'' Repeating History ''

'' Confrontation ''

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I've been prioritizing other things." They say, laughing weakly through chattering teeth and whimpering with pain from the cold.

"God damnit, Bowie, what am I gonna do with you?" He curses, getting up and wandering out of the room to look for something warm he can give his shivering friend.

Bowie sits there for a second before getting up, drying off the rest of the way before pulling on some warm clothes. Being fuzzy pajama pants and a sweatshirt. They sniffle and sneeze, bringing tissues with them as they wrap up in a blanket and leave the room to figure out where their boss went, finding him in the kitchen alongside Doctor Lecter.

The detective freezes, standing in stunned, almost terrified silence, gaze shifting between the man who's been like a father to them for the last few years, and the one they know is a cannibalistic serial killer. They swallow softly and remove the blanket from their shoulders, balling it up and tossing it over into the living room before slowly entering the kitchen, inching toward their boss while trying not to get too close to the criminal in their home.

Hannibal watches them quietly, a judgemental look in those dark eyes of his, and a soft frown on his lips. Clearly he had taken notice of and possible offense from Bowie's behavior, which, they hoped, was an inaccurate observation. As they were aware of his habit and intention to 'eat the rude' whenever possible.

He seems to also take notice of that slightly fearful look in Bowie's eyes, and everts his own gaze so as to ease the small detective's anxiety. Not that he's successful in that regard.

"Oh, up already, huh?" Bowie's boss would hum, clearly glad to see them standing on their own, even if they're still visibly shaking, for more than one reason.

"Yeah. A little hypothermia won't keep me down." They'd reply, a little cagey because of the cannibal in the room.

"Good. I think Doctor Lecter was just talking about making you some soup." He'd say, offering a hand toward Bowie's back and they lean into him slightly, allowing him to pat them firmly.

"Wow. Thanks Doc. I'll pass on any meat though." They'd reply, giving the psychiatrist a little side glance, looking him up and down very briefly before pulling his gaze away.

"Of course." Hannibal would reply quickly, locking eyes with Bowie intentionally for just a moment. He smiles to himself, reveling in watching them shiver.

"What are you doing here, though?" Bowie would ask, throwing a couple quick sideways glances at the man as they half hide behind their boss, who's in the middle of making them some hot chocolate.

"Well, when you left, I stuck around to talk to Gordon. When you failed to answer his calls we both came together. As I too was concerned." He would explain with his usual calm, almost too calculated logic.

Bowie gives him a brief suspicious squint before relaxing again and hiding closer to their boss, who gives them a confused glance, clearly not understanding why the hell they were standing so close to him; as they would typically avoid physical contact as if it were a deadly virus.

"What's up with you, Boe?" He'd question, turning to hand them the hot chocolate he made, which they take slowly, blowing on the cup and watching the whipped cream ripple.

"I dunno. I guess I feel off about you basically giving my address to a stranger." They'd murmur, giving him a brief glare through their brow before refocusing their attention on their drink.

Gordon would rub the back of his neck awkwardly, realizing that they kind of had a point there. He gives Hannibal a little glance over his shoulder before turning to the psychiatrist and adjusting the cuffs of his jacket.