[OOM] pack hunters

[collects_strays]

Now, he's starting to delay.

It might be the dissipating effects of the norepinephrine release, his body becoming aware that the threat has passed, his heartbeat slowing, each act he follows grinding through his mind. The splash of water against the basin seems louder, lamplight reflections and shadows in the hallway blotting his vision again.

He hasn't slept, and it's beginning to slow him down. But Graham knows this isn't the only reason he's dragging his feet.

The coppery scent is gone, the sink's basin is pristine. It's still nearly a minute before he makes himself reach out, and turn the tap off.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Lecter has been putting his medical supplies away, and when Graham turns from the sink, he's sitting in the chair by the kitchen bookshelf, watching quietly.

[collects_strays]

He moves his hands, flexing and then easing his fingers. It reminds him that his knuckles are still sore.

But it's a pleasant sort of ache.




"Thank you." Graham says it quietly, barely a dent in the vibrations of the room.

[cook_the_rude]

"Oh, please," Dr. Lecter says. "It is the least I can do for you, after the enormous leap you had to make tonight, and made beautifully."

[collects_strays]

He takes in a breath, lets it out.

"I didn't mean - just for this."

[cook_the_rude]

"Nothing is ever 'just this'," Lecter points out. "It's always embedded in a web of meaning."

[collects_strays]

Graham nods, but doesn't speak.

He shifts his stance, as though turning to walk away, but then doesn't move any farther. Instead, he lifts his hand, rubbing slightly at his eyes.

[cook_the_rude]

Dr. Lecter gets to his feet.

"You need coffee, Will," he says. "And some food, maybe."

[collects_strays]

He glances up, lowers his hand. The movement isn't sharp, or startled, but there's still hesitation as his eyes flicker to Hannibal, and and then back over the kitchen.

"You're right." It's certain, even if he can't quite keep his voice still.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal moves over to his kitchen island and brings out his glass coffee-maker. "You can keep going on adrenalin and determination only so long," he says. "You have come all the way from Wolf Trap already, and the night is yet young."

[collects_strays]

Graham moves out of the way, stepping toward the other end of the kitchen island.

"I've had a habit of... disregarding myself," he concedes.

[cook_the_rude]

"You do," Hannibal says. "Good thing that I'm here, isn't it?"

He starts filling water into the coffee-maker.

[collects_strays]

His mouth twitches.

"You don't have the same problem."

[cook_the_rude]

"I take care of myself, and I like to take care of others," Lecter says, filling in the ground coffee. "You seem to need it rather more than others."

[collects_strays]

"I guess that need is its own kind of egoism."

The scent of ground coffee makes him perk up, slightly, like a dog's ears upon approaching footsteps.

"Now I can see how it could be - symbiotic."

[cook_the_rude]

"Of course," Dr. Lecter says. "That is how we find our friends. Their needs and our needs fit like like jigsaw pieces."

[collects_strays]

"Is it?" he asks softly.

[cook_the_rude]

"Yes," Lecter says, starting the coffee-maker. "Most people don't have anything near your gift of insight, but they can often see those needs in each other without conscious consideration."

He walks over to his refrigerator and opens the door, peering inside for something to feed Graham at this late hour which defies the convenient conventions of any named meal -- far too late for supper, far too early for breakfast.

[collects_strays]

Graham watches him cross the room.

"My gift usually - hinders interaction."

[cook_the_rude]

"Your gift seems uncanny to people, and you need distance so you won't be overwhelmed," he says, looking at the shelves of his fridge.

Then, he takes out a few containers.

[collects_strays]

"I didn't feel distant tonight."

[cook_the_rude]

"No, you did not," Dr. Lecter says. "You came into your own, acting instead of observing."

[collects_strays]

At his sides, his fingers curl and then ease again.

"You knew him," he says. Now, his voice is distant.

"Is this the outcome you wanted?"

[cook_the_rude]

"It is an outcome that I cannot help but approve of," Lecter says, taking eggs from the fridge.

[collects_strays]

"Could've been a win-win," he points out.

[cook_the_rude]

"Believe me, Will," Lecter says, closing the refrigerator door, "Randall Tier was no match for you, for no possible meaning of the word 'match'."