I simply couldn't disagree. [Frederick Chilton: never even occurred to him that something that sounds so pleasant is probably his fate. But who could blame Hannibal, really? Inevitably Chilton, having subscribed so fervently to Hannibal's cult of personality, is going to snap a little at the reveal. He'll take the betrayal so personally, so viscerally, that every day would be a fresh chance for revenge, within his asylum. Especially since Hannibal will so effortlessly resist, provoking Chilton's vengeance into obsession.
But that's a Chilton of the future.
Now he is absolutely in love with the idea of being elevated to Someone Important to Hannibal Lecter. That winked intimacy, that whisper of similarity (however manipulated it is) stimulates Chilton. For a man who normally derides the company of others (real popular fellow here), his sincere interest in Hannibal fascinates himself. It's unlike his fascination with his patients, there are tonal cues of adoration -- and he wants to analyze it all.
Bit narcissistic of Chilton, but that's a given.]
You know, Hannibal, it's possible that some of our institution psychiatrists might take my recent attack as a -- [Slight rolling of his eyes.] Wake-up call. If ever a position opens...
[In order to have to put some sort of effort into anything at all, Hannibal would have to be facing someone who presented a real challenge. He'd have to be up against a person who could be considered as competition, and Chilton is certainly nowhere near competent enough to earn such a rank in Hannibal's mind. He'll let him think he's Someone Important until the jig is up, if it ever occurs. He'll let him think Hannibal is there for him like a good friend, will offer advice and aid in any way he can. If faced with the idea of being put in a different hospital once caught, he will all but demand to go into Chilton's, just to watch the man unravel day by day until he thinks he's safe. That Hannibal being restrained is something that will stop him.
And it's then that the whole thing will come tumbling down, and Frederick will be wishing he was holding his organs all over again in order to get away from the man he once dared to refer to by first name.]
Several of your staff have been killed [because of you] so of course others may wish to head to different pastures for work. Perhaps, if you need someone to consult with, that might be doable. I'm quite pleased with private practice, however, so I would have to humbly reject an offer for a full-time position. My apologies, but if such a need arises, I can offer referrals in place of actually coming myself.
[Because like hell will Hannibal work for Chilton. The pure nerve behind it all but rises off of him in a stench, hot and wet and pervading the room if only to find something to cling to and seep into like an insidious humidity.
Hannibal is his own boss. That's how it's going to stay.]
[Hannibal, this is why no one can resist you. You're so elusive, it only makes people crave you more, just ask the FBI. Chilton, somewhat deflated by the rejection, primly nods. He accepts Hannibal's answer, of course, and even understands the rationality behind it -- one's own career should be apt to one's vision -- but nevertheless. Daydreams of smirking conversations in his office wither before his eyes.
The wistful sentiment (again, rationally) surprises him. Chilton was never a man highly invested in his peers.]
Consultation is a splendid idea. [Hey, he'll take that consolation prize. More time to observe and soak in Hannibal, more material to question himself over. How curious, that Hannibal might ignite a bit of an identity crisis of Chilton's own.] I have so many patients who might interest you. Violent deeds done, by the criminally insane -- as I'm sure you know. [Some unironic nod to another psychiatrist's observations? Shocking!]
It might be a nice reprieve from your usual?
[Showing off one's toys to fellow boys, that's what this is.]
[If Hannibal weren't elusive to an extreme degree, he and Chilton would already be talking with bars or glass between them. He was far too smart to be caught (or so he'd thought, but then he'd never met anyone quite like Will Graham before), and he took necessary precautions to make sure that stayed a reality. Working with Chilton? It wouldn't influence Hannibal's ability to stay under the radar.
Working for Chilton? It was a matter of pride. It was a matter of the man not being competent enough for Hannibal to even consider it. While Chilton may have thought there was a power struggle where Hannibal couldn't really think of it that way (again, he was nowhere near Hannibal's level, as far as he was concerned), anything that could make sure he knew there was no power Chilton could lord over him, the better.
It was easier to hide behind wanting to be his own boss as opposed to saying as much and risk possibly insulting him.]
I have become a bit more acquainted with the criminally insane as of late, though I can't speak to whether it has been good for anything more than added knowledge. [A reprieve? Chilton's views were far more skewed than that had any right to be. Not that Hannibal could judge. Righteously, at any rate.] I would be interested in that from a scientific standpoint, definitely. I appreciate the offer, Frederick, and would like to take you up on it soon.
[Wrapping Chilton around his finger was one thing. Getting so close? Another. And it was wonderful.]
[The smile quirked on his face reveals only his eager anticipation of such an endeavor. While still possessive of his patients, Chilton considers Hannibal a respectful enough man who can clearly identify boundaries -- unlike those scrappy PhD seekers whom Chilton so often despised. But regulation demanded that he bend over a little, when it came to the informational use of the criminally insane.]
Since, I assume, you'll be coming without FBI connotation, the state insists on a week's notice for your clearance. For proper analysis of prisoners, I mean, not just a brief visit. [And his smirk grows more clandestine, as he leans in a bit closer. A bit more intimately.] But if your curiosity suddenly captivates you, I can expedite all the proper paperwork to a couple of days, at most. Waiting doesn't suit the uncommon man, does it?
[The evidence of Chilton's narcissism flaring up again. The enemy of lines, of standing like some herded body. He himself never enjoyed waiting, patience was always a virtue lost upon him. Hence his inclination to fiddle, to manipulate, to force the outcome his wanted. While he would learn from the Abel Gideon trauma (he would learn better technique, he would learn harder focus), he wouldn't conceive simply redirecting his energy into something more productive.
That's like admitting something is wrong.]
There is, of course, one patient who you know already.
[Referring back to Hannibal's acquaintance with the criminally insane as of late. He was careful not to say Will Graham's name.]
I hope that won't curdled your appetite. We could always do lunch.
[Freddy boy leans in, and Hannibal has no desire to back off. If he were a different kind of man, he might lean in and duck his head to make sure his compadre's next few words were impossible to miss. But as it is, he doesn't, instead lifting an eyebrow to indicate interest. Interest in what Chilton was saying, interest in Chilton himself, interest in whatever he might say or do, like friends who have very common interests that aren't to be spoken of too loudly.
The idea of Hannibal being curious about the criminally insane, like he needs more exposure to it, would be enough to make him laugh himself silly, were he prone to it. But he's not, so he absorbs his words and thinks of how amazingly wonderful Chilton's face will be in papers and on the TV whenever Will's name is cleared after Hannibal's been proven to be the Ripper and gone off elsewhere to never be seen again.
Except in letters sent directly to Will, of course.]
Trust me when I say that I have an iron stomach. [Still the funniest guy ever, this Hannibal Lecter.] I can wait the necessary time, Frederick. I've no intention of causing you any added stress, even if it's just another trip to the fax machine. A week is perfectly fine, and it will give me time to get myself prepared for any outcome. As for your patient that I personally know...we can leave him for a later visit. A month or so, perhaps.
[Let him rot in horror and worry while the name of Lecter is being spoken and he can't do a thing about it and has no way to see the man himself. That's a plan he quite likes.]
I'd define that as charitable. [Pleasant words spoken so pleasantly. He likes this shop talk, he thrives in the feeling of mutual worth and shared interests. These are psychiatrists talking. Doctors. Men of esteem.
The thought never occurs to Chilton that Hannibal might be soaking in the inevitability of the asylum keeper's humiliation.]
Charitable, given that -- well, we're all aware of the history. Between you two.
[The fact that Hannibal humored Chilton's possession of one Will Graham elevated his mood even higher. It was an offering of respect -- or such was how Chilton chose to interpret the gesture. It had the intended effect -- his pulse bumped, a light pink flush swarmed his cheeks.
[There is one man of esteem between them, but Hannibal would never say such a thing. Not until he's forced to look at him through a barrier. Did you truly believe yourself to be anywhere near a match for me, Frederick? Were you really so fooled? and so forth and so on. He'd save it all for later, letting the man believe that Hannibal was intent on them being the closest of friends.
The poor bastard.]
I will cope with the matter soon enough, Frederick. No need to worry about how it may influence me. In a week, when I come to you, I will be completely fine. It'll almost be like Will Graham's betrayal and subsequent outing ever occurred.
We could always discuss it. [He hasn't pulled back, from that intimate space. Getting real cozy in here for Doctor Chilton.] If his betrayal has had an enduring negative impact on you, I mean. I would certainly extend my resources to you, as you have done for me.
[Symbolic of what he thought was their friendship? Certainly, Chilton understands that there's a give and take in any interpersonal relationship. But more than that, there's the power outlet of having a man like Hannibal on his psychiatric sedan, having Hannibal opened for him.]
If you wanted a more personal acquaintance, I mean. Unless your current therapist has also met Will Graham...? Although. I'm sure there's some benefit to that unbiased distance.
My personal therapist has not met Will Graham, no, though he has been a topic of discussion, as well as Abigail Hobbs. The FBI would not have known where to find him had they not consulted with my doctor, seeing as how I was meant to have a session with her and neither called nor came. She knows me well enough to know that I would never engage in such a rude behavior unless circumstances were beyond my control.
[Who else takes "rude" to as high a level as Hannibal does, Frederick? Think for a moment about that. If you can stop thinking about how intoxicating and wonderful a creature Hannibal is, of course.]
It's very beneficial. [A pause for drama, though Hannibal's dramatic pauses are hardly as easy to spot as Chilton's.] She suggested that I stay out of any attempts to rehabilitate Will. Keep my distance. I want to help him, I do. But her advice is sound, and always has been; I respect her and defer to her wisdom whenever I feel my own reasoning is compromised.
And what stimuli must it take, to compromise your reasoning? [He'll admit to his fascination, as unapologetic as it was. Raw as such curiosity might come across, his sentiment is nevertheless sincere; Chilton would not bear his usual patronizing smirk for someone like Hannibal Lecter. Bearing in mind that his sense of propriety was leagues beneath Hannibal's own, Chilton was still a man to keep kind to those he considered peers.
The problem was, of course, finding people he saw as equals.
This single stand of moral fiber caught up with him, as he realized the imprudence of his query.
He caught himself with a staccato clearing of his throat.]
Not that I'm expecting -- I mean, rather, why don't we call it a rhetorical question? Forgive my trespass, Hannibal, I just find it unbelievable to consider your reasoning ever compromised. And then my natural inquisitive nature kicks in, how it rules me.
[Hannibal understands that Chilton is a learned man, but he also understands that being learned doesn't necessarily mean being smart. One can have a great deal of knowledge and still be inept in other important areas. So Chilton earned degrees, good for him. It still didn't force his personality to grow into something more nurturing, but not every doctor in every field can be the ideal of one.
Chilton will be easy to play. Hannibal just has to offer his advice about anything under the sun, he has to keep the man feeling adoration for him, he has to keep him under the guise that they're friends, and he has to never, ever show irritation for calling him by his first name.
It's not that difficult. It's a lot like he has to be with his patients, though the "friendship" thing is allowed to factor into it. An adjusted arrangement he's already extremely used to, nothing more.]
Rhetorical. [The word is spoken simply. The balls on this man (not that Hannibal thinks so crassly, of course), to turn off his filter, or—does he not have one intact? Maybe they'd work on that, if Chilton was self-aware enough to realize as much.] Frederick, let me tell you something. There are very few things I am unwilling to talk about in regards to myself. My childhood and adolescence, I discuss with no one. The times when my emotional issues try to overtake my reasonable ones, I discuss with my doctor. You are a psychiatrist of renown, yes. [hahahahahahhahahaha] But you needn't worry about whether or not I have an outlet for such things. I do. She never comes to dinner at my table, however, so I can't honestly think of a time the two of you could meet. She's also not taking patients any longer, otherwise I would have referred you to her instead of myself.
I would prefer you. For such a situation, I mean, no offense intended to her in this hypothetical. Moot point, I know, since she isn't taking patients, but -- I would prefer you.
[Exposing his vulnerability to yet another person is somewhat unbearable for Chilton. Hannibal, at least, already possesses the relevant facts -- no need to relive those, he thinks. His smile betrays his unease for the moment, the awareness of being so exposed to another human being proves daunting.
It difficult for him to transfer power, even temporarily. Even when he knew he needed to.]
Perhaps I simply find the idea of therapy with you all the more palatable.
[It seems Chilton does understand a few things. Don't try his psychology on Hannibal, because he can smell it a mile away. It won't work. If he tries, Hannibal will answer what he thinks is perfectly fine to answer, and he'll work around what isn't. A faulty filter can be blamed, certainly, but Hannibal's not going to make things heated or awkward between them by "calling out" Chilton every time he messes up. That doesn't make him a good friend, does it? It really just makes him a jerk.]
You flatter me. [Not really, but it comes out honestly and pleased.] And if by palatable you're subtly asking for finger foods [still so funny, this guy] whenever you visit the office, yes. Yes, Frederick, I can prepare whatever you'd like, all you have to do is ask.
[Gourmet chef at his beck and call? Chilton is living the high life, isn't he?]
[Oh, and he adores it. The sense of gratitude swelling in some secret part of him (a heart? something lower?) overwhelms him, it's such an unusual sense of. Power.
Yes, unlike normal people, Chilton weaponizes even thankfulness. It's the palpable emotion he himself feels when someone does something for him that he wanted all along; it most other cases, such is achieved by manipulation.
But not in this case, no. Chilton doesn't yet know that he's the one being manipulated.]
I ought to do something nice for you, in return.
[Face value, that would seem like an altruistic act born of gratitude. But as Hannibal probably knows, it certainly isn't that as much as it's a ploy to maintain contact under Chilton's directive. Contact as he wants the context. He isn't a man who can help his controlling tendencies, even amongst people he likes.]
[His heart better not swell too much; enlarged hearts aren't exactly the best when it comes to mealtime at Casa Lecter. That would be rude.
If Hannibal has anything to say in regards to this "who's manipulating who and doesn't know it" situation, that's how it will stay. Chilton won't know until it's too late, and there will be Hannibal, smirking out from a cell and waiting for the questions about what were you feeding me every Friday night, Hannibal?]
You do enough as it is, Frederick. All I really need is to see you enjoying what food I prepare. I think that is what any proud chef desires most, and as long as you enjoy it, that is more than enough for me.
[He finds it charming, of course. This humble rhetoric, this friendly exchange. And beneath the veneer of comrades indulging in good hospitality, Chilton enjoys the perverse subtext of being served, of that (unearned) entitlement.
Yes indeed he has massive issues with power.]
I must say, Hannibal, I enjoy everything you do.
[Until those nights when Hannibal answers back from that cell.]
[Hannibal does, in fact, have a great deal of power. It's always interesting to see who reacts as though they're suddenly of superior quality whenever he lays a plate before them, when they have a gourmet meal prepared and not a single cent was charged. It's always telling, the looks on their faces and they way they shift in their chairs as he ducks his head and serves them, seemingly so humble about it all. He prepares, he cooks, he serves. Of course, bigger dinners, he can't do it by himself, but when it's more private affairs, or when things aren't going as quickly as he can?
Of course he's observing everyone's reaction. And, of course, Chilton is of extreme interest.
This is quickly becoming the best day in a long while.]
You're filled with flattery today, aren't you, Frederick? [He's never going to stop calling him Hannibal, unless he thinks he's in trouble, isn't he? That's going to take some getting used to, but he'll cope easily.] If I knew it took only a few dinners for you to sing my praises, I should have gotten back into contact with you sooner.
I must say, I rarely cook a dinner without some sort of meat. But I think, perhaps, a vegetable-only meal is in order until your digestive system is back on par. If you'll forgive me not procuring something more foreign than usual, I'd be more than delighted to prepare something soothing for you, and give you enough to take home and eat off of for days.
[You can put people enzymes in salad dressing, right? Or mix in a little bone marrow with that creamy mint vinaigrette. That's a perfectly sane route to go, in lieu of organ meat! Totally!
And Chilton wouldn't know, like, neither he nor Alana could tell they were eating human tongue despite the fact that it looked NOTHING LIKE LAMB'S TONGUE. AT ALL.]
That's quite -- [He fumbles his sentence, clearing his throat. Truth be told, Chilton wasn't very used to anyone making the attempt to take care of him to begin with, and even less so in such an elegant and cohesive manner. He hadn't any stock reactions for this novel occasion.] Ah, I mean to say. That's nurturing of you.
[And he winces the second his tongue licks out the word. NURTURING. He said nurturing aloud, and it even tasted odd in his mouth. Nurturing. As if he were some broken winged bird screaming for attention. As if Hannibal was his plaid-suit wearing savior, and caretaker.
[Did someone say marrow? Amazing album, that's what that is. Cultured Hannibal Lecter knows Japanese. He'd totally rock out to it.
If he rocked.
Nurturing? The poor man. Had his mother even loved him? Had she merely tolerated him? What childhood did he have, and did he stand a chance at being equipped for human interaction outside of a professional setting? Had he been forced into stiff clothes for boarding school, had he worn glasses at some point, braces, something that made him stick out and a target for abuse so he grew into wanting to perpetuate to those who could not fight back?
Curiouser and curiouser, thought Hannibal. He wound Will up and watched him go, watched him explode and burn out and turn to ash. At least, ash to his "friends." He could do the very same to Chilton.
And, in fact, he'd decided he'd do just that.]
You'd like a calm dinner or to be nurtured? [It's lightly said, a quirk of his lips giving away that he neither minded the slip up nor was averse to it. If he were a different man, he might have shrugged.] Your tongue is not only feisty, Frederick, but prone to getting away from you. I want you to know that there is nothing you can say that will offend or startle me. I speak honestly when I say you needn't worry about saying the wrong thing. It's fine. You'll recover and be back and better than you were before. You've learned from this latest catastrophe, and you'll adapt.
And I'll be behind you the entirety of your journey, I promise.
[Right up to his death, even.
Caretaker? Oh no, that's Chilton's job. And he's always been the caretaker, but the caretaker is human and can just as easily freeze to death as any other man.]
[What a convenient music interlude! Perfect, really.]
It's good of you to be so gracious. [He found himself awkwardly self-conscious, doubly humiliated over his Freudian slip now that Hannibal took the care to reassure Chilton. He took the gesture as a kind one, an assumption that wouldn't be given to a man other than Hannibal.]
I'll admit that I haven't been as focused, since my -- since the attack. [Slight inclination of his head. He wouldn't even own the assault and near-death experience, that's how much it haunted him. Bedelia at least possessed hers as her own.]
One might call it a symptom of post-traumatic stress. I can take care of it, of course.
[His patients would argue that Chilton was anything but a caretaker. Too vicious, too sadistic to fit the role properly. He isn't invested in the health of others like Alana, he doesn't have the right priorities. That's just his problem though, isn't it? He doesn't fit the role he chose for himself. Chilton is smart, but his skills are suited to ideas, theory, and information. He isn't really intuitive, he certainly isn't empathetic, he isn't morally sound, he isn't even much of a people-person -- in short, he's the worst sort of man to play the role of hospital psychiatrist for the criminally insane.
He probably would have been a more satisfied individual were he a CEO, or a lawyer, or anything where his actions wouldn't manifest in gut-wrenching consequences. But you don't get a fancy doctor title with that shit, and if there's anything Chilton loves as much as himself it's pretension, pomposity, and professional hierarchy.
That's what makes him such delectable prey.]
I ought to warn you, it's rather unlikely I'll be consuming demanding food within the year. If even that.
[Hannibal is really everything he would like to be: dominating, yet genteel. Cultured yet accessible to most everyone. This admiration is going to eviscerate him when everyone figures out that cannibal and Hannibal rhyme.]
[They say "fuck you" enough that it really does fit, okay.]
Of course. I can accommodate as long as you need it. Other foods can be substituted to get the nutrients one normally finds in meat. Salads and stews, I will most definitely be able to make such things for you.
[He's not about to start making spicy curry for him, after all.
Delectable prey, yes, but Hannibal's not yet sure what part of him he'd use, and in what manner. Maybe it would just feel good to kill the man and be done with it. No extra time taken to mutilate him while he's still aware of it, no slicing and carving and staking him while he went closer and closer to unconsciousness. Perhaps it would just be best to look the man in the face, up close and personal, right when he realizes his orderlies were not as trained as they were supposed to be.
And weren't, in fact, not coming as he called for them, or attempted to. Not because they were turning a blind eye, but because the ones on duty weren't breathing and never would again, all thanks to one Hannibal Lecter. Doctor Lecter, if you'd be so kind.]
I feel I can tell you something I haven't spoken of before. [A line, something that shows he can relate. He'll never say her name, of course, and since she never would attend a dinner at his table, they had no real chance to meet. A lot of research would have to be done, and illegally so he hardly thought Chilton would try. Not to mention, a man with a tongue like his, he couldn't possibly think it a good idea for fear it would slip, now could he? And if Chilton admired him so much, surely he would take it as a great leap in their relationship and not something he needed to follow through with, or so Hannibal would hope. With that tongue getting away from him, it seemed a poor idea.] My therapist was attacked by a patient of her own quite some time ago. Not to the extent yours took, of course, but she nearly lost her life. Afterwards, she left the field. After some well-worded insistence, she agreed to keep meeting with me.
It took her quite some time to move past it. However long it takes for you to recover in every way, that is fine. Let no one tell you you should be "over it by now." A very traumatic experience and how it is dealt with is different for everyone. I've had my own, but I did not quite get to the point where I was honestly in fear for my life.
Frederick, what I mean to say, and possibly it got lost in speaking so much, is, in essence, just this: as much time as you need to take, take it. Let no one tell you you are taking too long. Do not press yourself for the idea that you should be over it by a certain point. No one has a right to say as much to you, not ever someone [me] you're seeking for counseling. It is personal, and deeply so. You need help. This is not shameful or abnormal. There is nothing wrong with you for admitting it. This is a good step.
In fact, there's nothing wrong with you at all.
[Bow down to the king of buttpats, y/n.]
Edited (in some countries, they call me the queen of edits, super queen even) 2013-07-30 05:33 (UTC)
That's reassuring. [He says it with halflit chuckle, but the open grin falls just short of reaching his eyes. Those wide, cautious eyes of his. Hannibal hit a bullseye, providing that verbal comfort like so; it was enough to make Chilton hesitate while simultaneously inspiring his selfish need for more. More, now, more. Chilton knew it, he felt it vibrate through his sinew, and it unnerved him.
He felt like some part of him wanted to surrender to Hannibal, like it was natural to fall in line behind him. While most people might be easily seduced, the mere idea grated against Chilton's innate ego. He rejected the authority of others, that's in part what made him so unpopular among his peers.
And yet.
Hannibal's words soothed him, such was undeniable. They soothed and engaged and instigated something within him -- something foreign. An interest beyond the boundaries of power and prestige. Hannibal crafted this sense of security, and while Frederick Chilton was hardly a man who would describe most of his life as unstable, well, the past few months proved contrary to his rule. He awoke at night with a marathoning pulse and sweat-soaked pillow. He would think of Gideon every day, however involuntary. He despised how physically feeble he had become, he hated how dependent he was on external implements for even basic bodily functions. He was paranoid of nearly everyone's intention, unspoken and imagined as they were.
Chilton was a man depressed, and he would never admit that to himself. He convinced himself the issue didn't need discussion -- and that conviction held tightly, until Hannibal came along. Hannibal, with that focused look and those sweet words. Hannibal, who took such an interest in him.
It would be so easy to surrender.]
You persuaded your psychiatrist, to do that? Come out of retirement for you? [A manipulator could recognize good manipulation. Chilton found it quite interesting. And yes, the thought of using this information to delve deeper into Hannibal's life crossed his mind -- but he didn't pursue it. Too hooked were his other lines of logic.]
[Poor Chilton. How could he not be depressed? His pet project gone awry and nearly killing him, leaving him in a compromised state, bodily. Had Abel wanted him dead, he could have certainly done as much. Maybe it crossed Chilton's mind that Abel had wanted him in such a terrible state, and why would he do that? Certainly not because Chilton did anything wrong, because that would be admitting fault, and he couldn't really see the man giving that sort of thing up easily. Or at all.
Which would only serve to make him more depressed, alone in a hospital room with an IV bag providing him what he needed. He could only imagine the scars on his stomach were still fresh and large, hadn't had enough time to start to fade or lessen just yet. So there was that, every shower or time changing, those lines looking him straight in the face.
He wondered, briefly, if Chilton slept with a shirt on. Had he slept with one on before, found himself too hideous, and changing to covering up at night? Did he awake in sweats nightly, sweats that made him have to change, and did he refuse to go back to bed shirtless because of how hideously marred he was?
The poor dear, and here was Hannibal, capable of helping in every regard. Poor Chilton indeed.]
She just sees me now, and we're both quite private about it. I wouldn't say she's come out of retirement, more...having an old patient for a chat every once and while, completely off the books and unknown to anyone else.
But now not wholly unknown to anyone else, eh? [Of course he latched onto that bait. Hannibal had played intimacy in all the right hues. Chilton grinned, bringing a finger up to his lips.] Our secret, of course.
[He's acutely conscious of the scar, especially when out in public, especially when among throngs of other people. Its phantom needles prick his skin, and he's certain that eyes in the crowd stare at him. Or, at least, at his stomach. These strangers who surely must read tabloids (or infamous crime blogs), all in on the secret. Individuals who suddenly invoke a wish for x-ray vision, if only to pierce through his overcompensating three-piece suit and leer at the Mary Shelley-inspired set of stitching bolting from his torso down his abdomen.
Chilton has since disengaged quite a few public outings. He prefers to spend time in his psychiatric hospital, seeking personal asylum. His vanity can't stand the unsightly mar on his skin, his pride can't handle the eternal reminder that Abel Gideon had won one round. Chilton found himself forgoing social parties (and, as of more recently, funerals). More and more of his evenings were spent pouring over his patient files, drawing out connections and patterns born from other people.
Obsessing. Hoarding.
But only his patients.
Hannibal was proving exception to the rule; these promised dinners were met with no hesitance from Doctor Chilton. He acknowledged that he was excited for the prospect, relieved even.]
You must have helped her, then, in some manner.
[He meant therapeutically. Through friendship.
It doesn't occur to him that there could be more to it, the how and why and who of Bedelia's attack.]
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no subject
But that's a Chilton of the future.
Now he is absolutely in love with the idea of being elevated to Someone Important to Hannibal Lecter. That winked intimacy, that whisper of similarity (however manipulated it is) stimulates Chilton. For a man who normally derides the company of others (real popular fellow here), his sincere interest in Hannibal fascinates himself. It's unlike his fascination with his patients, there are tonal cues of adoration -- and he wants to analyze it all.
Bit narcissistic of Chilton, but that's a given.]
You know, Hannibal, it's possible that some of our institution psychiatrists might take my recent attack as a -- [Slight rolling of his eyes.] Wake-up call. If ever a position opens...
no subject
And it's then that the whole thing will come tumbling down, and Frederick will be wishing he was holding his organs all over again in order to get away from the man he once dared to refer to by first name.]
Several of your staff have been killed [because of you] so of course others may wish to head to different pastures for work. Perhaps, if you need someone to consult with, that might be doable. I'm quite pleased with private practice, however, so I would have to humbly reject an offer for a full-time position. My apologies, but if such a need arises, I can offer referrals in place of actually coming myself.
[Because like hell will Hannibal work for Chilton. The pure nerve behind it all but rises off of him in a stench, hot and wet and pervading the room if only to find something to cling to and seep into like an insidious humidity.
Hannibal is his own boss. That's how it's going to stay.]
no subject
The wistful sentiment (again, rationally) surprises him. Chilton was never a man highly invested in his peers.]
Consultation is a splendid idea. [Hey, he'll take that consolation prize. More time to observe and soak in Hannibal, more material to question himself over. How curious, that Hannibal might ignite a bit of an identity crisis of Chilton's own.] I have so many patients who might interest you. Violent deeds done, by the criminally insane -- as I'm sure you know. [Some unironic nod to another psychiatrist's observations? Shocking!]
It might be a nice reprieve from your usual?
[Showing off one's toys to fellow boys, that's what this is.]
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Working for Chilton? It was a matter of pride. It was a matter of the man not being competent enough for Hannibal to even consider it. While Chilton may have thought there was a power struggle where Hannibal couldn't really think of it that way (again, he was nowhere near Hannibal's level, as far as he was concerned), anything that could make sure he knew there was no power Chilton could lord over him, the better.
It was easier to hide behind wanting to be his own boss as opposed to saying as much and risk possibly insulting him.]
I have become a bit more acquainted with the criminally insane as of late, though I can't speak to whether it has been good for anything more than added knowledge. [A reprieve? Chilton's views were far more skewed than that had any right to be. Not that Hannibal could judge. Righteously, at any rate.] I would be interested in that from a scientific standpoint, definitely. I appreciate the offer, Frederick, and would like to take you up on it soon.
[Wrapping Chilton around his finger was one thing. Getting so close? Another. And it was wonderful.]
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Since, I assume, you'll be coming without FBI connotation, the state insists on a week's notice for your clearance. For proper analysis of prisoners, I mean, not just a brief visit. [And his smirk grows more clandestine, as he leans in a bit closer. A bit more intimately.] But if your curiosity suddenly captivates you, I can expedite all the proper paperwork to a couple of days, at most. Waiting doesn't suit the uncommon man, does it?
[The evidence of Chilton's narcissism flaring up again. The enemy of lines, of standing like some herded body. He himself never enjoyed waiting, patience was always a virtue lost upon him. Hence his inclination to fiddle, to manipulate, to force the outcome his wanted. While he would learn from the Abel Gideon trauma (he would learn better technique, he would learn harder focus), he wouldn't conceive simply redirecting his energy into something more productive.
That's like admitting something is wrong.]
There is, of course, one patient who you know already.
[Referring back to Hannibal's acquaintance with the criminally insane as of late. He was careful not to say Will Graham's name.]
I hope that won't curdled your appetite. We could always do lunch.
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The idea of Hannibal being curious about the criminally insane, like he needs more exposure to it, would be enough to make him laugh himself silly, were he prone to it. But he's not, so he absorbs his words and thinks of how amazingly wonderful Chilton's face will be in papers and on the TV whenever Will's name is cleared after Hannibal's been proven to be the Ripper and gone off elsewhere to never be seen again.
Except in letters sent directly to Will, of course.]
Trust me when I say that I have an iron stomach. [Still the funniest guy ever, this Hannibal Lecter.] I can wait the necessary time, Frederick. I've no intention of causing you any added stress, even if it's just another trip to the fax machine. A week is perfectly fine, and it will give me time to get myself prepared for any outcome. As for your patient that I personally know...we can leave him for a later visit. A month or so, perhaps.
[Let him rot in horror and worry while the name of Lecter is being spoken and he can't do a thing about it and has no way to see the man himself. That's a plan he quite likes.]
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The thought never occurs to Chilton that Hannibal might be soaking in the inevitability of the asylum keeper's humiliation.]
Charitable, given that -- well, we're all aware of the history. Between you two.
[The fact that Hannibal humored Chilton's possession of one Will Graham elevated his mood even higher. It was an offering of respect -- or such was how Chilton chose to interpret the gesture. It had the intended effect -- his pulse bumped, a light pink flush swarmed his cheeks.
It was like he was a man intoxicated.]
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The poor bastard.]
I will cope with the matter soon enough, Frederick. No need to worry about how it may influence me. In a week, when I come to you, I will be completely fine. It'll almost be like Will Graham's betrayal and subsequent outing ever occurred.
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We could always discuss it. [He hasn't pulled back, from that intimate space. Getting real cozy in here for Doctor Chilton.] If his betrayal has had an enduring negative impact on you, I mean. I would certainly extend my resources to you, as you have done for me.
[Symbolic of what he thought was their friendship? Certainly, Chilton understands that there's a give and take in any interpersonal relationship. But more than that, there's the power outlet of having a man like Hannibal on his psychiatric sedan, having Hannibal opened for him.]
If you wanted a more personal acquaintance, I mean. Unless your current therapist has also met Will Graham...? Although. I'm sure there's some benefit to that unbiased distance.
[But it isn't as fun, he wants to say.]
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[Who else takes "rude" to as high a level as Hannibal does, Frederick? Think for a moment about that. If you can stop thinking about how intoxicating and wonderful a creature Hannibal is, of course.]
It's very beneficial. [A pause for drama, though Hannibal's dramatic pauses are hardly as easy to spot as Chilton's.] She suggested that I stay out of any attempts to rehabilitate Will. Keep my distance. I want to help him, I do. But her advice is sound, and always has been; I respect her and defer to her wisdom whenever I feel my own reasoning is compromised.
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The problem was, of course, finding people he saw as equals.
This single stand of moral fiber caught up with him, as he realized the imprudence of his query.
He caught himself with a staccato clearing of his throat.]
Not that I'm expecting -- I mean, rather, why don't we call it a rhetorical question? Forgive my trespass, Hannibal, I just find it unbelievable to consider your reasoning ever compromised. And then my natural inquisitive nature kicks in, how it rules me.
[His measure of apology.]
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Chilton will be easy to play. Hannibal just has to offer his advice about anything under the sun, he has to keep the man feeling adoration for him, he has to keep him under the guise that they're friends, and he has to never, ever show irritation for calling him by his first name.
It's not that difficult. It's a lot like he has to be with his patients, though the "friendship" thing is allowed to factor into it. An adjusted arrangement he's already extremely used to, nothing more.]
Rhetorical. [The word is spoken simply. The balls on this man (not that Hannibal thinks so crassly, of course), to turn off his filter, or—does he not have one intact? Maybe they'd work on that, if Chilton was self-aware enough to realize as much.] Frederick, let me tell you something. There are very few things I am unwilling to talk about in regards to myself. My childhood and adolescence, I discuss with no one. The times when my emotional issues try to overtake my reasonable ones, I discuss with my doctor. You are a psychiatrist of renown, yes. [hahahahahahhahahaha] But you needn't worry about whether or not I have an outlet for such things. I do. She never comes to dinner at my table, however, so I can't honestly think of a time the two of you could meet. She's also not taking patients any longer, otherwise I would have referred you to her instead of myself.
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[Exposing his vulnerability to yet another person is somewhat unbearable for Chilton. Hannibal, at least, already possesses the relevant facts -- no need to relive those, he thinks. His smile betrays his unease for the moment, the awareness of being so exposed to another human being proves daunting.
It difficult for him to transfer power, even temporarily. Even when he knew he needed to.]
Perhaps I simply find the idea of therapy with you all the more palatable.
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You flatter me. [Not really, but it comes out honestly and pleased.] And if by palatable you're subtly asking for finger foods [still so funny, this guy] whenever you visit the office, yes. Yes, Frederick, I can prepare whatever you'd like, all you have to do is ask.
[Gourmet chef at his beck and call? Chilton is living the high life, isn't he?]
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Yes, unlike normal people, Chilton weaponizes even thankfulness. It's the palpable emotion he himself feels when someone does something for him that he wanted all along; it most other cases, such is achieved by manipulation.
But not in this case, no. Chilton doesn't yet know that he's the one being manipulated.]
I ought to do something nice for you, in return.
[Face value, that would seem like an altruistic act born of gratitude. But as Hannibal probably knows, it certainly isn't that as much as it's a ploy to maintain contact under Chilton's directive. Contact as he wants the context. He isn't a man who can help his controlling tendencies, even amongst people he likes.]
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If Hannibal has anything to say in regards to this "who's manipulating who and doesn't know it" situation, that's how it will stay. Chilton won't know until it's too late, and there will be Hannibal, smirking out from a cell and waiting for the questions about what were you feeding me every Friday night, Hannibal?]
You do enough as it is, Frederick. All I really need is to see you enjoying what food I prepare. I think that is what any proud chef desires most, and as long as you enjoy it, that is more than enough for me.
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Yes indeed he has massive issues with power.]
I must say, Hannibal, I enjoy everything you do.
[Until those nights when Hannibal answers back from that cell.]
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Of course he's observing everyone's reaction. And, of course, Chilton is of extreme interest.
This is quickly becoming the best day in a long while.]
You're filled with flattery today, aren't you, Frederick? [He's never going to stop calling him Hannibal, unless he thinks he's in trouble, isn't he? That's going to take some getting used to, but he'll cope easily.] If I knew it took only a few dinners for you to sing my praises, I should have gotten back into contact with you sooner.
I must say, I rarely cook a dinner without some sort of meat. But I think, perhaps, a vegetable-only meal is in order until your digestive system is back on par. If you'll forgive me not procuring something more foreign than usual, I'd be more than delighted to prepare something soothing for you, and give you enough to take home and eat off of for days.
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And Chilton wouldn't know, like, neither he nor Alana could tell they were eating human tongue despite the fact that it looked NOTHING LIKE LAMB'S TONGUE. AT ALL.]
That's quite -- [He fumbles his sentence, clearing his throat. Truth be told, Chilton wasn't very used to anyone making the attempt to take care of him to begin with, and even less so in such an elegant and cohesive manner. He hadn't any stock reactions for this novel occasion.] Ah, I mean to say. That's nurturing of you.
[And he winces the second his tongue licks out the word. NURTURING. He said nurturing aloud, and it even tasted odd in his mouth. Nurturing. As if he were some broken winged bird screaming for attention. As if Hannibal was his plaid-suit wearing savior, and caretaker.
Nurturing.]
-- And I would very much like that.
[He hopes to save face with directive wording.]
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If he rocked.
Nurturing? The poor man. Had his mother even loved him? Had she merely tolerated him? What childhood did he have, and did he stand a chance at being equipped for human interaction outside of a professional setting? Had he been forced into stiff clothes for boarding school, had he worn glasses at some point, braces, something that made him stick out and a target for abuse so he grew into wanting to perpetuate to those who could not fight back?
Curiouser and curiouser, thought Hannibal. He wound Will up and watched him go, watched him explode and burn out and turn to ash. At least, ash to his "friends." He could do the very same to Chilton.
And, in fact, he'd decided he'd do just that.]
You'd like a calm dinner or to be nurtured? [It's lightly said, a quirk of his lips giving away that he neither minded the slip up nor was averse to it. If he were a different man, he might have shrugged.] Your tongue is not only feisty, Frederick, but prone to getting away from you. I want you to know that there is nothing you can say that will offend or startle me. I speak honestly when I say you needn't worry about saying the wrong thing. It's fine. You'll recover and be back and better than you were before. You've learned from this latest catastrophe, and you'll adapt.
And I'll be behind you the entirety of your journey, I promise.
[Right up to his death, even.
Caretaker? Oh no, that's Chilton's job. And he's always been the caretaker, but the caretaker is human and can just as easily freeze to death as any other man.]
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It's good of you to be so gracious. [He found himself awkwardly self-conscious, doubly humiliated over his Freudian slip now that Hannibal took the care to reassure Chilton. He took the gesture as a kind one, an assumption that wouldn't be given to a man other than Hannibal.]
I'll admit that I haven't been as focused, since my -- since the attack. [Slight inclination of his head. He wouldn't even own the assault and near-death experience, that's how much it haunted him. Bedelia at least possessed hers as her own.]
One might call it a symptom of post-traumatic stress. I can take care of it, of course.
[His patients would argue that Chilton was anything but a caretaker. Too vicious, too sadistic to fit the role properly. He isn't invested in the health of others like Alana, he doesn't have the right priorities. That's just his problem though, isn't it? He doesn't fit the role he chose for himself. Chilton is smart, but his skills are suited to ideas, theory, and information. He isn't really intuitive, he certainly isn't empathetic, he isn't morally sound, he isn't even much of a people-person -- in short, he's the worst sort of man to play the role of hospital psychiatrist for the criminally insane.
He probably would have been a more satisfied individual were he a CEO, or a lawyer, or anything where his actions wouldn't manifest in gut-wrenching consequences. But you don't get a fancy doctor title with that shit, and if there's anything Chilton loves as much as himself it's pretension, pomposity, and professional hierarchy.
That's what makes him such delectable prey.]
I ought to warn you, it's rather unlikely I'll be consuming demanding food within the year. If even that.
[Hannibal is really everything he would like to be: dominating, yet genteel. Cultured yet accessible to most everyone. This admiration is going to eviscerate him when everyone figures out that cannibal and Hannibal rhyme.]
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Of course. I can accommodate as long as you need it. Other foods can be substituted to get the nutrients one normally finds in meat. Salads and stews, I will most definitely be able to make such things for you.
[He's not about to start making spicy curry for him, after all.
Delectable prey, yes, but Hannibal's not yet sure what part of him he'd use, and in what manner. Maybe it would just feel good to kill the man and be done with it. No extra time taken to mutilate him while he's still aware of it, no slicing and carving and staking him while he went closer and closer to unconsciousness. Perhaps it would just be best to look the man in the face, up close and personal, right when he realizes his orderlies were not as trained as they were supposed to be.
And weren't, in fact, not coming as he called for them, or attempted to. Not because they were turning a blind eye, but because the ones on duty weren't breathing and never would again, all thanks to one Hannibal Lecter. Doctor Lecter, if you'd be so kind.]
I feel I can tell you something I haven't spoken of before. [A line, something that shows he can relate. He'll never say her name, of course, and since she never would attend a dinner at his table, they had no real chance to meet. A lot of research would have to be done, and illegally so he hardly thought Chilton would try. Not to mention, a man with a tongue like his, he couldn't possibly think it a good idea for fear it would slip, now could he? And if Chilton admired him so much, surely he would take it as a great leap in their relationship and not something he needed to follow through with, or so Hannibal would hope. With that tongue getting away from him, it seemed a poor idea.] My therapist was attacked by a patient of her own quite some time ago. Not to the extent yours took, of course, but she nearly lost her life. Afterwards, she left the field. After some well-worded insistence, she agreed to keep meeting with me.
It took her quite some time to move past it. However long it takes for you to recover in every way, that is fine. Let no one tell you you should be "over it by now." A very traumatic experience and how it is dealt with is different for everyone. I've had my own, but I did not quite get to the point where I was honestly in fear for my life.
Frederick, what I mean to say, and possibly it got lost in speaking so much, is, in essence, just this: as much time as you need to take, take it. Let no one tell you you are taking too long. Do not press yourself for the idea that you should be over it by a certain point. No one has a right to say as much to you, not ever someone [me] you're seeking for counseling. It is personal, and deeply so. You need help. This is not shameful or abnormal. There is nothing wrong with you for admitting it. This is a good step.
In fact, there's nothing wrong with you at all.
[Bow down to the king of buttpats, y/n.]
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He felt like some part of him wanted to surrender to Hannibal, like it was natural to fall in line behind him. While most people might be easily seduced, the mere idea grated against Chilton's innate ego. He rejected the authority of others, that's in part what made him so unpopular among his peers.
And yet.
Hannibal's words soothed him, such was undeniable. They soothed and engaged and instigated something within him -- something foreign. An interest beyond the boundaries of power and prestige. Hannibal crafted this sense of security, and while Frederick Chilton was hardly a man who would describe most of his life as unstable, well, the past few months proved contrary to his rule. He awoke at night with a marathoning pulse and sweat-soaked pillow. He would think of Gideon every day, however involuntary. He despised how physically feeble he had become, he hated how dependent he was on external implements for even basic bodily functions. He was paranoid of nearly everyone's intention, unspoken and imagined as they were.
Chilton was a man depressed, and he would never admit that to himself. He convinced himself the issue didn't need discussion -- and that conviction held tightly, until Hannibal came along. Hannibal, with that focused look and those sweet words. Hannibal, who took such an interest in him.
It would be so easy to surrender.]
You persuaded your psychiatrist, to do that? Come out of retirement for you? [A manipulator could recognize good manipulation. Chilton found it quite interesting. And yes, the thought of using this information to delve deeper into Hannibal's life crossed his mind -- but he didn't pursue it. Too hooked were his other lines of logic.]
She must admire you, as well.
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[Poor Chilton. How could he not be depressed? His pet project gone awry and nearly killing him, leaving him in a compromised state, bodily. Had Abel wanted him dead, he could have certainly done as much. Maybe it crossed Chilton's mind that Abel had wanted him in such a terrible state, and why would he do that? Certainly not because Chilton did anything wrong, because that would be admitting fault, and he couldn't really see the man giving that sort of thing up easily. Or at all.
Which would only serve to make him more depressed, alone in a hospital room with an IV bag providing him what he needed. He could only imagine the scars on his stomach were still fresh and large, hadn't had enough time to start to fade or lessen just yet. So there was that, every shower or time changing, those lines looking him straight in the face.
He wondered, briefly, if Chilton slept with a shirt on. Had he slept with one on before, found himself too hideous, and changing to covering up at night? Did he awake in sweats nightly, sweats that made him have to change, and did he refuse to go back to bed shirtless because of how hideously marred he was?
The poor dear, and here was Hannibal, capable of helping in every regard. Poor Chilton indeed.]
She just sees me now, and we're both quite private about it. I wouldn't say she's come out of retirement, more...having an old patient for a chat every once and while, completely off the books and unknown to anyone else.
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[He's acutely conscious of the scar, especially when out in public, especially when among throngs of other people. Its phantom needles prick his skin, and he's certain that eyes in the crowd stare at him. Or, at least, at his stomach. These strangers who surely must read tabloids (or infamous crime blogs), all in on the secret. Individuals who suddenly invoke a wish for x-ray vision, if only to pierce through his overcompensating three-piece suit and leer at the Mary Shelley-inspired set of stitching bolting from his torso down his abdomen.
Chilton has since disengaged quite a few public outings. He prefers to spend time in his psychiatric hospital, seeking personal asylum. His vanity can't stand the unsightly mar on his skin, his pride can't handle the eternal reminder that Abel Gideon had won one round. Chilton found himself forgoing social parties (and, as of more recently, funerals). More and more of his evenings were spent pouring over his patient files, drawing out connections and patterns born from other people.
Obsessing. Hoarding.
But only his patients.
Hannibal was proving exception to the rule; these promised dinners were met with no hesitance from Doctor Chilton. He acknowledged that he was excited for the prospect, relieved even.]
You must have helped her, then, in some manner.
[He meant therapeutically. Through friendship.
It doesn't occur to him that there could be more to it, the how and why and who of Bedelia's attack.]
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