on the drip stand. His slippers are plaid.

He is still rather pale and wan, but his face, as usual, will give away little.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

"I never planned to kill you," Hannibal says. "I very much planned to not kill you. But you didn't give me a choice under the circumstances."

[patterns_bloom]

"Oh! You..." Alana starts, exhaling through her nose. "You could have turned yourself in. Or simply left. Neither choice is enticing, sure, but you always had one."

She paces a bit, trying to calm down.

[cook_the_rude]

"Turn myself in?"

He looks at her with a very strange expression, as if he suspected her of suddenly losing her mind.

[patterns_bloom]

"I was..." Alana starts. She was about to say she was being slightly facetious, but that would be a lie, and one she can't and shouldn't tell. She knows he wouldn't turn himself in, knows it was outside the realm of possibility.

But she doesn't want to apologize for it. Alana glances to him, and then looks away. "I don't know what to say to you, anymore, Hannibal. It's... It's strange thinking of you as standing against me."

[cook_the_rude]

"I'm not," Hannibal says. "Especially not here. But I won't hold it against you if you keep standing against me."

[patterns_bloom]

"I shot you," Alana says, furrowing her brow. "And you chased me with knives. That sort of defines standing against."

[cook_the_rude]

"Not now," Hannibal says. "We're not doing that now. And we will never have to do it again."

[patterns_bloom]

Tears sting Alana's eyes. She wants so badly to go back to the way it was, to cuddle with him near the theremin, or bond over a good red wine. Pain lances through her chest as she breathes, and she rest a hand over her heart, staring at the ground.

Alana sniffles once. "Yes, I will," she chokes out, soft and wounded. Then she takes a halting step forward towards the bar.

[cook_the_rude]

"Alana," he says. "As we both have this place, we don't have to part like this."

[herr_bookman]

She doesn't say anything, just trudges back to the bar, teary-eyed and resentful.

Autor gives her a wide berth as he approaches Hannibal, holding a thermos of hot, pale Darjeeling tea. "Was that her?" he whispers.

[cook_the_rude]

"It was," Hannibal says. "She is still very angry, which is very understandable. Hello, Autor!"

[herr_bookman]

"Never thought I'd hear you admit any sort of culpability for your actions," Autor says, adjusting his glasses. His lips twitch. "Hello, Hannibal."

[cook_the_rude]

"She has the right to be angry at me," Hannibal says. "We had an affair, and it ended very suddenly."

He give a little shrug with his left shoulder; the right hand his holding on to the drip stand.

"Are you going to tar and feather me now?"

[herr_bookman]

"No," Autor says, shrugging himself. "I'm going to bring you tea. But only because you gave me some when I was sick. Now we're even."

He calls two cups out of his sylladex, fills them both, and offers one to Hannibal.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes it, and tastes it with obvious attention and appreciation.

"A very nice, crisp Darjeeling," he says. "Excellent tea -- thank you!"

[herr_bookman]

Frankly, Autor is surprised that he took it. "You're welcome," he says eventually, and indulges in his own drink. He looks at the rats, at the grass, towards the lake--and finally, back at Dr. Lecter.

"It's strange to see you up and about after seeing you with so many tubes earlier," he says. "And I confess that I don't know what I'm doing, engaging you like this."

[cook_the_rude]

"You're doing the sensible thing at last, Autor," Hannibal says.

[herr_bookman]

Autor's smile is darkly amused. "No, no I'm not," he says, sipping his tea. "And having you say it makes me realize how irrational it is."

[cook_the_rude]

"What's irrational about being sensible?" Hannibal asks, smiling. "You can't possibly still believe I'd harm you."

[herr_bookman]

"Not physically, no," Autor says. "But I'd be foolish if I discounted your masterful ability to harm me." He watches Dr. Lecter's cup, prepared to top it off if needed.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sips his tea, looking as leisurely and relaxed as anybody can while visibly injured.

"Why would I want to harm you? I can harm so many miserable people; you for one may in time become an equal, albeit a vegetarian one. I wouldn't waste that."

[herr_bookman]

Autor looks away. "I don't know if I'd like to be your equal," he says slowly, turning the idea over in his head. It's tempting him, and he hates that. "Or, rather, I'd like to be your equal without being anything like you."

[cook_the_rude]

"At the moment, it's still rather the other way around," Hannibal points out.

He sips his tea again.

[herr_bookman]

Autor offers to top off his tea cup. "Then I should do the smart thing and run."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal holds out his cup.

"You might now, but you'll be back," he says, smiling.