[ There's a deep-rooted twinge of rejection as Hannibal mentions severe depression, PTSD, even trauma, Krouse's gaze flitting away like a bird flushed from the undergrowth. Those aren't labels he applies to himself. That's not what this is about. He's not what this is about.
He came here for the sake of what he brought with him. He knows it's not her. If he's delusional, he likes to think he keeps his delusions more mundane than that. If it's anything, it's a fragment of the thing that ate her. The part of her he never figured out how to make peace with, starving and sick. Her and not-her, distorted through the warp of his ugliest feelings. So, really, all it is is a memory.
This isn't how she deserves to be remembered. If he's not what it's about, his head's still where the problem lies. It's easier to accept the premise this is for his benefit than it is to try to clarify that his benefit is the last thing anyone should care about.
His brief deliberations show in the slight furrowing of his forehead as he looks at the teacup in front of him instead of at the needle, breathing through his nose with his lips sealed thin. They part on an inhale as good as a nod, his attention flicking back up to Hannibal's face. ]
All right.
[ The dregs of hesitation evaporate. It doesn't sound so bad, and even if it did - so what? He can get through. He always does.
He reclaims his teacup and brings it up for a steady sip, a half-absent thought spared for hydration. ]
no subject
He came here for the sake of what he brought with him. He knows it's not her. If he's delusional, he likes to think he keeps his delusions more mundane than that. If it's anything, it's a fragment of the thing that ate her. The part of her he never figured out how to make peace with, starving and sick. Her and not-her, distorted through the warp of his ugliest feelings. So, really, all it is is a memory.
This isn't how she deserves to be remembered. If he's not what it's about, his head's still where the problem lies. It's easier to accept the premise this is for his benefit than it is to try to clarify that his benefit is the last thing anyone should care about.
His brief deliberations show in the slight furrowing of his forehead as he looks at the teacup in front of him instead of at the needle, breathing through his nose with his lips sealed thin. They part on an inhale as good as a nod, his attention flicking back up to Hannibal's face. ]
All right.
[ The dregs of hesitation evaporate. It doesn't sound so bad, and even if it did - so what? He can get through. He always does.
He reclaims his teacup and brings it up for a steady sip, a half-absent thought spared for hydration. ]
What do you need me to do?