[ Krouse picks up the note like it's a piece of bloody skin, which it might as well be. He strives not to think of the last thin, papery thing he brushed his fingers over that might have really been - he's not thinking about it, in the way where it's all he's thinking about.
It's Hannibal's handwriting. Beautiful, elegant, more elaborate than anyone's writing needs to be. Krouse would recognize it anywhere, the way it stands out.
A little over a year ago, Krouse might have honed in on so you stole from him? It could have been something to sink his nails into, anchoring him for a little while longer in justification. But even then, he would have known it was bullshit. ]
He's methodical.
[ He says, numbly, dropping the note back on the pool table. He takes another drink, then sets it down. He hasn't smoked indoors for a while. It seems like an occasion for it. He's methodical. The kind of thing Krouse would have said with a note of fucking praise at the dinner party, mingling with guests. ]
And he's particular about his things.
[ I care that he's hiding something, and that he's able to hide it from me. I'm not eating the food until I know more. She warned him. She fucking did. Lisa's going to have a goddamn field day with this one. Krouse's fingers don't shake when he pulls out his cigarettes and taps one free, then half taps out another, offering it to Sam across the table.
He wishes he was surprised. Maybe more than almost anything else, he wishes that the initial jagged burst of disbelief lingered as shock. The creeping numbness is worse. Cause and fucking effect. ]
So he carved you up. [ Krouse breathes out through his nose, rolling his lighter in his other hand. ] Did he keep you awake?
[ It doesn't make it better or worse, one way or the other. Krouse just wants to get it straight. He wants to know what he's dealing with. Dealt with. ]
no subject
It's Hannibal's handwriting. Beautiful, elegant, more elaborate than anyone's writing needs to be. Krouse would recognize it anywhere, the way it stands out.
A little over a year ago, Krouse might have honed in on so you stole from him? It could have been something to sink his nails into, anchoring him for a little while longer in justification. But even then, he would have known it was bullshit. ]
He's methodical.
[ He says, numbly, dropping the note back on the pool table. He takes another drink, then sets it down. He hasn't smoked indoors for a while. It seems like an occasion for it. He's methodical. The kind of thing Krouse would have said with a note of fucking praise at the dinner party, mingling with guests. ]
And he's particular about his things.
[ I care that he's hiding something, and that he's able to hide it from me. I'm not eating the food until I know more. She warned him. She fucking did. Lisa's going to have a goddamn field day with this one. Krouse's fingers don't shake when he pulls out his cigarettes and taps one free, then half taps out another, offering it to Sam across the table.
He wishes he was surprised. Maybe more than almost anything else, he wishes that the initial jagged burst of disbelief lingered as shock. The creeping numbness is worse. Cause and fucking effect. ]
So he carved you up. [ Krouse breathes out through his nose, rolling his lighter in his other hand. ] Did he keep you awake?
[ It doesn't make it better or worse, one way or the other. Krouse just wants to get it straight. He wants to know what he's dealing with. Dealt with. ]