hannigram | gorged, drowned, plucked, and roasted

12.

Bedelia brings him tea a few days later, with scones and raspberry jam on the side. Will is sitting at her dining table, where he landed after some struggle he would rather forget. The half-smile he gives her intend to be thankful for more than tea.

'We've been pretty worried about you,' she says, sitting at his side.

'To be honest, Hannibal's solicitude puzzles me less than yours.'

'They have different roots, but rest assured they are both heartfelt.'

She's impeccable in her plum shirt and black tube skirt, but her eyes are tired, nervous. Will reads behind her impassive mask easily, and all he sees is fear.

'I guess I should thank you for your hospitality, then.'

'You shouldn't. It wasn't given willingly.'

'Let's blame Hannibal for all my bad choices' must be your favourite game as well, Will sneers within himself.

'He plans to move as soon as you are well enough. Europe, probably. He keeps me guessing.' Bedelia pours two cups and warms her hands around hers pensively. 'I'm not all that eager to go, but I'm dubious the alternative would be better.'

'I can relate,' Will comments.

'Yet, your alternatives drastically differ from mine. Over the last days, it became evident that, no matter what heresy Will Graham commits, Dr Lecter can't walk the same old path with him.'

Rings true. Hannibal will take my life one day, Will thinks, or maybe he will allow me to take his - but not very soon. It's like he killed me in his kitchen so that we could finally get over it and begin focusing on something different. Funnier.
Will has to agree that Bedelia is in a much stickier position.

'If you yearn for that kind of privilege,' Will says, 'Consider getting yourself stabbed. Works miracles.'

Bedelia snickers. 'I appreciate the advice. I was considering finding myself an ally, instead.'

'I'm not sure a partnership with anybody who isn't Hannibal would do you any good. It probably wouldn't do me any good either.' Will starts spreading jam over a first scone. 'If you think I can intercede for you, you don't know him well enough. Interferences are not contemplated; one can only observe or participate.'

'And what are you planning to do?

'I'll let each moment inspire me.' He offers her one of his scones, and she declines with a slight movement of her head. 'You were lucky enough to get away unharmed once; why challenge fate and come back? You know the game's rules better than most and still complain about what you got yourself into.'

Bedelia is aware she's doomed. She will only get out of this on her own two feet if Hannibal lets her and, to do that, he must trust her more than he does. She loathes and envies Will's new abandonment to the life Hannibal is offering. Still, she knows he's been ably coaxed into that for a long time - with a determination and passion Hannibal certainly didn't reserve to her. Bedelia stumbled casually into them and was kindly welcomed as an unexpected but resourceful guest/hostage. If ever Hannibal invites her to join them, it will be out of politeness more than true intention.
As for her, she can't deny she's intrigued by what Hannibal is handing out but also startled. She knows she's not Will Graham. There are things she won't be able to stomach or even witness. In that case, her presence would be a burden. And Hannibal always travels lightly.

Will interrupts her ruminations, 'A wise young lady, not long ago, suggested I figure out what I want before anything else. I advise you do the same.'

Bedelia breathes in the vapour from her cup.

'More than anything,' she says, 'I'd love not to become an entrée.'