'' Repeating History ''

'' Confrontation ''

"They do have a point. You weren't exactly invited. But, while you're here. You two should talk." He suggests; immediately putting Bowie on edge. They weren't exactly keen on being alone with the psychiatrist, or talking about their issues. With or without their boss present.

"I don't believe Bowie has any intentions of actually seeking out treatment through me." Hannibal would say after a brief moment of awkward silence and staring between the three of us.

"That's not–"
"No need to lie, Bowie. I understand. It is hard to take that first step." He'd say, trying to feign sounding understanding despite clearly mocking the detective right in their face. Knowing damn well that they can't retaliate in front of their boss.

"Bowie, don't be like that. We both know it'll be good for you." Gordon would say, reaching a hand out to touch their back again, though they shy away this time.

"It's not that I don't want to. I just don't feel comfortable with a doctor you picked for me." They'd grumble, shooting the cannibal a dirty look.

"Look, Bowie. I get that. But you weren't exactly looking for one yourself." Gordon says, seemingly a little annoyed with the Detective and their evasive behavior toward the idea of receiving help for their steadily declining mental state.

"Okay? We both know I don't have the funds for that." They'd snap back, furrowing their brow with frustration as they grip the mug their hot chocolate was in tighter, not caring that it's burning their hands.

"Well maybe if you stopped giving it all away you'd be able to function on your own." Gordon snaps back, glaring down at Bowie sternly.

"Giving it away?! Is that what you think?! Just because you abandoned your family doesn't mean I will too!" They yell at him, shaking slightly from growing emotional distress.

"Who do you think you are talking to me like that, boy?!" The superior officer would sneer, stepping to Bowie threateningly.

They stumble back, the mug in their hands abruptly exploding from the combined heat of the drink and pressure of their grip. They trip over their own feet and fall to the ground, slicing up their hands and dirtying their clothes from the shards of the mug and the hot chocolate all over their kitchen floor.

Tears prick their eyes and they start to hyperventilate looking at their hands, bleeding out and getting all over, embedded with shards of porcelain. They look up at their boss wide eyed, unable to get a word out as he just stares back, also silent for some time.

"Bowie I–"
"Get out." Bowie interrupts as the man had begun to apologize.

"You're hurt, let me help." He says, trying to approach them and help them up, but they flinch away, scrambling back across the floor until their back hits the wall.

"Perhaps it's best if you give them some space. I'll stay to make sure they're alright." Hannibal interjects, placing a hand on Gordon's shoulder to reassure him.

Gordon hesitates, looking from the doctor, to Bowie, and back again. He then relents and turns, heading for the door and stating that he'll be in the car waiting for Hannibal.

Once the older of the two detectives is gone, Hannibal would remove his coat and set it aside, rolling up his sleeves and searching for cleaning supplies while Bowie picks themselves up off the floor.

"I get that you have to keep up the facade or whatever. But don't ever do that again." Bowie grumbles with annoyance. Much to the cannibal's confusion, his head slowly turning to look at the detective, body following with short steps.

"I'm sorry?" He questions, eyebrows raised with slight surprise from the shorter individuals' sudden outburst toward him.
"Getting between Gordon and I. Don't do that." They say, moving over to the sink to clean their hands, though Hannibal is quick to step in and assist, causing them to flinch as they make physical contact with one another.