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.]
[Perhaps she just needed the extra income; why would Hannibal divulge that information so soon?
Hannibal was an exception to a great number of rules. When one followed the evidence—the evidence he left and let them follow, of course—it was indisputable that Hannibal was "safe." He had medical training of the body and the mind, he was a damn fine chef, he had no instances of causing trouble with the law or anything to taint his record, with the law or otherwise. He'd earned titles and respect, and unless someone was named Will Graham, there wasn't any reason not to trust him. It didn't have to be a game of power (though Hannibal was certain of Chilton's issues with power in any way, shape, or for). It could, in fact, be friendship and nothing more.
Or so he'd make one believe. He'd let Chilton get close (or, what Chilton would think of as close), he'd be an ear to chew on and a shoulder to lean on, and the man would never know just who (or, perhaps more accurately, what) he was letting into his life.
Poor Frederick. Poor, misguided, scarred Frederick. In a time of need, Hannibal presenting himself was someone to be taken on without hesitation. He knew as much, why else would he offer himself?]
I must confess, after the instance with Tobias Budge—the killer of the symphony player—I briefly considered retiring myself. With Will Graham, the idea has come back. [Bullshit, not that anyone can tell.] But you are not retiring, are you? You've had much worse. If you can have the courage to go back to your work, I do not see how I could have any excuse to quit mine. It's very inspiring.
[So inspiring, truly, that Hannibal doesn't have a better word for it.]
You disregard what help you've done for other people, Frederick.
[Chilton grinned faintly, the corners of his mouth cut with a stuttering hope. He hoped Hannibal was right (though he had no reason to argue contrary), and he hoped that his own impact could be measured as such. He hoped other people realized what Hannibal did.]
The review board might've disregarded my effect even more than I have.
[It was presented as a semi-deprecation, a tiny little nick of a slight against his own being. Truth of the matter was, Chilton's ethical behavior had indeed been reviewed, in light of the impending trial that he faced, given Gideon's intention to sue him. It was a bitter irony that Abel Gideon's homicidal actions thereafter mitigated what would have otherwise been a scathing second trial, and possible license suspension. Because Gideon had exhibited behavior accurate to Chilton's analysis (even if, mind, such behavior never would have manifested if not for Chilton -- a much harder thing to prove) and because Chilton himself had been victimized violently, his reputation had slithered out unscathed.
At least. In the official capacity.
His peers responded to him along a spectrum. Some shunned him, some treated him more like a patient, a psyche worth curiosity. Something to be discussed -- a second dissection. Hannibal was different, of course, Hannibal listened rather than only talked. Hannibal exhibited an immaculate sense of caring.
And oh, Chilton liked that.]
I am loathed to have Tobias Budge brought up. Yes, I admit, I did follow the story somewhat closely. [They ought to start a special little club, these psychiatrists who get attacked by patients or the associates of their patients.] Granted, details were. Thin. So I won't make any assumptions on your behalf. [He clears his throat.] But I'm so -- I'm quite honored, to hear you say such things. To be that, to you.
[Abel Gideon would face consequences for his actions, but so would Chilton. To say that Abel wasn't to blame would a lie, in Hannibal's opinion. Chilton had pushed him, definitely, of that he had no doubts. But he did not put him on strings and force his hands, physically. Nor had he sliced off a portion of his brain that...
Another time, perhaps.]
We have known each other for some time now, Frederick. The story was intriguing, there is no doubt about that. If you are loathed to mention it because you followed what little information there was to be found on his appearance and subsequent death in my office, I cannot hold it against you. It makes sense that you would be concerned about my well-being. [As much as he wants to add something about how it must have been concern and not morbid curiosity overtaking him, he refrains. That's not a road he wants to go down. Not so soon, at any rate. Not with Chilton free and able to fully function—
—well, perhaps not fully, but Hannibal had no part in that, meaning it doesn't really count.]
I'd hardly want to be around anyone who I saw as a sheep. I told you that I'd rather eat [them] sheep than anything else. Leave that to the farmers who raise them; I'm certainly not one to fuss and fret over the uninteresting.
[The conversation had brought Chilton to a pondering quiet. He mused over the words spoken, thinking about his good fortune in finding Hannibal -- and the opportunity inherent.]
Hannibal. [His vocal tone had softened, a surefire signal of vulnerability.] I sympathize completely. [It was the perfect, ideal thing to discus, to say to him. Unlike Will, Chilton had so little problem alienating other people from himself -- and the fact that Hannibal was in on it, too? Delightful. Reassuring.
Beautiful.]
I won't push the matter with Budge, of course I won't, but undoubtedly you were in the right. The self-defense is explicit. [And now: a look of condolence. His smile softens a touch more, his eyes crinkle in their corners. Compassion.]
It's just unfortunate that unhinged, dangerous people seem so attracted to you.
[Sympathizing over having zero sympathy at all, what a grave he's digging. Hannibal will make himself easy to relate to in just about every way, just to hear the fallout when Chilton realizes that that lamb tongue wasn't lamb at all. To see what it's like when he realizes that all those times he agreed with him, those times when he thought Hannibal was right and a good person, the times Hannibal made Chilton feel better about himself, it had all come from someone who no one should want to relate to. The idea that he's getting his validation and growing sense of self-worth (at least, when it came to how Hannibal saw him) from not only a man who's taken to dining on humanity, but who has been cooking it for others without so much as a real hint about it? My, my, it will certainly be worth it.
Whatever physical punishments Chilton could think up wouldn't do anything to wash that away. It would always be there, the trust (and power) he gave Hannibal, even if he was watching the man bound and muzzled. Being tortured. It didn't matter, because Chilton would know how he'd been before, how he'd been with him...and wasn't that the sweetest victory of all?]
That's part of the risk you take when you go into psychiatry, isn't it? You could end up going through a lifetime of work with nothing more than those with mild disorders, a few extreme cases, but no one dangerous. It's not exactly a field that you wouldn't have to recognize that there would, at least, be people more unhinged than simply depressed. There's nothing that can be done, unless we would rather leave the less fortunate to their own devices and suffering.
[Chilton and Hannibal, real saints for the mentally ill, that's what they are.]
[Oh, and he will try to cripple Hannibal's spirit, in those events to come. Try and fail, and his failure will only stimulate more of his carnivorous obsession over this elusive man. The crux of his obsession -- what Hannibal brought out by putting into him, both physically and psychologically -- will never be properly examined by Chilton himself, and therein remarks his failure. He won't be able to question that sense of confidence, of well-being, that Hannibal invoked during Chilton's darkest moments. He won't be brave enough to analyze how me was manipulated.
But his denial won't cleanse away the fact it happened, and his unbridled fury and humiliation will seek his patient. He'll want to strip Hannibal away, he'll need to needle and erode the other man's personality.
And every day he'll fail.]
Spoke so truthfully, Hannibal. I couldn't doubt a man of your acumen, naturally, but it's so refreshing to [know you exist] engage in this discourse. And so freely, too. I think you'll agree that there's some bittersweet agony to the fact that the more dangerously neuroatypical a patient is, the more fascinating he becomes. The more -- [A brief hesitation. But he's already spoken this much, hasn't he?] Worthwhile he is to treat.
[Hannibal already knew Chilton's opinions on various mental illnesses, including which disorders he favored dedicating himself towards. Chilton said as much, in their private time together. Nevertheless, to reaffirm himself in Hannibal's company was a liberation; he would never utter such controversial opinions at a lecture, or hearing, or mild dinner of another's.]
I love that you have a taste for the controversial.
[Of course he'll fail. It's in Hannibal's nature to win, and for everyone around him to lose. Of course, he'll say it's in Frederick's nature to fail in every regard, but not until he's found out some decent information on his past and gotten him to trust him unconditionally.
Like a dog. Or a child, better, because what adult wants to feel like a child, or treated like one? Lied to and believed it, like a toddler being reassured that it's actually the Tooth Fairy coming, no matter what they saw in their mother's person.
He's just got the worst semi-parental figure he could possibly imagine.]
Now I'm not certain whether you're referring to your work with Doctor Gideon or your eventual opportunities with Will Graham.
The latter, I can assure you, is very fascinating, once you get him to open up, though I really should say nothing more.
[How Chilton goes about cracking Will, well...we'll see how long Hannibal can tolerate such rudeness.]
[Oh, Hannibal. He recognizes you as a godsend now, and you know very well that he does. That sense of stability offered... Faintly parental, yes, even Chilton would agree to that tone. But he's so wrapped in Hannibal to question it.
Besides, he likes the idea of stealing Alana Bloom's mentor. It gives him a bit of a smug tingle in rather dark places.
Gosh he has weird feelings concerning Alana Bloom.]
Both, really. Abel Gideon was a sociopath, and Will is -- well he's something else entirely, isn't he? His neuroses and personality disorders communicate with each other in such a way to produce a dissociative, delusional empathy. Fascinating. The effect is oppositional to the spectrum that I usually engage, true, but the ailment itself nevertheless mirrors patterned identity disorders.
[Which was probably Hannibal's intention, when he began to orchestrate this piece.]
[Good parents know when to coddle or reassure and when to give tough love or speak bluntly. Hannibal definitely knows how to coddle and reassure, but his tough love is generally lethal, so he's hardly a good parental figure to have.
But he's all Chilton's got now, isn't he?
There's mild interest while he listens to him ramble off at the mouth (he's good at that, very good) about Will, nothing on his face changing other than an upwards twitch of his eyebrow. And when Chilton mentions specializing, good God but he's so glad he's trained him to never laugh unless he has to.
The ego on this man, it's truly astounding.]
The human mind, it is an unparalleled marvel. I'm hoping, however, that when you and I [better to put Frederick before him in any circumstance, yes] meet, we'll have things to discuss other than our patients. Hobbies, interests, favorite books and movies...and so forth.
[Hannibal really wants to share his life with Chilton.
[Chilton nodded, his visual agreement with Hannibal speaking deeper secrets. He drew back his shoulders, straightening his spine (how, he wondered, had he leaned in so closely to Hannibal?) and offering a small smirk. He was catching onto himself, he was open far too widely.]
Part of our burden. It's hard to escape our own inquisitive nature, isn't it? [He possesses interests and hobbies, of course, but nothing that quite rivals his obsession. His analyses, his work. Chilton's threadbare personal life, already exposed before Hannibal, gave him slender cover. He was open to the other man. Psychologically nude. He shrugged the sensation away, smiling more nervously.]
I wouldn't trade it for anything else, however.
[Another beat. He realizes that this would be a suitable time to fall into line with Hannibal's request.]
I've been reading -- [ORGANIZED BEHAVIOR IN DISASTER!!!] Well. Outside of psychology books? I certainly read [tattle crime oh wait] The New Yorker, too.
He can deal, but it's just going to be so much sweeter when all is said and done with, seeing Chilton know that not only was Hannibal the one with full control all along, but that he wanted him to think otherwise. He wanted him to think Hannibal considered him not only a peer, but an equal, and when he finds out that's definitely not the case...well, being muzzled will be more than worth it.]
The New Yorker. [It's not as flat as it should be, considering Hannibal does not give fuck numero uno about whatever newspaper Chilton reads.] I used to do the crossword in that after I finished it over breakfast. Charming little thing, though sometimes they were much too lax with their hints.
It has reputable journalism, at least.
[YEAH THAT'S RIGHT HANNIBAL DON'T REALLY LIKE FREDDIE
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[Perhaps she just needed the extra income; why would Hannibal divulge that information so soon?
Hannibal was an exception to a great number of rules. When one followed the evidence—the evidence he left and let them follow, of course—it was indisputable that Hannibal was "safe." He had medical training of the body and the mind, he was a damn fine chef, he had no instances of causing trouble with the law or anything to taint his record, with the law or otherwise. He'd earned titles and respect, and unless someone was named Will Graham, there wasn't any reason not to trust him. It didn't have to be a game of power (though Hannibal was certain of Chilton's issues with power in any way, shape, or for). It could, in fact, be friendship and nothing more.
Or so he'd make one believe. He'd let Chilton get close (or, what Chilton would think of as close), he'd be an ear to chew on and a shoulder to lean on, and the man would never know just who (or, perhaps more accurately, what) he was letting into his life.
Poor Frederick. Poor, misguided, scarred Frederick. In a time of need, Hannibal presenting himself was someone to be taken on without hesitation. He knew as much, why else would he offer himself?]
I must confess, after the instance with Tobias Budge—the killer of the symphony player—I briefly considered retiring myself. With Will Graham, the idea has come back. [Bullshit, not that anyone can tell.] But you are not retiring, are you? You've had much worse. If you can have the courage to go back to your work, I do not see how I could have any excuse to quit mine. It's very inspiring.
[So inspiring, truly, that Hannibal doesn't have a better word for it.]
You disregard what help you've done for other people, Frederick.
no subject
The review board might've disregarded my effect even more than I have.
[It was presented as a semi-deprecation, a tiny little nick of a slight against his own being. Truth of the matter was, Chilton's ethical behavior had indeed been reviewed, in light of the impending trial that he faced, given Gideon's intention to sue him. It was a bitter irony that Abel Gideon's homicidal actions thereafter mitigated what would have otherwise been a scathing second trial, and possible license suspension. Because Gideon had exhibited behavior accurate to Chilton's analysis (even if, mind, such behavior never would have manifested if not for Chilton -- a much harder thing to prove) and because Chilton himself had been victimized violently, his reputation had slithered out unscathed.
At least. In the official capacity.
His peers responded to him along a spectrum. Some shunned him, some treated him more like a patient, a psyche worth curiosity. Something to be discussed -- a second dissection. Hannibal was different, of course, Hannibal listened rather than only talked. Hannibal exhibited an immaculate sense of caring.
And oh, Chilton liked that.]
I am loathed to have Tobias Budge brought up. Yes, I admit, I did follow the story somewhat closely. [They ought to start a special little club, these psychiatrists who get attacked by patients or the associates of their patients.] Granted, details were. Thin. So I won't make any assumptions on your behalf. [He clears his throat.] But I'm so -- I'm quite honored, to hear you say such things. To be that, to you.
no subject
Another time, perhaps.]
We have known each other for some time now, Frederick. The story was intriguing, there is no doubt about that. If you are loathed to mention it because you followed what little information there was to be found on his appearance and subsequent death in my office, I cannot hold it against you. It makes sense that you would be concerned about my well-being. [As much as he wants to add something about how it must have been concern and not morbid curiosity overtaking him, he refrains. That's not a road he wants to go down. Not so soon, at any rate. Not with Chilton free and able to fully function—
—well, perhaps not fully, but Hannibal had no part in that, meaning it doesn't really count.]
I'd hardly want to be around anyone who I saw as a sheep. I told you that I'd rather eat [them] sheep than anything else. Leave that to the farmers who raise them; I'm certainly not one to fuss and fret over the uninteresting.
no subject
Hannibal. [His vocal tone had softened, a surefire signal of vulnerability.] I sympathize completely. [It was the perfect, ideal thing to discus, to say to him. Unlike Will, Chilton had so little problem alienating other people from himself -- and the fact that Hannibal was in on it, too? Delightful. Reassuring.
Beautiful.]
I won't push the matter with Budge, of course I won't, but undoubtedly you were in the right. The self-defense is explicit. [And now: a look of condolence. His smile softens a touch more, his eyes crinkle in their corners. Compassion.]
It's just unfortunate that unhinged, dangerous people seem so attracted to you.
[Himself excluded, of course.]
no subject
Whatever physical punishments Chilton could think up wouldn't do anything to wash that away. It would always be there, the trust (and power) he gave Hannibal, even if he was watching the man bound and muzzled. Being tortured. It didn't matter, because Chilton would know how he'd been before, how he'd been with him...and wasn't that the sweetest victory of all?]
That's part of the risk you take when you go into psychiatry, isn't it? You could end up going through a lifetime of work with nothing more than those with mild disorders, a few extreme cases, but no one dangerous. It's not exactly a field that you wouldn't have to recognize that there would, at least, be people more unhinged than simply depressed. There's nothing that can be done, unless we would rather leave the less fortunate to their own devices and suffering.
[Chilton and Hannibal, real saints for the mentally ill, that's what they are.]
no subject
But his denial won't cleanse away the fact it happened, and his unbridled fury and humiliation will seek his patient. He'll want to strip Hannibal away, he'll need to needle and erode the other man's personality.
And every day he'll fail.]
Spoke so truthfully, Hannibal. I couldn't doubt a man of your acumen, naturally, but it's so refreshing to [know you exist] engage in this discourse. And so freely, too. I think you'll agree that there's some bittersweet agony to the fact that the more dangerously neuroatypical a patient is, the more fascinating he becomes. The more -- [A brief hesitation. But he's already spoken this much, hasn't he?] Worthwhile he is to treat.
[Hannibal already knew Chilton's opinions on various mental illnesses, including which disorders he favored dedicating himself towards. Chilton said as much, in their private time together. Nevertheless, to reaffirm himself in Hannibal's company was a liberation; he would never utter such controversial opinions at a lecture, or hearing, or mild dinner of another's.]
I love that you have a taste for the controversial.
no subject
Like a dog. Or a child, better, because what adult wants to feel like a child, or treated like one? Lied to and believed it, like a toddler being reassured that it's actually the Tooth Fairy coming, no matter what they saw in their mother's person.
He's just got the worst semi-parental figure he could possibly imagine.]
Now I'm not certain whether you're referring to your work with Doctor Gideon or your eventual opportunities with Will Graham.
The latter, I can assure you, is very fascinating, once you get him to open up, though I really should say nothing more.
[How Chilton goes about cracking Will, well...we'll see how long Hannibal can tolerate such rudeness.]
no subject
Besides, he likes the idea of stealing Alana Bloom's mentor. It gives him a bit of a smug tingle in rather dark places.
Gosh he has weird feelings concerning Alana Bloom.]
Both, really. Abel Gideon was a sociopath, and Will is -- well he's something else entirely, isn't he? His neuroses and personality disorders communicate with each other in such a way to produce a dissociative, delusional empathy. Fascinating. The effect is oppositional to the spectrum that I usually engage, true, but the ailment itself nevertheless mirrors patterned identity disorders.
[Which was probably Hannibal's intention, when he began to orchestrate this piece.]
I've begun to specialize in identity disorders.
[His dry tone betrays his butthurt.]
no subject
But he's all Chilton's got now, isn't he?
There's mild interest while he listens to him ramble off at the mouth (he's good at that, very good) about Will, nothing on his face changing other than an upwards twitch of his eyebrow. And when Chilton mentions specializing, good God but he's so glad he's trained him to never laugh unless he has to.
The ego on this man, it's truly astounding.]
The human mind, it is an unparalleled marvel. I'm hoping, however, that when you and I [better to put Frederick before him in any circumstance, yes] meet, we'll have things to discuss other than our patients. Hobbies, interests, favorite books and movies...and so forth.
[Hannibal really wants to share his life with Chilton.
Honestly, nothing wicked hiding.]
no subject
Part of our burden. It's hard to escape our own inquisitive nature, isn't it? [He possesses interests and hobbies, of course, but nothing that quite rivals his obsession. His analyses, his work. Chilton's threadbare personal life, already exposed before Hannibal, gave him slender cover. He was open to the other man. Psychologically nude. He shrugged the sensation away, smiling more nervously.]
I wouldn't trade it for anything else, however.
[Another beat. He realizes that this would be a suitable time to fall into line with Hannibal's request.]
I've been reading -- [ORGANIZED BEHAVIOR IN DISASTER!!!] Well. Outside of psychology books? I certainly read [tattle crime oh wait] The New Yorker, too.
no subject
Our
O U R
He can deal, but it's just going to be so much sweeter when all is said and done with, seeing Chilton know that not only was Hannibal the one with full control all along, but that he wanted him to think otherwise. He wanted him to think Hannibal considered him not only a peer, but an equal, and when he finds out that's definitely not the case...well, being muzzled will be more than worth it.]
The New Yorker. [It's not as flat as it should be, considering Hannibal does not give fuck numero uno about whatever newspaper Chilton reads.] I used to do the crossword in that after I finished it over breakfast. Charming little thing, though sometimes they were much too lax with their hints.
It has reputable journalism, at least.
[YEAH THAT'S RIGHT HANNIBAL DON'T REALLY LIKE FREDDIE
WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT THAT]