doctor-bedelia:

Hannibal Lecter was no Tobias; what Will knew now made him more, not less, certain of that. Either the water was beginning to simmer under the doctor’s bespoke shoes, or there’d be some meaning to sending a proxy. 

Guards watched every small twitch of his hand (no-one forgets a good escape) as he scratched out the ritual, watching Bedelia’s faint, professional smile rather than the numbers as he pushed the piece of paper back across the table. As far as the clink of his cuffs allowed.

~~

Bedelia found the most effective method for therapy was to allow your client to feel as if they had not completely lost control of their lives. By towering over them, demanding questions and forcing tests to be performed, certain clients would often withdraw back into themselves. Or at worst, become violent. So when Will Graham pushed a blank sheet of paper towards her, a pen rolling along with it, Bedelia was more than happy to oblige.

“Yes, my turn,” she answered, swiftly scratching the face of a clock, her lips turned upward into a harmless smile. She could smell the desperation pouring off of his brows. She put the pen down and turned it so he could see.

“Just like yours,” she lied. 

The curve of her mouth asserted dominance – or was that nervousness?

Will didn’t smile when she flipped the clock around to show him, his eyes flickering over the thin black lines before returning to her well-chosen lipstick. And equally well-chosen words. Then he did smile: a shallow, mirrored expression, wry and awake.

“As sane as I am.“ 

Jun 24th   15 notes