Murder Family Values

Therapy required

Ashley often found herself irritated by mortals. They always seemed so content when it came to causing others misery, and most of them were remarkably dull. But right now, Ashley wasn't just irritated, no, she was absolutely livid. Anger boiled in her veins and threatened to spill over the edges of her being like an overflowing pot.

It wasn't the fact that Jack thought she needed therapy that was driving her so up the wall. It was the fact that she basically had no choice but to have Hannibal of all people as her psychiatrist.

So here she found herself, sitting in his armchair, one leg crossed over the other with both hands on her leg and a forced smile on her face.

Hannibal sat in his own chair across from her, looking just as uncomfortable. He cleared his throat before beginning. "I'm sure you're already started to plan out all possible escape routes, so I should save you some time and just tell you. Would you like to hear them?"

Ashley's cold eyes bore into his. He was the only one who could truly see her for who she was: a 5 foot 7 inches tall girl of only 15. Narrowing her eyes, she nodded. "Yes, that would be appreciated."

As he listed them for her, she scanned his body language. He's being honest...that's a first.

After he finished, she tossed him a slightly more relaxed smile. "Right, well, where to begin?"

Hannibal used his hands to gesture vaguely around his office. "That all depends on you. This is your hour, after all."

Ashley's smile dropped slightly. Well, that didn't help me at all.

"Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning." Behind closed eyes, she could still envision the island of her childhood or lack thereof. Pausing her story before she even began, she tilted her head slightly, and inquisitive eyes bore into the cannibal in front of her. "I trust you're not recording this."

His eyes hardened slightly at her statement. "That would be highly unorthodox."

She raised an eyebrow. "Everything you do is unorthodox."

He paused to consider her bold —yet highly accurate — statement. An amused expression worked its way onto his face. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I can assure you, not a word shall leave this room."

The brunette eyed him. She trusted him about as far as she could throw him. But considering as she was strong enough to support the sky... that distance was probably remarkably big.

Instinctively, Ashley brushed her hand over a [normally] well-concealed streak of white hair. "Right, well, where was I? It all began on the day of my actual birth. Both of my parents failed to show up."

Despite the fact that she had started off her story with a quote from Phineas and Ferb, she didn't doubt the truth to her words. Her mother was against 'ruining her body' but didn't want an abortion, so instead, she found a way to 'safely' transfer Ashley to an artificial womb. So it was indeed quite possible that neither of them showed.

Ashley smiled sweetly at Hannibal, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And as we both know, it was all downhill from there. I had a lonely childhood or lack thereof, but you already know that, don't you?"

She took a breath before continuing. "Mother never interacted with me unless if it benefited her in one way or other. And when she did interact with me...that was worse than when she didn't. All she ever did was critique. 'Your form's sloppy. You're too slow. Too stupid. Too much...heart."

Ashley scoffed. "The perfect little soldier, that's all she ever wanted."

Hannibal eyed her curiously as bitterness slipped into Ashley's tone. "If I may..." She gestured vaguely with her hands as if to say how ahead'. "It sounds like you hold a lot of resentment. Are you resentful, Ashley?"

She tilted her head slightly as she considered what he said. "I think acrid is a better word for how I feel."

His eyebrows shot up in almost mock surprise. "Violently bitter. That's an interesting choice of word. You describe yourself almost as a pebble being crushed by bedrock. Is that why you are always trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at her 'cousin'. "I didn't take you as one to make puns, child of Thanatos. And not the world...just the sky. And it was only for like, ten minutes."

"You're deflecting the conversation again Ashley."

She shrugged off his simple statement. "No, I'm not. You brought it up first. So strictly speaking, you're the one 'deflecting the conversation'."

Hannibal tossed Ashley an unamused look. She raised an eyebrow in response as if to say 'why are you booing me? I'm right.'

Hannibal pursed his lips before attempting to continue the session. "Well, then, tell me more about your...origins, if you refuse to call it a childhood."

Her eyes seemed to darken slightly as she shifted in her seat. "You know as well as I what my 'origins' were like."

"Well, then, tell me about the killing."

Killing was such a simple word for something humanity considers so significant. Mortals always paint the picture of it being dastardly, how it tears at your soul and at your heart, and in a small way, they weren't far off. Killing does affect your soul, but not in the way they think. When you kill, a small piece of your victim's soul attaches itself to yours. Some people it destroys, but others it makes stronger.

Both demigods knew this well. The tug of death never left their sights. The only difference was while Hannibal chased after it, Ashley ran from it. She had killed. She had killed and she had slain and she had mutilated and just when she thought she had put it all behind her, a prophecy dragged her right back into the familiar loop.

Hannibal used the pieces of his victim's souls as fuel. They pushed him where he needed to go, in a sense. Ashley tried to escape it, to forget about it, but the greedy black hands of the dead latched onto her, trying to hold her still.

The younger demigod wasn't one to dwell on the past. But that doesn't mean she didn't have regrets. It doesn't mean she couldn't remember the feeling of a barrel of a pistol being pressed to the back of her skull. It doesn't mean that couldn't still hear her Mother's cold, almost disappointed voice. Shoot him, Aretha, or I'll shoot you. Your hesitation is disappointing.

She didn't even blink at his blunt request. "No, I don't think I will." She glanced at the clock. "In fact, I think I'll be leaving now."

Hannibal stood almost abruptly as she had, but he didn't follow her. "You can't run from this forever Aretha."

She whirled around, instinctively reaching into her pocket for her weapon. "I told you not to call me that. And I've got four months — or less — to live so watch me. I've been running for a long time, and I am exceptionally good at it."

Tossing him a forced smile, the brunette swung the door open and walked out without another word, nearly toppling a bewildered Will Graham. His blue eyes followed her as she stormed out. "What was that about?"

Hannibal thought you himself for a moment. Despite their shared hatred for each other, the two demigods had an unspoken agreement to not compromise the other. He couldn't say that she was emotionally unstable, though, in a way, she was. So instead he settled for something simpler. "It was nothing."

Will let out a "Hmm" as he stepped inside Hannibal's office. "Didn't seem like nothing."