'' Repeating History ''

'' Coping Mechanism ''

They follow Hannibal all the way to his office, though hesitating to enter at first. He seems amused by this, cocking his head at them slightly.
     “Would you like it if I left the door slightly ajar?” he asks, and they grip the hem of their shirt tightly. Knuckles turning white, but they nod and step into the office.

Hannibal hums. Closing the door until there’s only a small gap left. Roughly three inches. He then turns his attention to Bowie, his smile still small and faking warmth. Bowie is standing stiffly about fifteen feet away. Staring. Shaking. He knows they’re scared and finds vague amusement in their fear.

     “Would you care to have a seat, Bowie?” he asks, gesturing to the chair at their left.
He walks to the chair adjacent to that one, sitting down and folding one leg over the other. Ankle over the knee. His hands folded against his stomach. Those dark eyes remained focused on the young detective. Studying their movements and lack thereof.

Bowie hesitates but does eventually shuffle over and pull the chair back another foot or so before sitting. Putting more space between themselves and the psychiatrist. Hannibal smiles at this, straightening his neck as he looks them up and down.

Bowie’s posture is stiff. They're breathing shallowly and avoiding looking directly at him. Gaze focused on the ground beside his chair. He can see that they’re sweating, so he finally speaks,
     “If you’re feeling hot, you may remove your coat. I assure you that this is a safe space, Bowie.”

The detective's gaze flicks up a moment. Darting around the psychiatrist's facial features a bit before they look away again and slowly remove their thick winter coat. They sniffle a bit, rubbing their nose as they shift in their seat, struggling to get comfortable.

     “You seem tense. I’m certain that some of that is due to my presence, but I get the sense that something else is troubling you at this very moment,” he says, tilting his head a bit again.

Bowie’s brow furrows as they think about all of the things upsetting them right now. And quite a few things were bothering them to be entirely truthful. But they weren’t sure if they wanted to open up to Hannibal. Knowing what he is. It could give him leverage against them. Something to manipulate beyond what he’s already found.

He waits in silence while they consider their options, sitting more upright as their lips part and a weak sound leaves them before the words follow.

     “I. Guess so. Yeah, there’s a few things bothering me,” they murmur, keeping their eyes down. Too ashamed to even look in his direction anymore. Even as someone who does not identify as a man, they’ve been greatly affected by the stigma around men and mental health. It’s hard to admit that anything is going wrong in their mind even if it’s clear as day to everyone around them.

Hannibal nods. “Would you like to talk about any of these things?” he asks, his tone low and soft. Wanting to make Bowie feel listened to.

They swallow a bit, and slowly, their words begin to flow from them like water. Venting their frustrations to the man. Particularly about work and the situation from earlier that day between themselves and Agent Carter. It honestly felt rather nice to talk to someone about it. Even if that someone is a psychotic, cannibalistic serial killer.

Hannibal listens as long as the young detective will talk. Only speaking when they specifically ask him for his opinion. Mostly keeping his responses light, letting Bowie hear what they want even if it’s not the truth of how he feels toward the situation he’s questioned about.

It would be a mistake to outwardly admit to finding Bowie’s behavior rather out of place and even childish. He wants the young detective to feel like they’re supported, so they’ll return of their own accord next time. Allowing him to get even closer to them.